We've had a few issues with chores lately. No one wants to do anything to clean up a mess someone else might have made. "It's HIS mess!" and "It's not MY job!" and "I didn't do it" and "They're not MY things!" are cries that echo these bruised and smudged walls of late.
And in response, my own voice joins the raucous din :"I don't actually CARE who made the mess. Ultimately it's MY house, and I will decide who cleans what!"
or "It's YOUR room - go and clean it before the timer rings or I'll remove everything I find on the floor and keep it until next Monday!" (this has become known as loosing things to the Monday basket. Which was originally accurate, as I used an empty laundry basket to gather and collect the confiscated items. But then I got slack on doing the laundry and eventually the other 16 baskets I owned got filled, so I had to use the remaining basket for laundry, and now I threaten the Monday basket more than I use it. Because to actually USE it, I'd have to empty it first!)
Recently, on a (somewhat regular) mad panic to get out the door for church on time, I grabbed a packet of Ritz crackers. To feed my noisy children during the service, because I find the sound of them crunching on biscuits at the back far preferable to the sound of them swearing and fighting at the front.
(Yes, that has happened. I have serenely and silently picked up a child in each arm and regally swept down the church aisle, removing them from centre stage, so they can continue their punch up in the car park rather than under the pastor's feet. It must be very challenging to deliver a sermon on unfailing love or eternal forgiveness when you have 2 small boys laying in to each other beneath the pulpit. Perhaps "turn the other cheek" might have been appropriately re-eneacted that day!)
Normally I don't take crackers. They are too crumbly and dry and leave a large mess on carpeted floors when consumed by small ravenous children (whom I am certain skip breakfast on Sunday mornings so they have room for an entire packet of chocolate or Scotch Finger biscuits)
But this day, it was the first thing I grabbed on my way out the door.
And so, half an hour later, the Honey Girl and Pants sat on the floor, quietly and amicably (excuse me - WHO are those children and where did my own go?!) chatting and sharing some crackers.
And making one giant crumbly mess. Partly because for every bite one took, she or he also dropped about a third of the biscuit on the floor in crumb-form. And partly because for every sentence spoken, she or he managed to spit about half their mouthful onto either their sibling or the floor.
When I noticed the rapidly growing mound of cracker crumbs, rising before the sound desk I hurried over to my adored offspring.
"Hey you two!" I whispered "You've made a big mess! Look at all these crumbs! You'll have to sweep it up when you're finished. We can't leave it like that. Honey Girl and Levi, when you're finished eating, ylu need to clean up this mess."
"No we don't" the Honey Girl retorted
"It's Jesus' house - He can clean it"!
