The things we pass along.

I have a serious problem with rules. As an ACOA, people who don’t follow rules make me unbearably uncomfortable. And I police people. If rules are being broken, the world is about to end. Seriously, I stop the asshats that don’t pick up after their dogs, I yell at people on the wrong side of the bike path (especially when afraid they’ll hurt me or my kids), warn people that their shoes are untied, and keep trying to get people to park correctly in the preschool parking lot (it’s already hard enough to drive in there with all the kids!).

And I really need to stop.

Because the parent-teacher conference today, the main complaint, other than Levi being a bit of a goof and talking about things not pertinent, was that he polices other students, that he is looking to lead people to the right way (love the “emergent leadership skills” downplay of “your son is a bossypants busybody”). So crappy way to find out that my idiosyncrasies are messing up my kids. And it sucks, since it’s just another way alcoholism is messing our family. Don’t have kids with alcoholics. Seriously.

So, looking for ways to stop being a busy body. And for a way to tell what is appropriate. (The husband says it’s okay to tell someone their shoes are untied, but not that putting a baby in a baby seat on top of a grocery cart could kill her. I don’t get the difference.) How to stop getting so mad about dog poop that I step in and smell constantly, or roll in when we go sledding. I’m starting with meditation. For myself, anyway. I’ve tried getting the kids to meditate to some adorable kids’ meditation stories, but they are against it. Maybe if I start doing it I’ll be better at convincing them. And I’m going to start giving myself points for not complaining about other people. … or something.

But, honestly, I can’t get past the idea that these are the end times. I mean, how hard is it not to ride your bikes two abreast?


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