Yesterday was torture the kids day housecleaning, er, rather toyroom cleaning day. I swear how can three boys literally destroy a room like that? I called Ed to tell him that I'm an absolute failure as a wife and mother for letting their designated room become such a disaster but he pointed out that you kind of have to turn to get into that room and I am really very good at not turning but simply averting my eyes so that I can say, "Huh? Nope, haven't been in there. The boys tell me it's clean though." Listening to your three young boys, most definitely NOT a good thing.

Cleaning a toyroom is not for the faint of heart. You must be heartless or at least cover your heart in a thick coating of steel. Send the children away so they're not witness to your cruelty. I locked mine in the barn and handcuffed them to a stall. I wanted them far, far away because I just knew they'd be able to distinguish the individual sounds of their favorite broken toy and would attempt a mutiny. I braced them for the inevitable, "This has to be done guys. Be brave little ones. Be brave." I withstood their screams and insults, "Mom's throwing away ALL our stuff including the TV, couch, and EVERYTHING!" "Let's call the police. I'll bet it's against the law to throw away your kids' stuff!" That one kinda scared me because I could totally see Kenny dialing 911 and after having the police show up on our doorstep because a neighbor said when we mowed we got GRASS on his DRIVEWAY, I am deathly afraid of the police showing up. Not only that but I'm reserving my "Honey the police are here" for when Kenny turns teenager.

I began.

Armed with three trash bags I started the sorting process - burnable, keep, dumpster (Ed takes a bag into work sometimes containing glass, cans, or non burnable items) (Crap, his boss probably just read that. Hope that's OK Jeff!) I quickly realized that if I sorted every item this was going to take several days so I gave that up on favor of the swooshing/dump method - I swooshed it all in the center and dumped it into bags. Seriously, I did this. I removed all the tables, couch cushions (there's my tape dispenser!), quickly grabbed a few of the game boy games and good books, then dumped every last bit of it. I think I counted several hundred broken Happy Meal Toys, enough gum wrappers to supply a gang of high school girls, and many unknown substances that were quite frightening.

Seven bags later (no, you read that right) I was ready to start cleaning. A gallon of cleaner later and the room just sparkles. The walls were washed, cowebs removed, gum scraped up, all that really fun stuff. I even dusted the little vent thingy's on the back of the TV. I mean, I was rocking! I unlocked the boys and gave in to their demands for bread and water then let them in, prepared for the onslaught. They loved it. They thanked me profusely and were pleased to see that their very favorite toys of all time were saved. And they promised me they will keep it clean. Forever. Yeah, right.