Tonight I am tired and on the verge of an irrational mommy breakdown over a rather insignificant thing. We had a lovely day today; we went to the gym, had a picnic for lunch and then spent a leisurely afternoon at the park.  Dinner and baths were even smooth sailing. 

Then came bedtime. 

While the babies went to bed easily, tuckered out from the day, the big kids flew into overtired stupidity resulting in the trashing of their room in rebellion of bed.

I am pissed.

I am soooo tired of picking up their room that I might scream.  I do it every day since the mess is suffocating to me, often beckoning me from other rooms just to give me a mini panic attack by flaunting the never-ending laundry pile, the scattered clean clothes from dressers and the broken unappreciated toys.

The problem is that this is such a pointless (and endless) cycle.

I clean it.  They trash it.  I throw away toys, clothes and junk.  They get more toys, clothes and junk.  I rant, rave and holler.  They laugh—then I clean.

So, what do I do?  At five and three they are capable of cleaning up after themselves, but are perfectly happy leaving in the mess from hell.  They look around and see all there beloved treasures right where they want them.  I see mess.

“Don’t throw away my art, mommy!  It’s special to me” Brooklyn screams over every piece of paper she’s touched.

“That’s my puppy bed! DON’T!!!!!!!!!” Kyan cries as I pack up one of the many Costco boxes cluttering the house.

So where is the balance for kid’s treasures and my need to organize and declutter?  Do I try and ignore their mess, hoping that they embrace the outlet for their creativity?

Or do I lay the smack down and throw every little thing away until they learn that they have to play by MY rules?

Or, fly off into a tangent at the mess and run off to vent to my blog, then return to their room, sigh my sigh of defeat and clean it all over again.

Yep, we all know which one it’s going to be.  Sigh.