I think I get my OCD from my mom.
And when I say, “I think”, I really mean “I know” but I am just trying to be nice..badly.
My mom has one of those personalities that tends to be unsettled with the house if it isn’t anything but perfect.
This wasn’t always a bad thing. I mean, I enjoy vacuums now as an adult because my childhood was filled with the lullaby tunes of “vroom-vrom” during my naps on the couch while she cleaned.
Bleach wasn’t for hair like so many of the other trendy moms of the 90’s.
In fact, I wasn’t allowed to dye my hair until I was in high school, or wear makeup, or shave.
You can imagine how, growing up as a teenager in a small town where other kids attack you like vultures over a rotting corpse could be a bad thing. Who really wants to wear a dress when your legs look like an episode of Davy Crockett goes transvestite?
So, like every other very adoring and respectful child that listens to their parents, I just went ahead and shaved my damn legs anyway.
I remember my older siblings feeling the utter shock of my actions.
Not because I didn’t listen, but because they were thinking “why the hell didn’t I think of that”?
That’s a story for another time, however.
Back to what I was saying.
My mom was the queen of clean!
And because I was such a wonderful child, I figured “well you love doing it so much, I’ll give you more things to do”!
Of course, I didn’t really think that. I was one of those kids that just liked to play dumb but really knew the actual havoc I was capable of.
One glorious morning, my mom went about her errands and left me to my devices. Later that day, she had an appointment at the house with a Kirby salesman. (Sidenote: a Kirby is one of those really nice vacuums that could almost be considered as industrial as it was expensive at the time.)
I don’t think that I was actually given the instructions to not be a crazed maniac while she was gone. Or maybe I was, I don’t remember. I probably nodded and frolicked away humming the theme song to the lion king.
There was this doll….and some baby powder.
At first, I just kind of sprinkled a little baby powder in the doll’ s hair.
Then there was the awesome effect of the “poofing” that the baby powder made.
It all just escalated from there.
By the end, the proofing wasn’t enough and I ran through the house shaking the dolls hair which made HUGE, billowing cloud of spiraling white amazingness.
My mom bought the vacuum.
And I was banished to my room.
Oh…oh no, the story isn’t done.
I was also a slight pyromaniac.
While in the bedroom that I was banished to, which oddly enough was my brothers. Maybe I was put in my brothers room because it was the farthest away from her, who knows.
Anyway, I found matches (said with jazz hands).
That was officially the last time I had decided lighting things on fire was fun, because I then proceeded to “accidentally” light a mini basketball hoop on fire.
Thankfully that’s all that happened.
I should write an angry note to the company of the basket ball hoop company of the early 90’s and complain that it’s fire resistant properties are non existent and unsafe! Because seriously, they make baby clothes fire proof now days in case the…..baby….plays with matches?
Who knows, anything can happen right?
I never really remember getting in trouble that much. I think my mom just gave up when her attempts at spanking me failed. Not because the spanking didn’t hurt, but because (and by this point you really shouldn’t be surprised) my response while receiving the spanking was “Is this supposed to hurt”?
I was the epitome of arrogance and boisterousness as a child.
Seriously, it was like I couldn’t get enough of the exaggerated sighs and irritation of the family I was born into.
They like to call me “the milkman’s child” because they all had blonde hair and or blue eyes and I was the only brown hair brown eyed member.
But now I think it was because they were all even tempered and I was a nuisance.
We had this really awesome Jacuzzi tub that was cobalt blue tiles and surrounded by mirrors.
Super cool, but also caused me a super amount of anxiety because I had a fear of sharks and it was deep.
Don’t make fun of me, we all have our irrational fears.
So, my mom would make one of my sister’s bathe with me in the big, scary tub of awesomeness.
They obliged sullenly, but the routine was quickly put to an end when, one day, I got the silly notion in my brain to do something “funny”.
I used to laugh meniacly to myself after visualizing something inappropriate. We referred to these episodes as me having “visions”.
They were always inappropriately timed, like in church when I had a vision of taking the small pegs out of the church pews and having them pinged at the pastor.
I’d share my visions with my sibling and we would laugh hysterically. Obviously incurring the wrath of my mother, who oddly enough usually doled the punishment out on me for creating the familial distress.
So, on the fateful day of bathtub time, I had the vision of…..brace yourself….grabbing my sister’s pubic hair and screaming “seaweed”.
Oh yes, I did that.
And had to bathe alone for the rest of my life.
Hope you are having a great Friday!
Xo – Emily