“Sumar! Clean your room or you are not going out tonight!” I shouted as I heard my daughter scurry up the steps to her bedroom. I’d like to think of my daughter as a responsible person, but sometimes, I have to remind her of her duties. I hear her as she runs around upstairs then finally, rush down the steps, grab her coat, and steps into the kitchen to say goodbye.
“Bye Mom!” she says.
“Did you clean your room as I asked?” I reply.
“Mom, it’s Friday night. Can I please just do it tomorrow morning? I promise,” she pleaded.
“No, I’ve given you plenty of times. Please go upstairs and do it now!” I insisted.
I finally gave in, feeling quite trusting after looking into her seemingly innocent brown eyes to let it pass again and hope to see a terrific room in the morning. The next morning came and to my surprise as I walked into her room. It seemed as though a bomb had exploded. Her clothes lay astray on the floor. Plates of food had morphed into living creatures and magazines lay in piles throughout the room. I felt as though I were in a maze to even try to find her bed.
“Sumar!” I shrieked.
My daughter came rushing up the stairs. The expression on her face was complete confusion.
“What's wrong, Mom?” she asked, clueless.
I began to walk her through the jungle, formally known as her room and pointed out everything that needed to be done. She was not pleased, but I had to do it. I was so disappointed in her lack of responsibility. About 4 hours, 3 trash bags, and one roll of paper towels later, my daughter had finished and I could finally breathe a little easier.