Looking into my two sons' room was always an act of courage.  They shared a 10x11' room for years, but never admitted that they could lessen the claustrophobia by being just a little more tidy.  Their beds stood perpetually unmade, blankets hopelessly tangled beneath roosting cats, and I shuddered to think what might hide underneath.  Rotting PE clothes?  Melted popsicles?  Backpacks from elementary school, never emptied?  The closet was so full that the door could no longer be closed.  Discarded socks and boxers littered the floor, while jeans with frayed hems festooned the desk chairs.  The sight (and smell) could make the most intrepid mother turn pale. 

But here is evidence that I did, at least once, venture into their territory.  On a spring day, their hero from childhood, Godzilla, came to sit in the tree in our front yard.  

But by then, Mike was working at Target fulltime, and Stephen was at college.  Godzilla posed for a few pictures, and then forlornly left.

A less fearsome view