More than a week into the school year, many of you followers have asked for updates on P’tit Grand and his desk.
We all know who checks my Instagram. For the latest news—sorry for the delay—recall that last year, I splurged on a beautiful desk just for P’tit Grand. As soon as it arrived, I assembled it myself with my own two hands. I was thrilled and set it up that very evening.
He came home, saw the desk, and said it looked amazing. He thanked me profusely.
Yet he still did his homework in his usual spot: sprawled in the middle of the hallway, on the floor.
I’ve shared photos of his quirky 'work postures' regularly and even created the hashtag #etpourtantilaunoffice. Desperate attempts to get him to use the desk failed, so I eventually gave up.
Tuesday morning, fueled by an extra-strong coffee, I decided to tackle his room. Or should I say, declutter it? Make it safe for our weekly cleaner to vacuum without tripping hazards? Yes, that’s it.
Picture this: My daughter was still home.
She watched anxiously as I entered 'THE ROOM.' I reaffirmed my mission.
She giggled.
I reached the desk—yes, I recognized it—buried under a mountain of... stuff!
I was stunned by the chaos: scattered papers, broken pencils, empty glue tubes (classic DIY remnants), photos of friends. Easy fix: I gathered the photos and clipped them to a holder. Progress!
My daughter peeked in: 'You okay, Mom?'
I told her I’d made some headway.
She laughed.
Then I spotted an open Pringles box nearby (no sponsorship, folks—this is real life).
Inside: stale crisps.
'Eww.'
She checked again: 'Mom?'
I showed her.
'Oh, that’s P’tit Grand’s Pringles from summer camp in England—a reward.'
'Double eww.'
'He got it for tidying his room!'
'WHAT?!'
My daughter burst out laughing and ran off.
It made my entire day.
