House Rules

I had a busy weekend. Went to my parent's house for a birthday/Derby Party. We go every year. My mother has the unfortunate luck of having her birthday right around Mother's Day. Sometimes she gets two celebrations, sometimes she gets one. She'll get two this year, but one, Mother's Day, without her children around.

I think she prefers it that way.

Let me explain. My mother is very particular. She has always been that way. She believes there is a right way to do everything. And it's usually her way...no, always her way that is right. She can be fun, but she also forgets what it's like to have small children running around. I think she was that way when we were little. I remember going on outings and bike rides with my dad all the time, to give Mom a rest. I always thought it was a nice break for us from the rules.

Now that she is a grandma, she has all kinds of rules that we have to follow. There are certain places that toys can be played with. Toys are not allowed to migrate from the toy room upstairs. There is no running. Shoes must reside in the shoe stand in the laundry room. There is no food eaten anywhere except in the kitchen. When you are finished with your meal, you are to wash your hands...in the powder room off the laundry room - no where else. Save your napkin, or you don't get dessert. Take your leftovers with you when you leave. Please make your beds exactly the way you found them, down to the last crease. Put your dishes in the dishwasher, but wipe off the inside door of the dishwasher or else it stains the stainless steel. There are certain places for everything in the fridge and they need to be put back there. Etc., Etc., Etc.

There are many more, but it's starting to look ridiculous. She has created this perfect little life, with all her things in the right places and everything going neatly the way it needs to go. Only, it's not.

She has a 93 year old mother, my grandmother, who is constantly throwing her curve balls. And she hates it. Unscheduled doctor appointments, trips to the grocery store, illness - now I hate when that's not scheduled... Anything out of her schedule or happy little order throws her off. I used to think it was my fault. That if I was a better daughter, if I worked a little harder, tried a bit more, she wouldn't get so mad. But now I see, she just needs medication and a good therapist.

So, back to the weekend. Things are humming along. It's been rather pleasant for a change. Everyone is having fun. Kids are being good. There is wine, chips and dip, cheeses, funny hats, lovely hats, and running horses. She's in a good mood and, frankly, it's a miracle. Then, dinner time.

There are 10 people in the house for dinner. Four kids, one nonegenarian, three 30 - 40 somethings and my parents. It's bound to get a little chaotic. That's life. Not in my mom's house. We do what we've been asked to do. It's her birthday, we're supposed to help out and make it so she doesn't have a lot of work to do. That wouldn't be such a challenge if she weren't so damn picky. It's just not possible to do it the way she wants, because you just can't tell what that will be from day to day. And then my son, my lovely boy, follows orders to wash his hands after he is finished with his meal. But, he tries to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. Oh, horror! No! Yes, and he gets chastised for it. And then my mom is in a bad mood. The tension builds, her mouth tenses and everyone feels it.

It blows over, faster then I thought it would. But boils to the surface again the next day, when, once again, the boys - in their rush to wash hands like they've been asked to - go toward the wrong bathroom and get in trouble. I can't take it and I snap back. It happens. I reach a point where I just can't stand to see my kids get in trouble when they are making an effort. I argue with her. Her rationale? She doesn't want the kids messing up the guest bath (that I am currently using anyway) because the fixture is harder to clean and why the hell does everyone keep fighting with her about that?

I guess that's fair. It's her house. But it's not the hand washing we are argueing about. It's all the rules. A rule for handwashing, a rule for toys, a rule for activity, a rule for eating, a rule for sleeping, a rule for everything. It's too much. They're young, they're boys, they forget. I want to say, "Lighten up, woman. It's just a house. You're going to clean it anyway when we all leave, why does it matter? Do you want your grandkids to remember what an anal tight ass you were or how much fun they had at grandma's? Because, right now, it's leaning toward tight ass."

I can't wait to be a grandma. I'll let them run around the house, eat sugar, run their hands along the wall, scream at the top of their lungs, scatter the toys around, and wash their hands where ever they damn well please. At least they are washing them, right?