When our oldest daughter moved into her own bedroom, she
grew plants. At one time we counted 43 beautiful plants in her 9 x 12 square foot
room. That’s a great accomplishment for a teen, especially keeping them alive.
She babied her plants, watered and fertilized them. That
wouldn’t be bad, but her door opened into a hallway and across from the doorway
into the kitchen.
That still doesn’t sound bad until you add the two weeks of
clothes littering the room, her school work in piles and of course, the smell
of the fish oil used on the plants.
Her father and I figured a dirty bedroom didn’t hurt anyone—until
the smell permeated the kitchen.
Before we invited guests I hung signs on her door:
Disaster Area
Gas Mask Required Upon Entry
Hard Hat Area
Clean it Out Today or
Else
Open the Door with
Caution
I have no idea what the “or else” might have included
because daughter always complied to the signs.
Sometimes I do wonder if those signs are what created such a
perfectionist. Her house, even when her children were little, was and is, always
spotless.
Wish that daughter lived closer now, she could teach me a few organization skills. My house isn’t
bad, but my office—oh my. Wonder if I added house plants if it might "feel" better?
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