Rules

No rants today, the only person I want to drown is myself, because I broke one of our rules.

In a house where several of us have numerous neurotic, obsessive-compulsive type issues, we manage ourselves through various rules.

Things like, BoyChild#1 wears Bonds socks, the Frog-Prince wears Maxxi. Sounds ridiculous, except how else do we determine who owns which socks? Though the easy answer is the ones that are holey, stretched, faded and companionless are clearly BoyChild#1's.

Likewise, with BoyChild#1 moving from the largest-child-jock-size up to the smallest-man-jock-size, how do we tell who's jocks are whose? At least until they become, streched, holey, etc.... which will happen by new year (sidebar: Santa buys all the undies in our house, family tradition on my side. I bought my first bra at 23 when I was 6 months pregnant, and had to ring my Mum to find out what size! The answer- dunno, I buy the size in the middle!) So, the FrogPrince will have fairly sensible type jocks, being a fairly sensible type man, and BoyChild#1 will have lairy, loud, over the top ones, that will be burnt should I ever see them visible over the top of his pants. A special challenge, seeing as he has no hips or ass, so his pants live around his knees, regardless of the latest fashion trends. Seriously, even skinny jeans float on him. He could wear size 12 child's things if he wasn't 7 feet tall.

Rules were born during my childhood. Being blessed with a close-to-Christmas birthday, I always shared my special day with various relo hangers-on who were often far too hung over to remember who I was, let alone the day, so they would sheepishly hand my Christmas present over, and say "Its for your Christmas AND birthday" like it's so special to get gipped every year by relo hangers-on. I can never remember my parents doing this, but everyone else in the family and surrounding sphere has been guilty at some time. Bloody stingy DNA. So, my first rule was born (well, series, but they count as one because they revolve around one subject)

Thou shalt NOT combine presents, unless it involves diamonds. I don't hand your present over (in May) and say it's for both. Not my fault my mother shagged when she did. Thou may neglect Christmas, but thou may NOT wrap my birthday present in Christmas paper. One year, a friend gave me a salt shaker for Christmas (in Christmas paper), the pepper for my birthday (in non-Christmas, might even have been newspaper, I don't care. JUST.NOT CHRISTMAS. PAPER.)- ingenious! Loved it. You probably have to meet her to get the joke, but it's very her. I haven't thought of a clever name for her yet, but will introduce her when I do.

My Playgroup Mums think it's hilarious to hear about my rules.

The rule for day slippers (black) vs night slippers (fluffy pink at the minute, usually purple)- so in winter, I can duck down to the IGA for milk, and not change shoes.

Another rule is, is that the food on my plate must not touch each other. Yes, its weird, no, there's no reason, except that it just looks messy. Yes, its neurotic! I KNOW!

We have a toothpaste rule. Well, I do, and I make everyone else follow it. I HATE toothpaste. Its minty and frothy. Ick. And when I'm pregnant, it makes me vomit. Every single time. I use ONE brand, and that's the only one that doesn't make me gag (unless I'm pregnant, then all bets are off). So, when I'm brushing my teeth, no-one else can come into the bathroom. And no-one is to speak to me while they're brushing their teeth. I can't understand them anyway, and it's gross. The FrogPrince & I have had numerous "conversations" where we mime to the other a question or statement, because one of us (usually him, I'm always locked safely away in the bathroom by myself) has a mouth full of frothy minty gunk. Hilarious, until you snort & inhale gunk. My bro-in-law (father of 7) says that rule wouldn't last in their house, because if they brushed individually, the last one would finish at about the same time as the first one would need to start again.

I have a rule about picking. A small problem, because the FrogPrince LOVES to pick his toenails, dead skin, ingrown hairs... the list is endless. It's like fingernails on a chalkboard. A few weeks ago, some of us girls went out for dinner, and when I got home, I asked him what he'd done. VERY enthusiastically, he told me he'd had a GREAT night, picking the dead skin off his knee caps. So much skin in fact that he had to vaccuum it all up! He was reminiscing about it last night with a spacey look on his face "Ahhh, those were the days, and when I trot off for dinner with the girls this wekend, he'll be scratching, scraping and picking (ick) before I've left the driveway.

So, what rule did I break? Thou shalt not buy BoyChild#2 a book with stickers. Because he can't peel them off, so while I'm trying to do something (Mystery Shop this time) he wants me to peel them off, one by one. Which defeats the purpose of buying the book in the first place, which was to basically shut him up and amuse himself for a while (yes, I wanted to drown him yesterday). Then, he sticks them all on top of each other, not in the lovely dotted line areas cleary placed throughout the book where they're supposed to go. Then, he unpeels them again, and breaks into tears when they won't stick. Or they curl. Or they rip. And he wants mne to fix them with "stippy tape" which I don't have right at that minute. Within 15 minutes of paying enough to feed a child in Ethiopa for the day, I want to burn the bloody thing. And drown myself.

There are many many more, I'm sure, and I'll add them from time to time. Just so you can laugh, shake your head and be reminded that when I say I want to drown you, or that you & your family are bonkers, it's a term of endearment, because you're in great company.

MINE.