Have you ever seen the Friends episode wherein Ross is dating a character played by Rebecca Romijn who has the most unbelievably messy apartment you think you’ve ever seen?

Yesterday afternoon I embarked on a cleaning mission of Jack’s and Henry’s room after Grace’s Nintendo DS “mysteriously” disappeared somewhere. And by “somewhere,” I mean most likely underneath the landfill otherwise known as Jack’s and Henry’s Cabin.

A cabin it is. Compares quite nicely, I’m sure, to those cabins deep in the woods where complete lunatics hang out with no electricity, no plumbing, and no sewage waste disposal system.

There are many experts who would suggest that I ensure that my kids care for the state of their own rooms. There are other experts who would suggest that the state of a child’s room should not be an area in which we choose to do battle. There are even more experts who might claim that I shouldn’t be the one up there wearing rubber gloves and pulling year-old juice boxes out from under the dresser.

I care not.

Because when I unearthed snack bar wrapper number 47 from behind Henry’s bed, I made myself the expert and said, “Um, no.”

To a lot of things.

Like eating anywhere but the kitchen table (which has been a rule since forever but apparently it ain’t bein’ followed). And purchasing juice boxes. And giving kids their own rooms.

Having twins share the same room seemed like a good idea early on, and it’s become clear that they won’t be interested in changing that arrangement anytime soon. If for no other reason, having two of them in there allows Henry to blame everything on Jack, even when his rationale is so illogical it’s utterly incomprehensible.

“I swear Mom,” Henry professed. “Jack stood on his head, twirled around, hung a trapeze, swung from it, and then dropped all those wrappers underneath my bed. I swear.”

It’s no wonder George can’t find any clothes to wear; most of them are stuffed in a drawer under Henry’s bed right alongside 17 gum wrappers.

They have a bookshelf. With 7 shelves. That’s bolted to the wall. Yes, they’re almost 8. But they’re almost-8-year-old boys, so it’s bolted to the wall. They have drawers and bins and they’re cute and labeled and everything. One is even labeled “junk.”

How much extra time does it take to shove trash under or behind a bed or to LIFT UP A DRESSER AND STASH AN EMPTY JUICE BOX UNDER IT than to shove it into a trash can?

I can’t answer that because I’m not 8.

Four garbage bags and two asthma attacks later, I exited. I don’t even have asthma. At least I didn’t. I might now.

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Do your multiples share a room? What is your strategy for peacefully keeping your kids’ rooms sanitary?