Oh you guys. In some ways, I become more like my mother every day. Like the totally unreasonable mom who freaks out when her kids touch her stuff. Like her scissors. Or her charging cable. Or her anything.
I can still remember rolling my eyes when my mom would be all up in my face about using something of hers A) without asking and B) without returning it.
It was COMPLETELY unreasonable.
For heavens sake, aren’t these things SUPPOSED to be used? Not sitting in a drawer, well-organized all day? It seemed a teensy-weensy bit over the top, in my kid opinion. I mean, honestly, I just borrowed them for a minute and they were just scissors! Or the charging cable! Or the black short-sleeved sweater from her closet!
But now, I know. They are never ‘just scissors’. They are the good scissors. The ones that are sharp enough to cut anything without hassle. And the ones that mom always knows where they are (which is why they get borrowed—no one can find the other 11 pairs of household scissors). Ya know why we moms know where the scissors are? Because we use them and them put them back. Where.they.belong.
I sent a message to my two eldest daughters (which they have not responded to, BTW) asking about the aforementioned sweater. You know why I want them to ask before they just take something of mine? So I know who to unload my COMPLETELY unreasonable diatribe out on when it is lost for days. Weeks. Possibly months. And then the season changes and I can’t wear it until next year anyway. Ugh.
Which leads to me getting all up in my kids’ faces to explain how we DON’T.TOUCH.MOMMY (dearest)’s.THINGS.WITHOUT.ASKING.
This is how items get attacked by the label maker with labels like “Property of Mom” or “Do NOT Touch! Yes, this means YOU!” (I actually went through and labeled EVERYONE’S computer cord because I was sick of being accused of taking one of theirs. Are they KIDDING ME?)
When, oh, when did I become this mother? The one who wanted to find her stuff where she left it?
No touchy my stuffy.
Love, Your Totally Unreasonable Mom
p.s. Girls–can I get my sweater back?