There is only one "my room." Would you like to guess whose room that is? It's mine. All the other rooms are mine, as well, because they are all rooms in my house in which you live rent free with a chip on your shoulder because I asked you to pick up your clothes, which are, you guessed it, also mine. Some of them are literally mine and you've taken them, the rest I just bought, cleaned and folded.
Oh to be a preteen and have such a narrow view of the world that revolves around oneself and such a bleak grasp on reality.
Preteen, when you tell me to get out of YOUR room, I stand in confusion trying to understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.
Everything you think is yours is not yours. It's mine. Misbehave and I can move things fast. That $10 GG gave you for Christmas may just end up in a Swiss bank account. Just kidding, more likely your college savings account, which to you is just as bad.
Cue evil laugh.
Come at me with "That's not fair" and I will monologue so hard about fairness you will wish you were back in school.
So I will come and go as I please for a plethora of reasons. When I walk into your room with laundry that is cleaned and folded you could say, "Thanks, Mom, I'll put it away," not, "Why are you in my room?"
Now that we've gone over the fact that it's not your room, we should probably also go over the fact that you are not the asker of questions because you are not the boss. You know what? If you were the boss, this would be your room, but as it stands neither of those things are true.
To be the boss and to have your own room, you have to first learn to take care of yourself and your things. Therefore, when you are 18 and leave this house, you will be prepared for the workload of having your own place and caring for it and anyone you might be sharing that space with.
Spoiler, if I'm paying for it, it's still not yours. So best figure out how to make money in the outside world, too.
Now, I'm not saying things can't be ours and I'm not saying you can't have some privacy.
But while rooms are mine and I'm training you how to live on the outside, let's practice gratefulness, respectfulness and tread carefully when using sassy tones.
I love you to the moon and back, my sweet little tenant of a child.
Jen Reekie was born and raised in Quincy and received a communications degree at the University of Kansas, which has come in quite handy as she communicates every day with four children who don't hear a word she says. This stay-at-home mom enjoys the challenge, though, and shares her experiences in this blog, "Mum's the Word." She welcomes your feedback, questions and stories about staying sane while raising kids.