Mein Kampf
OK. It is official. I am Hitler.
My children were goose stepping around the room, extending their arms over and over, and chanting “Heil Hitler!” in authentic German accents.
Why? you may ask.
Well… because I told them, in no uncertain terms, that as long as they were living in my house, they would have to make their beds and brush their teeth. Every day. I know, I know, cruel and unusual punishment at its most extreme.
Life in the fascist regime gets even worse, though, because I also told them that, in addition to making their beds and brushing their teeth, they would have to… (gasp!) clean their rooms.
I know. I am anxiously awaiting the call from Child and Youth Services.
While I may be Hitler, I am also a Hitler who believes in leading by example. Thus, I make my own bed every day and brush my teeth (multiple times a day) and try to keep my bedroom in relative order. This last task is somewhat complicated by the fact that my children persist in dumping their crap in my room, just as they deposit it all over the entire house. Nonetheless, I went on to assist my children in the actual cleaning of their rooms by giving them Hefty trash bags, clean sheets, and repetitive, specific instructions.
Did I mention that it would be an understatement to say that their rooms looked like the lost luggage hall at the airport after a bomb had gone off? I mean, if you physically cannot walk across a room, or even see the carpet, because there is so much crap all over the place, that is kind of an indicator that something needs to be done. At least, that is what Hitler thinks. Not so tween/teens!
I informed my children that I would not need to become “Hitlerish” (their term of endearment) if they would simply do what they were supposed to do and not let their rooms become giant pig sty messes. They were not buying any of my Aryan logic, however. No matter. They still spent several hours learning that “Arbeit Macht Frei.”
They did what they needed to do, went on about their day, asked for hugs, helped unload groceries from the car, and cleared the table after dinner.
Beds are made, teeth are cleaned, and I can at least see what color the carpets are in their rooms.
The Hitler Jugend are alive and well in this household!
My children were goose stepping around the room, extending their arms over and over, and chanting “Heil Hitler!” in authentic German accents.
Why? you may ask.
Well… because I told them, in no uncertain terms, that as long as they were living in my house, they would have to make their beds and brush their teeth. Every day. I know, I know, cruel and unusual punishment at its most extreme.
Life in the fascist regime gets even worse, though, because I also told them that, in addition to making their beds and brushing their teeth, they would have to… (gasp!) clean their rooms.
I know. I am anxiously awaiting the call from Child and Youth Services.
While I may be Hitler, I am also a Hitler who believes in leading by example. Thus, I make my own bed every day and brush my teeth (multiple times a day) and try to keep my bedroom in relative order. This last task is somewhat complicated by the fact that my children persist in dumping their crap in my room, just as they deposit it all over the entire house. Nonetheless, I went on to assist my children in the actual cleaning of their rooms by giving them Hefty trash bags, clean sheets, and repetitive, specific instructions.
Did I mention that it would be an understatement to say that their rooms looked like the lost luggage hall at the airport after a bomb had gone off? I mean, if you physically cannot walk across a room, or even see the carpet, because there is so much crap all over the place, that is kind of an indicator that something needs to be done. At least, that is what Hitler thinks. Not so tween/teens!
I informed my children that I would not need to become “Hitlerish” (their term of endearment) if they would simply do what they were supposed to do and not let their rooms become giant pig sty messes. They were not buying any of my Aryan logic, however. No matter. They still spent several hours learning that “Arbeit Macht Frei.”
They did what they needed to do, went on about their day, asked for hugs, helped unload groceries from the car, and cleared the table after dinner.
Beds are made, teeth are cleaned, and I can at least see what color the carpets are in their rooms.
The Hitler Jugend are alive and well in this household!
posted by delta at 8:46 PM
1 Comments:
send 'em over to my house now...
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