Dear frends and relations, I write to report that things are going not too badly on the double-job sole-functioning-adult battlefield. I've received many offers of help, which has made this easier than I expected. I'm concentrating on keeping the kitchen clean, since I found out in a big hurry that I can't function at all when there is food left out (or left to rot), dishes unwashed, paper everywhere. (Bob obviously could, and now I know why I was disinclined to do much kitchen work!) The violins (girls', anyway, not mine) are getting practised most mornings; the girls getting to school on time with the papers, money, and food they need, and to violin lessons (Jean is starting to put the pieces of Gossec's Gavotte together, and Eleanor has started Twinkle Theme). Fortunately Brownies and my extracurriculars have finished, so we don't have to decide whether or not all that can be squeezed in. The laundry is progressing; I need to make signs to indicate whether the tucked-away-in-the-basement machines are full or empty, and Bob is managing to fold and instruct the girls to put their clothes away, so that helps. The girls are helping out most of the time when they're told: besides stowing their clothes, they can bring the dirties downstairs; set and clear the kitchen table; write down (or draw, in Eleanor's case) what they want me to pack for lunch, so I don't have to guess and deal with uneaten food; empty their backpacks on arrival and deal with the contents; fetch and carry for their father; keep their coats and shoes findable. There have been some fits pitched (by everyone) but on average tempers have been pretty amiable. Things were, if not humming along, then lurching in a forward direction, until... Listen, and you shall hear.
The girls' rooms, pigsties on the average day, have been getting worse, and mid-week I tried to go into Eleanor's room and couldn't; she had hauled her armchair out into the middle of the room in the path of the door, and climbed over, knocked down, smashed in, and dumped quite a few of the storage boxes that we've had to keep behind the chair in her room. They were formerly neatly piled on shelves in the back corner, and she was forbidden her to touch them, but we all know how much impact that kind of proclamation has. You couldn't walk across the room even if the door opened all the way, and me having absolutely no energy left, I called the SWAT team: my incredible sister-in-law Vicky. She's been known to completely empty a room full of junk and find places for absolutely everything, where I, when I figure out where to start, end up pretty much just moving piles around. She took pity on me, and she and John and Katherine descended Saturday afternoon.
While pulling out the wrecked storage boxes, they discovered more of this diabolical child's perfidy: within the last week or so, she had filled her laundry bucket with about two gallons of water ("doing science experiments to see what floated and what didn't", she said) and dumped it in the corner behind all the boxes, and then piled on tissues and towels, and left it. Knowing full well that I would lose my mind if I discovered it, she didn't tell me. Having Vicky find it was probably the only way Eleanor escaped grounding from anything fun ever again. (The fist-size hole this imp bored in the styrofoam covering the drafty window in the upstairs bathroom, spreading little white beads all over hell and creation, is a whole separate issue.)
So under Vicky's command the boxes were pulled out and emptied, anything ruined bundled into garbage bags, remaining non-kid storage put up high, books and clothes put in their proper places, and dry boxes filled with kid-owned detritus from the floor. Five large cartons. The floor was vacuumed and fans set up to dry out the carpet as much as possible, but boy does it stink in there. I can't imagine if I'd only discovered it after a few weeks. The next morning Eleanor and I went through the cartons, sorting out pieces of puzzles and Lego etc. and special things that she wanted to keep, throwing out garbage (a lot), and compiling one large carton of crappy plastic toys. I'm debating whether to take it to Value Village (since it's all OK to be resold) or just dump it, since plastic hell isn't something any other parent needs. Eleanor's room looks so incredible now, you wouldn't think it was the same place. And if she doesn't keep it tidy, I've a mind to strip it out and leave her with a pallet on the floor... I told her if she kept it clean for a week, I'd make her a crown to be the "Queen of Clean". (Pictures, I promise.) She seems reasonably motivated for now. So I can't thank Vicky and John enough, for not only tackling this horrible job, but acting as the disinterested third party that kept it from turning into a very, very bad day. Guys, I owe you big time.