May I Hang up Your Coat?

I seem to have a manic decorator in my midst. And I mean "midst" quite literally, as this creative energy is bursting from a middle child, starting with her bedroom in the center of the house.

It started with her posting ALL of the pictures from one calendar side by side on her bedroom wall. The calendar featured whimsical fairies in various poses and costumes, so seemed really quite typical for a little girl's tastes, and I let it slide without comment. A few months later, more pictures--original artwork this time--appeared on her walls. Again, it was her room, so no big deal.

Lately, however, her walls have become more crowded. I frowned when I saw her backpack and her jacket nailed up by her bedroom door, as though she lived in a log cabin, and those have come down.

A couple of weeks ago, she helped her baby brother clean his room. I was thrilled, touched, relieved--all the positive feelings a mother can have in such an event as that. Until bedtime, when I went in and saw dozens of stickers plastered all over his closet doors.

It seems to be getting worse. The other night, I noticed her brown hair ribbon push-pinned into the wall among dozens of other things and asked her about it. Like, really, a hair ribbon!? She tucked her chin down in her shy way and said that she and her brother had been playing, and that had been his leash.

That there is no room for anything else has not slowed her down. Tacked up among what can really be called pictures are the following: a dream catcher, documents, a list of phone numbers, butterfly stickers, a paper doll, cutouts from magazines, a table of measures, an ad for Utah tourism, a CD, a cootie catcher, Primary handouts, a pedigree chart, photographs, bookmarks, and a plastic key chain with the six "Be's."

I'm not sure where she got her supply of push-pins, but she even has a broken lamp tacked up by string next to her bed so she can read at night, and--get this!--her scriptures.

Hilarious!

The hair ribbon in the wall led to a discussion about the growing vertical hoarding, and I made a rule: nothing else goes up without permission. She's a girl who quietly goes about doing the things that come into her mind. Most of her ideas are good--she's very thoughtful and helpful. But I've talked to her many times over the years of her life about not cutting and/or drawing on things that are not meant to be cut and/or drawn on.

Despite all this, last night, I found myself staring at flowers and stars drawn in orange and green magic marker on her light switch. I just pointed to it.

She blushed and got her shy look. We looked at each other.

"I'll wash it off," she said, barely audibly.

Earlier, she had asked if she could hang her science fair certificate. The certificate is not for winning, just for participating. I looked up from my perch on the kitchen floor where I sort the laundry into piles each Friday evening. "Yes," I said, "but take something else down."

I thought we finally understood each other. I really did.

Then, this morning, there was a squabble. I let my husband handle it because I was on my way to drive a teenager to two events (you know how it is) and get to a meeting of my own that was to start at the same time. (I was soon to arrive at the meeting giggling at this chapter of my hilarious life.) He put both this child and a different brother on time-out chairs. When I made a mad dash back in to get my wedding rings, I found out why.

My daughter and her brother had been fighting over whether or not she could hang up some things in his room.