Seriously.  Dante could have included Snacky’s bedroom in his Divine Comedy. In the “Inferno,” NOT the “Paradiso.” The perfect spot for lazy teenagers in the after-life.

Before I explain, though, let me weave in a little context.  Our house is divided up into three well-defined social segments.

The master suite is off by itself in the southeast corner of the house.  I was recently at a discussion group with a feng shui expert (by way of a good friend who’s into feng shui), and learned that this very southeast corner is considered very conducive to love and companionship.  Well, I’ll admit it, then.  I do love my husband.  He’s a pretty good guy — despite his refusal to let me be warm in the wintertime.

The common areas of the house are on the ground floor.  The living room/dining area/kitchen are all one big open space, and there’s a hallway leading to another living area.  Very social arrangement.  These are the areas, along with the front porch in good weather, where the family hangs out.  And we DO hang out a lot.

The upstairs is the kids’ territory.  Three bedrooms and a bathroom.  Just for them.  And their friends.

As you may imagine, I don’t spend a lot of time upstairs.  My forays into teenage territory mostly consist of putting laundry away, and delivering snacks to teenage boys intensely involved in the technological trinity of texting, facebooking, and gaming.  (Far be it from me to interrupt or otherwise interfere with the fine dance that is teenage social networking.)

Since the kids have all this space to themselves, I expect (foolishly, I might add) that they can keep their areas neat and clean.

Snacky’s door is always closed.  He’s a private guy and doesn’t like for people to be in his stuff (so I’m sure he’ll appreciate my telling the internet this story).  He likes to have things arranged JUST SO.  This you can tell just by looking at him.  Snacky is always well-dressed and well-groomed.  He has a wardrobe that would rival any diva’s, and a virtual museum of (very expensive) shoes.  Snacky never leaves the house without donning a well-chosen ensemble.  His room is likewise very tidily arranged.  Everything has a place.  Although I’m not sure why some things are in there — like empty shoe boxes and an old ACT registration packet (he took the ACT months ago) — I simply cannot deny that, in Snacky’s room, there is a place for everything and everything IS in it’s place.

That’s why walking into his room this morning caused me a moment of cognitive dissonance.  Everything was neat.  Everything was in it’s place.  BUT.

The dust!  The debris!  The little pieces of candy/gum/throat lozenge wrapper!  The entire room was coated with PARTICLES and PIECES of THINGS.

No wonder his “allergies” have been bothering him.  He’s been snorting dust.  I can’t believe he’s not trailing a cloud of it when he leaves his room.

I should have just waited for him when he gets home from school today.  Shoved a dust rag, Windex, and vacuum cleaner at him, and forced him to get to it.  But the mother in me took over.  Anything I want anyone to do can much more easily and efficiently — not to mention more COMPLETELY — accomplished if I do it myself.  So I’m pretty strategic about what I require the husband and kids to do around the house.  Plus I felt a little guilty that I had just now noticed what had to be several weeks worth of build-up.  A requirement of motherhood is that you feel responsible for pretty much anything having to do with your kids, whether you have the least bit to do with it or not.

Anyway.  For the sake of my son’s sinuses, and because I am the control-freak that I am, I re-entered his lair, armed with the supplies mentioned above, and within 20 minutes had it dust- and debris-free.  I’m not sure if he’ll notice on his own, but I’m planning to give him a tour of the newly-liberated surfaces in his room as soon as he gets home!

As my family will tell you, there’s nothing like Mama on a Mission.  Inspired by my own handiwork in Snacky’s room, I decided to tackle the kids’ bathroom.  One word:  UGH!  I won’t even think about detailing that endeavor.  You may well be sipping coffee, or snacking, as you’re reading my blog, and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s upset stomach.

Now, my house free of the most egregious dust and grime, I feel that I can get on with my day.  The sun is shining, things are blooming, and Mama Nature is calling me outside.  The domestic goddess in me tells me it’s time to plant some basil in the backyard pots. . .

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