repeat

I am certain that I am going to perish at an early age.


The cause?

Having to constantly repeat myself to all of the male inhabitants of my home.

If I told ya once, I told ya a thousand times……

"Don’t run in the living room!

Don’t jump on the couch!

Stay off your brother!

Wash your hands!

Find something to do!

Quit that!

Clean up this room!

Go brush your teeth!

Yes, you can have a snack!

Don’t touch your brother there!

Oh, no you don’t!

Put that away!

What did I just say?

Do we eat dessert every night?

Because I’m your mother, that’s why!"

Over and over and over again. My sis says that we just need to invest in tape recorders and just hit “play” every time. But won’t that invite carpal tunnel? Never mind.

Then there are the ones for my dear life mate. Fortunately, those are fewer since I refuse to be HIS mother.

“Don’t forget to make a savings deposit.”

“Aren’t you going to pack a lunch, dear?”

“Please don’t put your dishes in the dishwasher. Leave them on the counter and I’ll do it.”

(His mother never had a dishwasher and he hasn’t the first clue how to load one.)

and the most recent one:

“Have you had the oil changed in the car yet, honey?”

Nag, nag, nag.