One of the paradoxes of motherhood (parenthood in general) is that I feel like a broken record but I can’t let some things go–lessons to be learned! morals to impart! I have to reduce my rules down to threes so the people will remember (and hopefully) follow them. What brought this to mind was the kitchen garbage.
“STOP!” I say, rather loudly. “Before you dump your plates into the garbage, I want you to make sure you get it in the center of the garbage can–not the side, not the lid, not the floor–dump it in the center of the can.”
For my younger son, I add, “Just like the toilet–not on the seat, not on the side, not on the floor–the center!” They all get a big kick out of this little chant I’ve created for them–not the side, lid or floor, but the center!”
They also like the juxtaposition of garbage and toilet–the stuff of little boy giggles. Thing is, I’m not kidding. I often say things in all earnestness, emphasizing my seriousness, perhaps insisting there’s gravity involved–all for naught. I take that back, they do remember but they don’t always do. Sometimes, they remember after the fact. In their minds, I’m sure, they’re thinking that has to count for something. In some ways, it does. I have to take a deep breath and let it out, knowing that losing my cool & my mind will do no good–except perhaps cause more laughter. Apparently, I’m an outright comedienne when I’m angry and my analogies and adjectives cause side-splitting laughter.
Glad I could be of service. Just don’t expect me to clean your mess.