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Saturday, May 20, 2017

Do You Have Rules?

I was interviewed a few months back for an article on teens/tweens who color their hair for the Wall Street Journal.  I find it interesting that people find this a thing.  I've been coloring my hair pretty regularly (except during pregnancy) since I was 14.

The interviewer was super nice.  I enjoyed doing it.  She asked me a question that made me think:

Do you have rules in your house?

Huh?

Well, do you make your kids go to bed at 10?  Do you have rules about electronics?

Oh, yeah.  My kids think I'm strict.

Really?

My kids go to be bed at 9.  There are no electronics at the dinner table.  We eat together.  We hug often. My kids refer to adults as Mr. or Ms.  I have lots of rules.  Hair isn't one of them.

It got me to thinking about things and what other people might think looking into our family.  My house is unorganized.  I don't always cook the healthiest of dinners.  I'm a fairly unorthodox mom who is struggling to raise two girls who have self esteem, are proud of their smarts and think of the world around them.  But yes, I have rules.

My kids tell me I'm stricter than most of their friends' parents.  But their friends like me (I'm lit, which is apparently good) and tell my girls that.  I'll take that.  We all have or have had interesting colored hair.  I find it odd that there's a perceived correlation between that and rules.  Whatever.  I'll take the label of strict mom with oddly colored hair.

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Sign or Coincidence, I Don't Care

I have, by and large, stopped looking for and believing in signs.  My life is such shit right now that I can only think of signs as punishment.  Plus my very pragmatic boyfriend can always explain them, often in ways I don't like.

This past week has been a tough week.  It's been especially rough as a daughter.  Yesterday, I left my mom's nursing home upset and angry.  As I was making my way home, winding through back roads, I found myself behind a pick up truck.  It swerved to run through all the big puddles.  I was immediately brought back to maybe age 5 or 6.  My mom would do the same thing.  I can remember opening the window and sticking my arm out to see if it would get wet.  I loved that my mom did that.

I did that when my kids were young (and confession time: I still do it if I'm sure there's no pothole under the puddle).  They loved it.  It always made me smile and think of my mom.

It's amazing how splashing through a few puddles can bring me to tears and make the anger subside.  At least a little.