When you feed your kids Beef-a-Roni and buttered hot dog buns for dinner.

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One of the hardest parts of being a parent, for me anyway, has been to learn to let things go. I have a small case of self-diagnosed OCD, or as I once read somewhere, CDO…in alphabetical order the way it should be (credit to the author, whoever you are). It probably came from my Mother, who used to have me iron our napkins for dinner and have the house vacuumed so that you could see the lines in the carpet. She’s the most neat and organized person I know, so I blame her for my obsessive need to have lists for EVERYTHING. I have so many lists, that I have lists for lists. But, having kids has made it a lot tougher to check things off them.

I used to do laundry when there was enough clothes for one load, now I am cued to start the washer when the laundry chute gets backed up to the second floor, or when my husband tells me he’s out of underwear, whichever comes first. I used to vacuum every day, but now I wait until my son’s shirt is indistinguishable from the dog’s fur coat, and it is not unusual for the breakfast dishes to sit in the sink until dinner. Or, for there to be so many toys scattered about that it appears a tornado came right through the middle of the house and hit the kids’ toy box, but left the roof. This is not to say I’m a slob. On the contrary. These are the things that drive me crazy on a daily basis. But, to fret over them only puts me one step closer to certifiable insanity. A while ago, my husband told me that it shouldn’t matter what the house looks like, but did I read to our son today? Did I play with the kids? Did I make them healthy food to eat? Did I keep them safe? Since then, I have tried to redefine my standards and am doing my best not to wish things were perfect. Because, if things were perfect, nothing could be better. And, then what would I put on my lists?

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Last week, I took the kids to a huge science museum, which we visit a couple of times a year. They were having a Big Machines exhibit…bulldozers, forklifts, cranes, and other things we often see tearing up our yard unexpectedly. Basically, a five year old boy’s utopia.

As it turned out, we just happened to visit at the same time as every day camp, day care, and preschool in the central Ohio area. Why didn’t I turn around and come home when I saw that ALL the parking lots were full, AND that there was another lot completely packed with school buses? Because I am a glutton for punishment, that’s why. I spent fifteen minutes trying to find a parking spot, for crying out loud. That may be nothing to someone in (insert Pace Picante accent) New York City! But folks, this is uh-HI-uh.

So, there I was, already irritated and we hadn’t even gone through the entrance. However, all that was about to change, because as I struggled to hold open the monolithic, steel and glass door AND push the stroller through at the same time, I saw a teenage girl approaching. “Oh good,” I thought, because she was obviously coming to assist me. But, instead of helping me unwedge myself from somewhere between inside and outside, she actually stepped OVER my son’s stroller and walked through the door. Really. AND, she didn’t even say excuse me. Really.

I spent a lot of the day correcting children like her, children of COMPLETE STRANGERS, on their horrible manners. Not correcting them as much as flat out telling them they needed to wait their turn, or let an old lady have a seat. “Yes guys, that one there with the walker.”

We had kids ditching us everywhere we went, boys tumbling into our stroller without saying a word, girls repeatedly banging on the door of the family bathroom, when they weren’t even a family with the right to do so. Though, I am not going to stand too high on my soapbox, because by no means do my kids have perfect manners. My son is blatantly honest (see previous post), and has no problem telling you he “likes your flab” or that a lady at the store “looks like a fish”. And, I still have to remind my eight year old daughter, EVERY DAY, not to chew with her mouth open. But, I would say it’s fair to assume that my kids would not LITERALLY walk over someone to get through a door. It was so bad, that at one point a teacher with one of the larger school groups actually gave me a pitiful look and said, “Please, pray for me”.

Maybe, instead of learning about science and industry, those kids should be taught some manners. I used the day as an opportunity to teach my children how NOT to treat people. It’s just too bad it cost me the price of admission

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During a trip to Target…

My son points at the very masculine-looking, female cashier, and loudly says, “Mommy, she’s kind of a girl.”

Awkward laugh, “Yes, she’s a girl.”

He looks back and WAITS TO MAKE EYE CONTACT, then says, “Yeah. Kind of.”

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