So yesterday was day 5, but I didn’t post because life was happening all over me. I am sure that I will be forgiven. ❤
Rule #1: Don’t run off. (Nana came up with this one.)
Meaning: We love you and you can’t get run over by a car. You can’t get kidnapped, either. The white slavery market is so much suffering in a life of sexual torture. It’s hard to even contemplate losing you.
We try to keep ourselves safe with rules: and our children, obedient.
Rule #2: Be quiet in the mornings, without help or TV, and don’t wake everybody up, including me. (This is so unrealistic as to almost be laughable.)
Meaning: I am so sleep deprived I am surprised, honestly, I am honestly surprised, that I haven’t murdered anyone, run off to the circus, or checked myself into the goddamn Psych Ward.
Rules for the Kitchen:
Don’t be underfoot when I’m cooking or I’ll step on you. (Seriously, it drives me bananas.)
Ask for help. (Instead of spilling everything all over my formerly clean floor.)
Don’t climb on the shelves in the refrigerator.
Don’t piss off the terrorists or they’ll bomb your symbols.
Rules for the TV:
Don’t throw things at the TV.
(Seriously: You threw a stuffed animal with plastic eyeballs at our already-dying TV, and fucking killed it. You killed our television. I called you an assisted suicide nurse. Kevorki-nurse. I thought that was hilarious. So we bought a new television, on credit, for a ridiculous amount of money, and if you kill this one, we might have to sell you into white slavery.)
Go potty every time the show changes.
Color in the lines. Try to be like everyone else: if that fails, be flamboyant as a pink flamingo.
Are rules fences to shape our experiences?
Are rules tools to save our sanity as parents?
Don’t be who you are, as you are: is that what the rules say?
*a la, Family Ties That Bind, by Ronald W. Richardson. There are “written rules and unwritten rules.” It’s a great book – I highly recommend it.