I have stopped asking my children to clean their rooms. Completely stopped. The story.

I have stopped asking my children to clean their rooms. Stopped. Completely stopped.

In the time before, I had to win. Not at everything. But definitely in the War Against Bedroom Cleanup. I would sometimes spend a whole day or more getting my children to clean up their bedrooms. It would always start positively, with each child happy to get started. Ten minutes later, I would return to at least two children reading books and the other two playing a game with various things they had found. I would remind them all of the task. They would all look at me with that this-is-a-brand-new-piece-of-information look, and get back to work. At some point, it would always descend into a nightmare. There were tears, avoidance, excuses, complaining and dragging of feet (them.) There was anger, yelling and threats (Craig and I.) I would feel tense in the lead up to, and defeat and disappointment in the time following. I tried many schemes. I tried rewards. I tried over the top encouragement. I tried regular, this-is-just-what-we-do encouragement. I tried getting them started. I tried teaching them strategies. I tried. And I failed. Well, failed to do it well. The rooms were clean. But our home suffered.

Have you ever continued along a course even though you could see it just wasn't working? I have done this so often in the past. Determination. Consistency. Insanity.

I remember reading once when Jack was very little, that one definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. At the time, when ALL I had read about babies was to be consistent, it was like a breath of fresh air. I remember laughing out loud as I realised that I could consistently do something that did not fit or suit us, and the result would be consistent unhappiness all round.

Well, it was time again for that breath of fresh air. I was consisantly doing something, that was achieving consistent unhappiness all round. Something had to change. Sometimes the answer is in the not doing. Not in the doing of something. Big problems can have small answers. Answers like: stop.

A little while ago a wonderfully honest friend reposted this article (I am so guilty of the "passive aggressive rhetorical questions" that are mentioned towards the end of the article.) 

I read it and it challenged me. It made me ask the question why. Why do I spend so much of my time asking my children to do something that almost certainly leads to failure, anger and disappointment? Why? At first I thought it was because I want them to learn responsibility and to care for the things they are given. But really, they all do this without putting everything away neatly, where I have decided is appropriate. They help without question in other areas of the house, even offering when not asked. When I was truly honest with myself, I didn't like the answers I came up with.

I think the core of the reason why I continued to demand that they clean up their bedrooms was because that's what everyone does. What everyone else does. The very worst reason in the world to do anything. It's just a given that children are expected to clean their own rooms. And what would happen if they didn't? I was about to find out.

I just stopped. Peace came to our house. Children played. Adults remained calm.

Once it was off my radar, it was one less thing that I needed to think about. I was worried at first that it would mean my work load would dramatically increase. But I have made a few valuable discoveries. Jack actually already cleans the boys room. I think the whole cleaning the bedroom thing is more difficult for some children than others. For Jack it's a breeze, for my middle three it's so overwhelming it just seems too hard. I have noticed however that each child helps in ways that suit them. This was compounded further with the introduction of the Good Memories Journal. I've also found that the extra mess that Henry makes, in reality takes less than 20 mins of my week to clean up. The girls room is a mess right now, but it's mainly due to the 'too much stuff' rule. Too much stuff in a small space is impossible to keep tidy. I've started getting rid of the clutter and neither child has become upset, instead thanking me for "making our bedroom beautiful!"

I will warn you that my biggest revelation may come as a complete shock to some of you: doors can be closed and people rarely visit anyway. Everyone is just too busy getting on with surviving the everyday! Even if someone was to visit, like every mum I am a complete expert in the quick-someone-is-coming-over clean, closely followed by the yes-my-house-is-always-like-this smile and hello. Ninja warrier princess: pfff! I can have a house looking sparkly in no time flat, with a few minutes spare to brush my teeth and hair! The adrenalin rush even helps to keep me awake, so to the outside world I seem to have had enough sleep;) Really, worst case scenario, is that others see the real me. Is that such a bad thing? The world could use a bit more real.

At times fear creeps in. What if everyone else is right? What if I'm encouraging bad habits by cleaning their rooms? What if I'm ruining my children? It's then I repeat the one word that reflects what they will learn from me cleaning up after them.

Grace.

Closely followed by:

Humility.

Generosity.

Love just because and not dependant on. Love that never fails. Love that will always accept them, in a world that won't always do the same.

With each toy I pick up, they will learn I will do anything, love them through anything and humble myself for them when needed. And I will. Always.

I've learnt that sometimes I don't have to win. And sometimes letting go is a bit like winning. But the winning belongs to more that one person, so it's even better. Letting go has an added bonus. Letting go makes a wide open space available for something better to leap in. Deeper relationships. Words with meaning. Talking that leads to understanding, actions and futures that would otherwise have never been. And just sitting down reading together followed by hugs. There are never enough hugs and stories.

As I place another book on the shelf, the fear settles and I am again content with my decision. It is then that I am almost guaranteed to hear a little one approach. I finally get hear the words that I never heard in the before.

"Can I help you mummy?"

I smile, give them a hug and say, "always."