Modern Goddess Magazine

There I was standing at the bottom of the steps to the second floor of my house. Steps that I had ventured up and down countless times, yet now, a strange illusion created an ominous, eerie quality and the top step seemed a far off landing well beyond my reach. My sigh felt heavy, or perhaps it was the cloth construction mask that I had secured around my mouth and nose for this venture.

I began the steep climb and with each step my mind checked off my safety items: rubber gloves, mask, hair tied back tightly and a baseball cap for extra caution. Multiple trash bags tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, two rags and some multi-purpose cleaner were my arsenal. I hesitated for a moment and a step creaked urging me on toward my final destination.

Reaching the top step I quickened my pace lest I falter in my determination. The doorway that loomed before me opened to a brilliant stream of sunshine and for a moment I was lulled into believing that what lie beyond that opening was less terrible than my mind thought it would be. Suddenly, I heard a crunching sound as my foot reached beyond the threshold and the fantasy was shattered! My heart stopped and my breathing felt shallow as my mind whirled around the possibilities that could have caused such a sound.

There before me lie the debris, clothing and leftover food items of a tweenage girl. She was the same tweenage girl that had once been my mischievous toddler and before that, my chubby baby. And, yes, I mean tweenage. It’s the latest term to describe those budding years ranging from 10 to 12 where a child is no longer a child, but isn’t quite a teenager. For mom, the tweenager can be shocking, loving and confusing all within a matter of minutes. Not to mention a slob, which is what I was facing today.

I know all about the responsibility that I have to teach her about keeping her room clean, her clothes taken care of and her bed made. I’ve calmly explained it, other times shouted it, created consequences for the failure to make it happen, screamed, cried and finally, come up here to do it myself. You might say that I’m giving in. Failing to keep her nose to the grind and teach her a lesson. And all of that is probably true, but then, there is something else.

While tweenage is difficult, I foresee teenage to be something more of a challenge. Her room might look worse then and if we fight about it, she’ll have the ability to spirit herself away somewhere far from me where she can fume about all the years that I’ve been nagging her about her room. She’ll stop talking to me about the things that make her sad, mad and generally confused and she’ll completely convince herself that I don’t love her.

And there, lies the real reason that I’m here all decked out in my own version of a HAZMAT suit to clean her room. I’ll clean it because I love her and having it clean is more important to me than it is to her. Maybe some day, when she has her own place it will mean something to her to see things clean and orderly. She’ll certainly remember when I taught her how to clean a room, she’ll remember the times that I, in frustration, sometimes cleaned it with her and also the times when I just went and did it by myself and said nothing. Those times when, instead of choosing to have a brawl, I just did something to show her that I love her.

It won’t be the clean room that matters to her all that much, but it will be one less time that I nag her about it, and that has some meaning. She might not put all the pieces together now or even when she’s a teenager, but some day, it will occur to her that I could have nagged more, I could have yelled more and instead, at least sometimes, I just chose to clean her room.

I won’t give up trying to get her to do it on her own. That would be shirking my responsibilities, but every once in awhile, I’ll don this ridiculous outfit, make my way up the intimidating staircase and begin the job of lovingly removing unidentifiable goopy stuff off of her carpet. Soon enough, whether she keeps it clean or not, she’ll have her own place. I hope she’ll invite me for a visit. When she does, it won’t matter to me if it’s clean or if it isn’t. I’ll remember that I did my best to show her love and we’ll have that to show for it, which has a lot more mileage than a clean bedroom.

I think that’s what love’s got to do with it.