Cold Feet, Clean Floor, Warm Heart

This stepmother finally did something right, from start to finish, and this morning, she is basking in her success.

Here's what happened:

In our house, you take your shoes off before you come inside. At the downstairs door, which leads into the garage, we have a little shoe rack and a little rug, and the idea is, you step onto the rug, you take off your shoes, you put them on the rack. (The reality is you step onto the rug, you take off your shoes, and you leave them in a pile on the rug. But I can live with that.)

Well, lately, since Jeep Boy's car doesn't fit into the garage and he parks on the street, he uses the upstairs door to come into the house. This door leads right into our living room, and he's gotten into the habit of leaving his shoes on the very nice rug in front of the front door.

Every morning, when Perfect Man comes down to start his day and sees them there, he asks Jeep Boy to please not leave his shoes by the front door, but carry them up to his room after he takes them off. And every morning Jeep Boy says, "Okay," and then forgets, and leaves them by the front door again the next day.

And now Hammerhead has started doing it, too. Four nasty-ass teenager shoes piled up on a beautiful wool rug in our living room every morning. Two nights ago, I asked both of them to please take their shoes up to their rooms and they both said, "Okay," and then they both didn't.

So before I went to bed, I opened the front door and put their shoes on the porch.

The next morning (yesterday), I made them both a delicious breakfast (Perfect Man is out of town on a business trip, so it's Second-In-Command Aunt Pillowhead here at the helm). They had smoothies and cheese omelet and I sectioned some fresh satsumas for them, so they started the day knowing I am on their side and love them to pieces.

Then I sat down with them and chatted about other things for a few minutes before I said this, with no anger, no tension, and no judgment in my voice whatsoever:

"Oh, guys--I have something to tell you. You know how your dad has asked you dozens of times to please not leave your shoes by the front door, and you forget and keep leaving them there?"

They nodded.

"And you know how last night I asked you both to please bring them up to your rooms and you said you would but then forgot?"

They nodded. Hammerhead's jaw set and his eyes darkened as he prepared to hate me.

"Okay, so New Rule: From now on, when I see your shoes by the front door, I'm going to put them outside. Last night I put them on the front porch, but every time I see them there, it's going to be farther and farther away from the door. I'm thinking that since asking you isn't working, maybe the experience of going outside into the cold morning, looking for them in your bare feet might. And remember, I have a pretty good arm, so they could very easily end up across the street one day, not necessarily in the same general area. Just so you know. Fair warning."

And here's where it got different: I didn't go on about "We've given you lots of chances" and "It's very frustrating to be ignored when we ask you over and over and over again" and "We're the ones who have to clean the floor and it's not fun to deal with mud and dirt three times a day." I figured they could piece that stuff together on their own, so I just ended it there, cheerfully.

Then I asked Jeep Boy if he'd found the copy of "Call Of The Wild" he'd asked me if I happened to have the night before (when he knocked on my bedroom door at 10:30, woke me up, and told me he was supposed to have it for school the next day. I'd sat up in bed, thought for a second, and said if I did, it it would be downstairs on the middle shelf with all the "Kazan" books that Brilliant & Kind loved when he was little).

"Yeah, thanks," Jeep Boy said. "That saved my ass."

And gradually, Hammerhead's jaw unset and his eyes returned to their light and sparkly selves again.

When they put their shoes on, they laughed to each other how cold they were and did a little "cold feet" dance.

And this morning, there were no shoes by the front door.