Our Own Kind Of Crazy

I remember the things that my mom used to nag me about when I was a kid:

Don't use so much toilet paper when you blow your nose.
Don't put sharp knives in the sink, set them behind the faucet.
Don't sit on the bathroom counter when you're doing your make up.
Don't be even a minute late for curfew.  Literally, not even a minute.

Sometimes it was embarrassing.
Sometimes I rolled my eyes.
A lot of times I got grounded.

And I looked at these things as I had kids and sorted them out in my mind.  Which ones made sense?  Which ones prove that my mom is crazy?

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Every time I blow my nose it haunts me, how in the world do I use less tissue?

I still haven't figured that one out. Because, frankly, what comes out, comes out.  And you bet I'm going to use whatever tissue I need to mop that mess up.

 I'm chalking that one up to my mom is crazy.

 And probably stressed about how much toilet paper we went through and her grocery budget. I get that part. Grocery shopping is my nemesis.  But knowing the stress that it still causes  me, even as an adult, I'm not going to pass that one on to my own kids.  Let's nag them about something else, like not pouring more milk than you can drink.  That one makes more sense on the grocery budget.

Don't put sharp knives in the sink.

This one had a good reason I suppose.  There was a time when my mom (and even myself) reached into the soapy dish water and sliced her finger on a steak knife that was lurking on the bottom, undetected.

I understand this one, but we have a dishwasher (ah, progression) and don't fill the sink with soapy water so it's become obsolete in my mind.

Don't sit on the bathroom counter.

My mom was afraid that I would break the counter.

Let me set this up for you, I started high school at the age of 15 weighing a whopping 98 pounds.

98 pounds!

Guys, I blew away in a hard wind.

And this bathroom counter was a solid block.  Solid I tell you.  sitting on it's own foundation of wooden cupboards.

There's no way.

No way.

I weigh more than 98 pounds now.  A lot more.  And I'm still sitting on my bathroom counter to do my make up.

My girls will never hear, "don't sit on the bathroom counter" come out of my mouth.

Ever.

My mom was crazy on this one.

As far as curfew goes, if I was told a time to be home, I had better be home by that time and not a minute late.  If I was told to be home at 9:00, and I pulled that backdoor open at 9:01, my parents were there, arms folded, and letting me know that I was now grounded for a week.

I wish I were exaggerating.

I understand that they were trying to teach me promptness.
How to be on time.

I understand the lesson behind it.

But for reals.

One week for a minute?

I'm about 50/50 on being on time as an adult.  It actually depends on the priority level of the event I'm trying to attend.  Work?  Doctor's appointment?  Classes? Movies at the movie theater? I'm there if not five minutes early, at least on the dot.

But if it's *ahem* church?  A dinner party?  Meeting someone at the gym?  I'm going to roll in five minutes late, at the least.

Besides, if you show up early to church they ask you to do stuff, like say opening and closing prayers.

*shudder*

The thing is, my parents (not just my mom on this one) expected exactness on this one.  And I didn't feel it.  What was so important at home that I couldn't be there at 9:03 instead of 9:00?

Nothing at all.

I think this is a personality flaw on my part, but I'm not following my parent's crazy  in this.  If I tell my kids to be home at a certain time, they have a ten minute cushion to be there out of respect.  I get that.  Being on time has a lot to do with respect.   I still expect them to be on time for school, and show them that we need to be on time for appointments, and catching that first preview in the movie theater is vital.

Vital I tell you.

You came home from playing at 6:07 instead of 6:00?  I'm cool with that.  Unless you needed to be home so we could go somewhere, then I'm going to be upset.  But if that's the case, I forewarn them before they leave.  Be home at 6:00, don't be late, we need to leave as soon as you get here.  And they make sure they get home on time.  And life is happiness.

So here's the thing.

I think my parents were crazy.  They had their "things," whether they made sense or not.  And I might say I'm not going to do it like they did it.

But in reality,

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I create my own kind of crazy.

You have to match your socks is a big one for me.

Why?

No reason whatsoever except for the plain and simple fact that it drives me up the wall when their socks don't match.

And my kids roll their eyes at me.

And continue to wear mismatched socks because in the long run, aside from my sanity, what does it really matter?  They know it, and I know it.

I'm sure my kids will grow up to be good parents who don't care one iota if their kids have matching socks on.

Our parents were crazy.

But let's face it, now that we're parents too, we're creating our own kind of crazy.

And so will our kids.