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WTF Wednesday: The Old Switcheroo

I had to wait a few days to write about this. I needed some humor to kick in to replace the rage that consumed me in the crux of the incident. Let me start by saying that it is an extremely difficult position for parents when a kid comes to you all proud of some kind of accomplishment (drink) and that accomplishment is something you would strongly have preferred not to happen. This occurs frequently in my house and I often don't have the heart to burst their bubbles of pride. But the other day I couldn't fake it. I was angry. Livid.

Kaleb and the twins made an executive decision. They decided to switch rooms. I'm not entirely sure why because they all wind up bunking together anyway. But the leader got an idea and ran with it. And the (drink) minions followed suit. They worked hard on the project - for that I have to extend credit - but as all parents know, the more effort exerted on a Why-TF-did-you-do-that project, the more work it is on the back end to rectify.

Let me attempt to paint an accurate picture for you. The twins shared room features a double dresser and a tall chest, all filled to the brim with clothes they don't wear. They also have a closet chock full of dresses they suddenly gave up for shorts. Similar set up in Kaleb's room and since he's a guy and never gets rid of clothes, his two dressers are also (drink) teaming with unworn attire. They worked as a team (again, props for that), and emptied all four dressers and two closets before relocating the twins' items to Kaleb's room and vice versa. Team work makes the dream work. You know what would have been really impressive? If they (drink) actually folded the clothes when they refilled the drawers. But, as is the tenancy of children, there was less folding and more stuffing.

I knew it was too quiet up there. There's a certain kind of quiet that accompanies mischief. I should have checked on them. So many times I've done this - ignored the doomed silence knowing full well I'd pay the price for folding a few baskets of laundry in solitude. It was all I could do when Kaleb led me to their rooms, reveling in the satisfaction of having accomplished their goal, to suppress the expletives on the brink of escaping my mouth. Instead I stood there in stunned shock as I took in the dressers heaving with clothes, unmatched socks bursting from the drawers, and the (drink) finishing touch - the pictures on the walls had also been swapped. Meanwhile, three expectant sets of eyes waited for what they anticipated to be a positive reaction. My how tenacious you all are! What a fantastic idea - a room swap! How fun! Instead I wimped out and enlisted the help of James who had no problem squandering their glory in the nicest way possible while still maintaining a firm "no room swapping" position.

Together, the five of us undid the switch, Eleanor every so often uttering a remorseful, "sorry mom and dad." It was kind of heartbreaking. The heartbreak was diminished very quickly, though, as EVERY SINGLE item of their wardrobe was refolded and placed back in its rightful home. Kaleb even learned the art of folding.

The pictures were switched back, the bunking situation plotted for the night, and a solemn vow to please ask before making these kinds of executive decisions was made. It's another good story, though. One that will be retold and embellished over the years until I find myself regaling (drink) our grand-kids with story of the time the three stooges not only relocated their clothes and wall hangings, but entire sets of furniture were pushed down the hall leaving scratches on walls and floors. "Boy did they get in trouble," I'll tell them. Because every kid likes to hear the tales of how their parents screwed up. It makes them human.

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