I Am the Piggly Wiggly Mama

The other day I was stomping around and pouting about my lack of a clean and orderly house--I wrote about it--I Want to Be.  What I didn't write about was--well read on.....

I started thinking about how I would have NEVER left my room any way except immaculate.  I was TERRIFIED of my mother.  That petite woman could look at me, her eyelids would flutter, and I would freeze shaking in place wanting to take cover but knowing any movement would be seen as disrespect..I have no idea what I thought she would do, but I knew I didn't want to find out! (I was so terrified of her that years later when I was in a store pushing a stroller with MY two children in it I froze when I forgot to say "yes m'am" when she asked me something.  I quickly corrected myself--yep she had that kind of power.)

As I entered the bathroom I thought, I had to clean my bathroom every morning before I left for school--full out--comet the sink, glass plus the mirror, wipe up the floor--every single morning. (In college I did this everyday when I lived in an apartment with my good friends.  About half way through the year I walked in on them laughing about it.  "Why didn't y'all tell me it was weird to do that?"  Their response, "Why would we do that?  You're cleaning our bathroom every day."  Well, I thought they were my good friends....)  My children's bathrooms have spit in the sink, things left out all over, mugs next to the tub, but there are no towels on the floor because they're in their bedrooms on the floor.

Back into their bedrooms I went stepping over the clothes on the floor (dirty? clean?  Who knows but I'm pretty sure they'll wind up in the hamper instead of being put away.)  The sheets and blankets were either crumpled on their beds or also on the floor--no army inspection for them.  (My friend Lynn is still traumatized by the time she was sitting on my bed when my mother walked in--we were not allowed to sit on our beds ever!!!)  There were dirty dishes on bedside tables--multiple dirty dishes--I humphed.  How many times have I told them not to eat in their rooms or at least if they do to please bring them down?  Clearly not enough times...

In my displeasure I sent them texts hoping the texts would send terror coarsing through their bodies. Based on their responses--I didn't think they did.  (Based on the fact the same towels and dishes were still there two days later, I'm sure they didn't.)









The next morning, (the morning after my stomping and pouting) I walked into the kitchen after the children left for school.  OH NO!!! My piggly wiggly mug was sitting on the counter BROKEN!!  Who had done that?!?!?! (Caroline was safe; she was still upstairs sick in bed.) I sent the boys a text...



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That evening all three were in the kitchen--I walked in; Boss froze and tried to hide the peanut butter jar behind his back. "Mama, I'm sorry...I couldn't find the other peanut butter.  I just took one scoop.  I'm really sorry."  (I have been known to hide piggly wiggly peanut butter in my room....I'm not good at sharing.) Just then Caroline looked down, "Who broke Mama's piggly wiggly mug?"  Me, "William did."  Caroline looked over at William silently willing him to make a run for it, "Are you crazy?!?!?! You admitted it?!?!?!"  William, "Not until I was gone."
(Who said that boy wasn't smart?) All three looked back at me and remained frozen in place, shaking but not daring to make a move....

I smiled; finally--finally I found a way to terrorize my children.  And then I started to laugh as I thought about the absurdity of the situation.  This is how I terrorize my children--not over neurotic housecleaning--over Piggly Wiggly merchandise, and then I thought, I wouldn't want it any other way.  This is Growing Up Doyle at its finest--Growing Up Doyle with a Piggly Wiggly Mama (in a house that could be mistaken for a pig's sty!)