It was a disaster area.  Everywhere you looked there was something on the ground.  Piles upon piles.  My eyes started to tear up and I could feel my anger rising.

“What did you do?!?”

“I made burfday cake!  See?  burfday cake YOU!” my two year old said, handing me a handful of crumpled shirts.

In the time since waking up, he had pulled open every drawer and thrown his and his brother’s clothes everywhere, then covered them up with the blanket, pillows, and stuffed animals from his bed.  Just as he had two days before.  And three days before that.  To think, his delighted cries of, “HAPPY BURFDAY HAPPY BURFDAY MOMMY HAPPY BURFDAY TO YOU HAPPY BURFDAY DADDY HAPPY BURFDAY HAPPY BUFDAY!!!!!!!” had, just minutes before, woken me up, bringing a smile to my face.  Only to walk in to this.  Again.

After each previous time, we’d had a serious discussion about how taking all the clothes out was not ok, that he shouldn’t do it again, that it makes lots of work for me that I wouldn’t normally have to do.  After the last time, I’d even brought in special toys, just for him to play with in the morning.  But those sat to the side in their box, clearly untouched.  I was getting overwhelmed looking around at the sheer mountain of folding I had in front of me.  Again.

But rather than lose it, I took a deep breath and calmly said, “Okay, well, this is your mess, so you have to clean it up.  Then we can go down for breakfast.  I will help you by showing you where things go, but you have to clean the whole mess up because you made the whole mess.  Are you ready?  Let’s start!” mustering enthusiasm I didn’t feel, but knowing it could make all the difference.

It didn’t.  He got through picking up his blanket and getting halfway to his bed before the tantrum started.  He screamed.  He kicked on the ground.  He ordered me out of his room.  I sat outside, giving him space to learn to calm himself down, but close enough to come if he needed me.  And eventually he did.

We finished getting all his bedding back in the bed (if not exactly made…only two or three stops for more tears) and then it was time to tackle the clothes.  I had initially thought he could just put all the clothes where they belonged and I would go back and fold them properly, but he insisted on bringing it to me for folding, helping me smooth the clothing down, commenting on how he loved that shirt, or how those pants were cozy, how excited he was to be able to wear a sweatshirt that used to be his brother’s.  And though there were certainly moments of annoyance and irritation on my part – is it possible for a toddler to do anything without getting distracted or dawdling?  I think not – but in the end, the two and a half hour ordeal was kind of…dare I say it?  Wonderful.

I left that clean room feeling triumphant.  I hadn’t lost my temper (much), and my toddler had learned that his messes are his responsibility.  Or at least, he started down the road of learning it.  Now I think I’ve jinxed it and will probably wake up tomorrow to the same mess all over again.

And when that happens, I’ll know exactly what to do.

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If you’ve ever been in this situation, and found yourself screaming at your child, trust me, I’ve been there, and it’s certainly something I still struggle with.  But over the years, I’ve learned quite a few tricks to help me deal and I want to share them with you.  Click here to grab Seven Ways to Not Yell, A Guide to Calming Your Body & Mind before Blowing Your Top!