Parenting Humor
Your Teen's Bedroom

The time is 9:45PM. My husband is with my son, Thing Two, at the ball game. My daughter, Thing One, is sleeping over at a friend's. I have decided to take this opportunity of solitude to catch up on some much needed housecleaning, following in the footsteps of my mother who often stayed up until 11:00PM cleaning up after the six of us.

For the umpteenth time, not thinking of the consequences, I plug the vacuum into the outlet which shares it's electricity with the outlet the air conditioner is plugged into. I switch on the vacuum, and instantly, I am in the dark. Where is my electrician husband when I need him? On second thought, I would only get a scolding with a grin, as he directed me to our son's room where the breaker box is, saying, "I'm not going in there...You blew it, you do it!"

When I have to enter my 13 year old son's room, two feelings usually come over me. The first is disgust for his obvious disrespect for neatness, organization, and cleanliness. The second is sympathy for the creatures he shares his room with and his future wife.

My father always told me to be prepared for emergencies, and I have often thought about just this type of thing happening. I would keep an Emergency Bedroom Entry Kit in the linen closet by my son's bedroom. It would contain the following:

A flashlight cleverly concealed as a bottle of cleaner, so no one would steal the batteries from it.

A pair of rubber gloves and wire cutters to disarm the intruder alarm he rigged up to keep his sister out.

A hard hat to protect myself from the booby trap designed to bean his sister on the head if she ignored the alarm.

One of those things on the front of trains that push cows out of the way; what are they called cow pushers? to push the stuff littering the floor off to the sides as I move along.

Emergency rations for the lizard, hamster, and mouse, in case they haven't been recently fed and have that pleading look in their eyes as they jump against the sides of their cages.

And a medal of honor to pin on myself, if I should be lucky enough to come out alive.

I had every intention of someday assembling this kit. Really, I did, but, as I always tell my kids, "was gonna" doesn't count. Now that I am faced with entering this forsaken space alone and in the dark, a new and third feeling begins to emerge...spine-tingling dread. Well, at least I have the flashlight under my side of the bed. I put it there myself this afternoon. The weight of it tells me the batteries are still in it, but when I click it on, I find it's dead and so is the culprit who used it up. Well, you know what I mean.

As I make my way to my son's bedroom, I instinctively draw a deep breath, summon my strength and tell myself, "Brace yourself, Woman. We're going in!" I breathe again and open the door just a crack, with one finger in one ear. No alarm. So far, so good. A little further now, and "Mr-r-reow!" If ever that cat could scare me, it was now! What is the cat doing locked up in the bedroom? I sniff and catch that lovely scent of cat urine, probably in his favorite spot on the bed by the mouse cage. It looks like I'll be doing laundry tonight, too.

I push again with steady pressure, crushing and compacting whatever is laying behind the door while I squeeze through. As I begin to pray that I haven't damaged anything valuable to a 13 year old, I hear a slight snap overhead and wish that I had that hard hat. I duck instead, and a ball bounces by me and on down the hall. When I am able to squeeze through, I slowly stoop to the floor and assume the position of a human cow pusher on all fours. This, I feel, is my safest bet in reaching the breaker box on the opposite wall. A few yards never seemed so far away.

I crawl along and pretend I am in preschool again, playing with the feely box. What's this? Oh, it's a sock...a dirty sock. And this is...wait a second...a backpack, still full of what the desk at school used to hold. And this is, "OUCH!" After a curse, a rub, and a boo-boo kiss, I continue onward toward my goal, certain that when the lights come on, I will see the imprint of a Lego on my left knee.

Hey, this is my tape. I was looking for that. I stuff it into my pocket. With the next hand placement I slide forward on a stack of comic books, and land on my stomach and the tape. My "thud" on the floor alerts the dog and she starts barking, wildly. Fortunatley, for both of us, she was put in the kitchen to keep her safe from that monsterous vacuum.

I send a long-distance message to the dog, and when all is hushed I can hear the quiet pounding of the hamster as he throws himself against the glass wall of his cage. Feeding time will have to wait, sorry. Then I give him reassuring kissy noises. This lets the mouse know I am about, but the lizard is probably already asleep.

Finally, I reach the bed. I fumble around hoping I don't find the wet spot, but there it is. My brain sends to my hand the jump-back reflex command which causes me to back-hand the metal mouse cage sending it rattling to the floor. This is not the first time the mouse has met the floor. Hopefully, he was in his sock this time, too. Of course, this means there will be more mouse poop on the floor than usual, under my bare feet, in the dark.

I climb onto the bed shooing away the many stuffed animal friends that are guarding the piles of clean clothes that haven't yet found their way into the dresser. I reach up and run my fingers along the homemade posters of Pokemon characters until I locate the box. Now comes the easy part. I feel for the breakers that have flipped themselves to the other side and put them back into position.

The lights go on, and so does the air conditioner, and, oh great! the vacuum! Now I run hurdles back through the bedroom and out to the vacuum to try and yank the plug out of the wall before the air conditioner comes on full blast.

I make it, and, just as I find the ball with my foot, the dog starts barking, the front door opens, and I land in my husband's arms. "Wow! What's going on here?" he asks. "Don't ask. Just go and move that circuit box out of Thing Two's room. Now! And you, Thing Two, go clean your room!" Thing Two protests, "Now?" My husband just smiles and hands me my medal - a box of popcorn from the game.

This story is mostly based on fact although the facts weren't neccessarily facts all at the same time as depicted in this story. The names, ages, and genders have been cleverly changed at the insistance of Thing Two to protect the innocent, namely the author!