THE UNIMAGINABLE just happened!

I asked my three sons to clean their room and – wait for it – they did!

Normally, I try to just block out the mess those three boys live in. Their room is a sore spot with me but they, and their friends, seem to see nothing wrong with a bunch of able-bodied young people sitting around a room filled with with unmade beds, dirty socks and empty pop cans playing video games.

Filth, I tell you! Filth! Their room is an embarrassment to me.

Sure, my house isn’t so spic and span that I would allow anyone to give it the white glove test but it is always picked up. There isn’t trash on the floor. Dirty clothes aren’t strewn about. The health department hasn’t threatened to take action against me.

I can’t say the same would be true if officials paid a visit to the room the boys inhabit.

To my relief, said room is the basement and I really don’t have to go down there unless I need to do laundry – which is often – but the room is situated in such a way that I can cleverly avert my eyes when my shadow threatens to darken the threshold.

A design feature which, had I known was going to come in so handy, I may have suggested be listed as one of the home’s selling points – three bedroom, two bathroom ranch with basement room conveniently positioned to disguise mess created by male children …

My usual mode of operation is to try to ignore the mess. They are all of the age when they know how to clean up after themselves and are quite capable of it. I refuse to spend my days cajoling, pleading and yelling at them to do something about the state of their bedroom.

I figure if they can live with it, so could I.

But, even the most hard-nosed mother reaches her breaking point and I reached mine last week.

I realized there were no clean towels in the bathroom the children use. I checked the hamper in my room and the hamper in my daughter’s room. Both were devoid of any towels.

I checked in the laundry room to see if I had forgotten a load (or 20!) of towels in the machines.

They were all clear.

That’s when I stepped into my sons’ room and found all the towels strewn about the room, thrown on the floor, under beds and over dressers. I’d like to note for the record that NONE, repeat NONE, were actually IN the hamper – just near it!

That’s when the yelling began and I demanded those boys clean up their room. I demanded that all the towels – as well as the rest of the dirty clothes and assorted stray socks – be picked up and carried the 15 steps to the laundry room.

The boys looked at me like I had three heads. They didn’t seem to be able to comprehend why their mother was on the verge of what one could call a nut-case just because there were a few towels laying around. I think they thought my head would start spinning around at any moment and the thought scared them into action.

The boys were scurrying around like mad getting clothes and towels picked up from the floor. The 10-year-old’s legs were spotted sticking out from underneath beds as he pulled socks covered in dust bunnies from the mess. Suddenly, t-shirts which had not been seen since Christmas were found and exclaims of “Hey, I wondered where that went!” were heard more than a few times.

After a grueling 30 whole minutes of cleaning, the boys announced their room was finished and declared it to be spotless.

Upon inspection, I learned the word “spotless” is sometimes open to interpretation but I had to admit the room was in decent shape and I was happy with the results. I could see the carpeting and beds were made. Clothes were in dresser drawers and empty hangers had disappeared from sight.

I breathed a sigh of relief and released the boys to carry on with their usual routine of video games, pick-up basketball games and arguing over the remote control as I walked into the laundry room I was suddenly confronted by the ugly truth of where all those dirty clothes (and towels!) had gone … a hamper and two small laundry baskets filled to overflowing sat expectantly in front of the washer.

I figure I spent hours doing up all the laundry but was happy to be able to carry it into a clean room without stepping on anything sticky, crunchy, wet or alive.

I knew things couldn’t stay that way as by Tuesday I was on the hunt for towels once again and the search led me to a room once again covered in dirty laundry. The yelling will commence shortly but it will come as no surprise to the boys or anyone else within earshot.

I know I have given each of them numerous lessons on how to use the machines and threatened a strike on doing their laundry numerous times but it never seems to sink in – probably because I’m a control freak when it comes to laundry. I figure one of several things will happen: they’ll go off to college and date girls who are more than happy to do all their laundry; they’ll live in my basement for the rest of their lives, picking the least dirty of the dirty t-shirts to wear to their grandmother’s birthday party or something will click in their heads and they’ll get tired of it all and learn to do their own washing.

Graham can be reached at tgraham@timesleaderonline.com.