I am sweating. John and I just finished mucking out Josie and Louisa's room for the umpteenth time. This time, however, was different. I finally found something that motivates them.

We've tried helping them (we end up doing all of it). We've tried making their allowance dependent on their keeping things tidy. We've tried bribes, threats, indifference, example, you name it. Finally two weeks ago in a fit of anger at being ignored after the fifth request for the girls to pick up their dolls lying all over the living room, I picked them up myself and put the whole bundle in timeout.

The girls were appalled. "Our favorite dolls are in there!" If they were your favorites, why were they lying on the living room floor abandoned and uncared-for? It took them three days of good behavior and cleaning up after themselves to get the dolls back, and they were much better about keeping picked up. For a while.

After the last muck-out of their room--and I do mean muck-out--I told them that next time there would be consequences. After the doll incident I told them that's what the consequences would be. I gave them two weeks, with ample reminders and even some assistance, and Josie did make a half-hearted effort.

When they come back from their play date this afternoon across the street, they'll find their room is different. We've moved the furniture for starters, and the room looks and feels much bigger now and it gives Lou more of a space of her own.

We've also removed 3 full boxes of toys to a hidden location. We left all "security" toys--toys with extra special meaning, like Lou's Cherrystone Bear and Josie's Uncle Tony Bear--alone.

We're not going to say anything. We're going to see how long it takes them to notice. We know they'll notice the furniture being moved and the room being torn apart and put back together.

This has been the year of getting our act together. We just got tired of everything being in chaos, and I mean everything. We have made a lot of progress--sold some things that needed to go, given away a whole lot more that needed to go--and we're replacing things like our old worn-out washer, which has finally rusted to the point of no return. The new-to-us replacement arrives tomorrow and I'm so excited you'd think it was something cool that was coming instead of a washer.

The kitchen is staying cleaner and it's a pleasant place to sit now. The girls have breakfast waiting for them when they get up. The desk is manageable. This month we'll be working in the basement to get it set up as workspace for both John--a garage woodshop--and the girls and me--sewing and weaving space, and room to get at the piano for Josie.

John thinks we just got tired of the chaos. My personal theory is that it became clear that I am going to live. The heart attack was a one-time fluke. I've gotten and am getting better. We can make plans for the future. The 17th of this month will be four years post-heart attack, and I'm finally gaining my strength back. That's what I think.

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