Sunday is usually the day of rest. In many houses it's a day of worship and reflection. In others, a day of rest and relaxation. In my house, it's the final lap the Weekly Race 500. The last chance to get everything done and set up for the coming week. Now that AFL season is over we have no regular commitments on Sunday so it is full throttle Get Everything Done Day.
Sundays are also my dedicated, "Yell at Connor to clean her room and get all that crap off her bed day." Remember my posting a month or so back about the joys of her sleeping with clean laundry rather than putting it away? Well we are back to that party trick and to win the bonus round of Kill Mommy Slowly, she has added dirty tissues and popsicles sticks from when she was sick last week.
Oh yes, we have had a very restful and reflective Sunday today. This time though, I'm going to win. I believe I've figured out her Achilles Heel and I'm going to do so much more than shoot an arrow into it.
I called her away from her chore of cleaning up after Sasha and brought her into her room. As soon as she heard her name she started with the "I know....my room is a disaster" bored speech as she trudged up the stairs. Ahhh, I see the super hero Amazing Connor is bringing her sidekick, Attitude Chick with her to battle with Evil Troll Mom. Alrighty then, set phasers to stun.
I have her start stripping the bed. 30 or 40 stuffed animals, 6 books, 11 socks ( none of them matching) a cup, a smashed full box of tissues and one empty box of tissues, enough dirty tissues to turn an A cup into a GG cup, a fork (?!?!?), one of MY socks and two pillow pets. The down comforter is completely out of the duvet cover and has juice stains on it. The actual comforter, not the protective cover. While stuffing the comforter back into the duvet cover I notice the fitted sheet. The top of it is covered in....wait is that blood? Ah no, it's just more red juice. This explains when she came down stairs the other day and looked like she broke out in Measles over night. Seems someone spilled her popsicle, it melted and then she slept on it. As you do.
I stood there starring at both the bed and Connor. She looked straight at me with polite expectation and I could see her counting cats in her mind until the yelling was over. She knew I was mad. It's possible, that this time, she actually understands that I'm mad about her room. I mention that last part because that's a major improvement over the last Mummy Hissy Fit when she could not fathom why I was vexed by clean clothes being stuffed into the bed. In my world, this is progress.
I look at her and alarmingly my vision starts to turn red. I could see the color red sliding down my line of vision like a layer of dripping blood. The blood vessel in my temple began pulsing with my heartbeat. This is it, I thought. She has given me an aneurism. I'm going to die holding dirty socks and juice-covered sheets. The paramedics will find my corpse resting on Littlest Pet Shop and Build-A-B ear stuffed animals.
Really? THIS is my final moment?! No, this simply can't be my last view of Life. I refuse to die before I've owned a Coach bag and I get my grandmother's emerald ring resized to I can wear it! I am going to find out if there is a chance the new Star Wars movie doesn't suck. No!!!
With enough force to possibly drag my dog Sasha into a car filled with screaming yip dogs, I pulled back my rage and I counted to ten about 15 or 20 times. I blinked repeatedly until I was sure I taught myself Morse Code. Breathing in deep enough to suck my nose into my knees, finally I could see clearly the truth of the situation.
Connor was not annoyed enough to stop to trashing her room. She needed something so annoying or so distasteful that she would do whatever she had to in order to avoid it. Yes, this is the answer. This was the life raft I needed to pull me back to the shore of safety. I looked around and began a hard target search for anything that I could use against her. I needed an idea quick. Much like dog training, it's best to get the kid in the moment.
Buying my self time to plot, I had her get clean sheets and begin making the bed. She did her best to be completely inept at putting on the sheets and I let her "con" me into helping her make the bed. She thought I had calmed down and we could chat again, but little did she know I was using this a time to complete essential reconnaissance on her interests. She brought up how everyone at school is loving this little bracelets from the Tree of Life store and she needs to buy more. Also, she mentioned how desperate she is for more Warrior Cats books. She wondered out loud how much money she had accumulated in chore tickets. Remember my system of abandoning allowances and earn money for individual chores being done? A smile slowly began to creep up on my face. With quiet reverence and stone cold face I screamed in my mind, " AHA, I've gotchya!!!
"Connor, now that we've made your bed I want you to take a good look at it. Notice the absence of trash and how the sheets and comforter look. Count the stuffed animals, only ten right?" I say with a deceptively mild voice. "Oh yes, it looks beautiful, thank you Mummy!" she gleefully croons. She's always so happy after it's all done. I line up my shot across the bow. "Well, from now on I'm going to check your room every day before we leave for school. If it doesn't look JUST LIKE THIS, I'm going to fine you $.50 of your ticket money."
I have always be amused at just how roaringly loud silence can be.
After a few seconds pause she muttered, "Um, what does fine mean, exactly?" I squared my head, lowered my eye lids and glowered over the top of my glasses at her....just like my mom used to do. "It means that I will take $.50 from your tickets folder every . single . time . I come in here and don't like what I see." Pause, pause. "I earned that money!" Connor spits at me. "Very true, you did a lot of chores to earn that money," I wholeheartedly agreed with her. "It would be a terrible shame if you had to do all that work just to pay for the privilege of sleeping with trash and clean clothes. I don't understand why anyone would want to do that. If that's how you want to spend your money though, that's up to you!" and then I spun on my heal and walked out. As I left she countered with the universal acknowledgement of conceding a battle.
YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!
Right now she doesn't believe that I am serious. She is pretty confident that I will forget or that I was joking. However tomorrow morning, before we leave at 7am, I will be checking her room and I will fine her lazy butt. This is the best solution to a problem I've come up with in years. No matter what she does I win. If she cleans her room and doesn't lose tickets, I win because the bloody room is clean and she gets money she has rightfully earned. If she doesn't clean her room and she does lose tickets, I win because I don't have to actually pay her any money for doing nothing.
Check mate. I win.
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