Yesterday’s expertly engineered bedroom tidying competition never actually reached a conclusion; lunchtime eventually arrived, and I deemed refueling more important than replacing books on bookshelves.
So it was that this morning I fetched the certificate I had printed from the study and showed it to the children.
“Judging will be at lunchtime”
Little Miss 5 and 6 ran upstairs giggling - shouting “OH YEAH! WE’RE GOING TO WIN!”. I noticed Miss 10 quietly make her way to her room too. She should have won.
A little before lunchtime the younger children appeared in the kitchen, asking to play on the Wii. They swore their bedroom was tidy, so I wandered upstairs and took a look…
“How come all the clothes are thrown on the floor?”
“But we didn’t put them there”
“I don’t care - you’re going to lose if you don’t pick them up”
After glancing into the eldest’s bedroom, who still had stuff littered across the floor, I extended the deadline by half an hour - which somehow elicited more giggling and claims of victory.
Ten minutes later the Wii would have finally got switched on, had any of the controllers had batteries in them. I warned the younger children that their older sister was going to win, because she was still busy tidying her room up.
Only she wasn’t, it transpires.
At 12:30pm I fetched the winner’s certificate, and accompanied by Little Miss 5, and Little Miss 6, made my way upstairs. On the way, Miss 10’s bedroom door slammed shut. Upon trying to open it, it became obvious she was leaning against it from the other side. Not the sharpest tool in the box - when faced with a Dad who weighs about four times as much on the other side of the door, who do you think was going to win?
As she gave way and the door opened, she began her defence…
“I need more time!”
I laughed out loud. Her bedroom had somehow gone from pretty impressively tidy half an hour earlier to rubbish tip now.
I shouted “You lose!” and started writing the certificate out to stick on the younger children’s door. Miss 10 theatrically threw herself at the floor - or rather the layer of books, colouring, and dolls that covered it.
As I wandered back down the stairs, I could hear a tearful voice shouting “It’s SO not fair”