We used to have a rule: no eating in the bedrooms. At least, I think it used to be a rule, I remember making it a rule, and I remember that it didn’t used to be an issue. Regardless, we’re a different family now–with teenagers (my own and all the extras) and, I confess, my own wandering tea cup–gathering the wayward dishes has become a regular part of my housekeeping routine.
I still hear myself saying, “Please don’t take that to your room!” but that doesn’t necessarily mean that my request will be honored. I do have to credit my son as he is a bit of a neat freak and he doesn’t want the crumbs or mess in his room so he doesn’t ever (and I mean EVER) take food or dishes into his room. But, his sisters, well, that’s an entirely different kettle of dishes.
After all, I can climb into the head of a seventeen-year-old (after all, I did used to be one–and one who collected dirty dishes under her bed as well)–why eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table when you can lounge, chat with your friends, listen to music, watch TV and whatever else in your room over your bowl of macaroni and cheese or microwaved leftover pizza? What logic is there–to the seventeen-year-old–in some boring, sterile snack when it can be part of the wallowing experience in the cave-like den of a teenage room?
So, dishes disappear. Sometimes, they reappear without my having to gather them, but often it is me gathering dishes, mumbling, grumbling and issuing ultimatums. I do have one daughter who has taken the situation to new levels and she will stack her dishes on the wide banister in the upstairs hall as if she was leaving her room service tray for the maid staff in a four-star hotel. While they’re not rotting on her desk or under the bed, it’s still a fairly gross and presumptuous situation.
I haven’t given up, and I definitely haven’t given in–but I am looking forward to the day when all my dishes are present and accounted for…in the kitchen.