boy genes (lyn)

Alexander likes a neat apartment.  So do I.  The difference though, is that Alexander likes the apartment to be neat; he lately seems incapable of contributing to that goal.

When he takes off his coat, wherever it lands, it stays.  And you can be sure it’s not landing in the closet.  He changes outfits two to three times a day.  His bedroom chair is the receptacle for whatever he wears.  At any given time, there will be a couple pairs of jeans (a different pair everyday), a pair of nylon shorts, some stray socks (why bother putting them in the laundry bin two feet away; there’s effort involved in removing the lid), at least three T-shirts, and maybe a sweater or sweatshirt.  Alexander does his homework at the dining room table so every morning there are papers scattered all over.  He finishes one subject and moves on to the next, without ever cleaning up the remains from the first subject.  I don’t know how he keeps it all straight.  And if he takes a bottle of water to drink, wherever he is when he is done with that bottle (done as in he’s not drinking anymore, not done as in the bottle is empty), that’s where the bottle remains.  It could be on a table.  In his bedroom.  On the living room buffet.  The possibilities are endless. 

And so I have become a nag.

The other night we were watching an episode of 24.  In it, the invincible Jack Bauer is going undercover where he’ll infiltrate a vicious terrorist group and single handedly save the world.   Actually, this was supposed to be secret agent Walker’s assignment, but Jack insists on accompanying her because he’s in love and wants to protect her.  Agent Walker is not happy with this arrangement.  She’s strong enough, buff enough, and smart enough to fight off ten armed and evil men without Jack.  But here they are, in a car, on their way to a clandestine meeting, and Alexander says, “That would be you.  You wouldn’t want me to go alone so you’d have to tag along.”  I smile.  But then he adds, “I can just imagine our conversation.  You’d be saying, listen, as soon as we’re done ridding the world of this threat, I want you to organize your notebooks, make a list of what you need to do for this week, and put your clothes away.”  He’s right.  We could never be secret agents together.

So this morning, I get up, shower, and then walk into the living room.  It’s a mess.  So is the kitchen.  Both were neat when I went to bed last night.  Alexander is sitting on the sofa with a bowl of blueberries on his lap.  He appears to be eating in slow motion. I can’t help myself.  I voice my concerns.  And Alexander says, “You know mom.  I hear the shower running.  Then it’s off.  I’m sitting here on the sofa quietly eating my blueberries and then I hear you.  You forgot to put the dishes you used in the dishwasher.  Your stuff is still all over the dining table.  Why are you eating so slowly?” He laughs.  And I do too.  He may be messy, but that’s somewhat expected for a teenaged boy.  But I’m becoming a nag.  Something I definitely don’t want to be.