Ruthless Mother Relents

It was not pretty, happy, or enjoyable.  I was ruthless.  There were occasional tears and several bouts of lecturing on "How to Treat a Party Dress" and "You Do Not Need to Save Scraps of Paper in Old Make-Up Compacts."  My blood pressure was elevated and so was theirs.  You see, yesterday was "Declutter the Bedroooms" day.  The participants were: one mission-minded, garage sale-planning mother, and 8 & and 10-year-old hoarders.  You'd think I was extracting teeth without anesthetic.

There were moments of victory when the girls were able to part with a garbage bag full of formerly beloved stuffed animals, when they were coaxed into separating their Siamese twin beds so they can actually MAKE them in the mornings, and when they relented on the menagerie of crooked, homemade pillows I was not-so-secretly stuffing in garbage bags.  Note to self:  black garbage bags next time.  You can see through the white ones!

The climax of the story is pinioned on this....

My daughter had transplanted a clipping from my ficus houseplant last year in the lid of a CD-R case.  She'd set it in a sunny window and carefully watered it for months.  Until she didn't.  At first glance it was completely brown and headed for the trash.  "Wait," she screamed.  "It's got a green leaf on it."  I looked closely, and by golly, there was indeed a sole survivor.  "Not enough," I said, ruthlessly.  "Garbage." 

She looked at me as if I was putting down a puppy.  She set out like Fern trying to rescue Wilbur from the chopping block in Charlotte's Web.  Her face got red and tears sprung up.  "How could you throw it away?  It's alive.   Alive!" 

That got me.  I just couldn't paint myself as the grim reaper.  I mean, broken plastic horses and holey, homespun scarves is one thing, but a plant representing the hope of restoration...that's another.  I relented with a testy, "Find a place where I don't have to look at it, please." 

Like the Israelites, we had wandered in the wilderness, wrestled with our attitudes among shelves of craft supplies and piles of furry friends, we'd prayed for deliverance, and yes, entered the sparkling, organized, decluttered space of Canaan at the end of the day. 

To celebrate, we popped out the bedroom screens and climbed out for the first time onto the porch roof, where I read them a story I had written and illustrated in college, about, of all things, a little girl and a plant. 

Mission accomplished.

 They are like trees planted along the riverbank,
      bearing fruit each season.
   Their leaves never wither,
      and they prosper in all they do.  -Psalm 1:3