I’m as perplexed as anyone over the willful mistreatment of items, furniture and clothes. To have come from a background of severe deprivation and lack, one might think that an older child would now appreciate a fairly middle class existence.
I’ve found that to not be so.
For 20 years I’ve fought the most unusual battles that seem to run through each set of siblings that I have adopted.
They fundamentally despise sheet sets. Forget a flat sheet, top sheet and matching pillowcases. Preferring a bare mattress which appalls me, twisting sheets around them at night until the corner seams split, and denuding the pillows on a regular schedule, I can totally forget the notion of a comforter dressing the bed. Throw pillows would obviously be an open invitation to weaponry warfare.
Making beds? Another of Mom's stupid rules, an invitation to rebellion.
This is a battle that I’m still waging here. My first four sets of siblings didn’t struggle with the sheets as much as the children I’ve adopted in the last ten years. An older son of mine attributes that, and every other idiosyncrasy, to the street drugs now used and abused. Crack and meth were not in the vocabularies of case studies from my children years ago, then it was marijuana and cocaine. That’s his theory, and I buy it.
Meanwhile, I kid you not; we’ve destroyed more than a dozen chests of drawers over the years. The children stuff everything in there until the boards buckle. Handles are hung on and swung on while the tops are scratched beyond redemption.
I hang everyone’s clean shirts up and return them to the correct rooms on hangars, I remind everyone to toss the dirty clothes in the laundry room, long since having given up on hitting a basket. Scotty will stuff dirty shirts in dresser drawers thus stinking up the socks and underwear that I’d washed. He’ll attempt to re-wear clothes constantly; baths are a battle…as if he dares anyone to get near to him; his own manner of standoffish behavior, often common in children who’ve been abused.
I’m finding a light at the end of the tunnel, my middle school children almost always seem to change overnight from dirty little boys into shower-taking, deodorant wearing youngsters who even change their socks everyday. Their attitudes slide then and we have those mouthy battles; they still seem to fight me on the sheet requirements but the progress in hygiene is often enough to make me smile.