A KID'S ROOM: NO PLACE FOR A HOUSE

Here are some parents' descriptions of their kids' rooms: I'm afraid to go in there without a wilderness survival kit and an oxygen mask; two of her sisters accidentally stumbled into her bedroom about a year ago and were never seen again; we call his room "Star Trek"―to venture in is to "boldly go where no mom has gone before."

As creatively as parents can depict the messy room problem, so too can they relieve it. A mother said that in a final fit of frustration she gathered up all the debris decomposing on her son's floor and piled it on the bed. The mound hit the ceiling. Undaunted, her son slept on his newly discovered floor the next three nights. He finally did get the message and began to sort through the stack. Maybe he needed his sweatpants, buried somewhere near the bottom.

Another parent said that during a cleaning frenzy he threw every item clogging up his son's bedroom out the front window. Upon returning from school, his son saw the shrubs wearing his gym shorts and tank tops. To paraphrase an old saying, one picture is worth 1,000 naggings. Things were borderline straightened after that.

Dramatic reactions like these can work, but they tend to be short-lived. After the fury has subsided, Comfort's room slowly returns to its prehabitable state. Besides, the initial cleaning is done by the parent, not the child.

More durable solutions to ruined rooms are available. First; decide how you want to view your kids' rooms. I know―from three miles away. Parental philosophy here is divided into two camps. Some consider a youngster's room his domain. As long as the door is shut―ideally, a steel-encased door with a twelve-inch external deadbolt―the room is out of sight and out of mind. Other parents believe a youngster's room is hers up to a point. That is, "It's her room, but it's my house, and I don't want part of my house below city health code."

Whichever philosophy you prefer determines what action you'll take. The "closed door" tack requires lesser effort. Basically, the room just exists, and you count on Sandy to develop some desire, eventually, to keep his turf presentable. Sometimes this happens, others times it doesn't until a youngster has his own place. In the latter case, here are added suggestions: Do not enter the room to pick up clothes, bed sheets, or other items that need your laundry, tailoring, or, general parental service. Sandy can (1) bring the clothes to the laundry room himself, (2) wash all washables himself, (3) repair and mend his own possessions. This is the price tag for keeping the room the way he wants it.

The "It's his room, but it's my house" mentality takes more of your energy, but it usually results in a better kept room. First step: Setup room inspection times, say 6:30 P.M. on Wednesday and 11:00 A.M. on Saturday. If conditions initially are too deplorable, you might want to set up, daily, maybe hourly, inspections. Second step: Decide what the cost will be for a messy room. "Messy" is one of those loose terms that kids like to argue about, so maybe you'd best clearly define messy or unlivable or trashed.

Some standard costs could be: (1) No leaving the room until it is cleaned. (2) No privileges until the room is cleaned. This could include telephone, television, stereo, car keys, and outside play―in some combination or in total. The decision is yours. (3) Money can be deducted from Penny's allowance for an unkempt room. If you want to plunge in to sweep and fumigate, you can charge for your time. And you're union scale, aren't you? (4) Periodically, link the chance to leave the house to a clean room. For example, if Murdoch asks to go to Igor's birthday party, you might reply, "Sure. If your room is clean." There are enough places he wants to go that you could probably use this kind of linkage daily if need be.

There's a bright side to living near a kid's room. If you run out of storage space in your garage or shed, you can always park the lawn tractor in his room. He'll never know it's there