My mother was controlling. She nagged, complained if things weren't the way she wanted them, and in general ran the household in a manner that was worthy of the pickiest drill sergeant at any boot camp. Looking back, I really believe she showed signs of having OCD, but at the time it went without comment. She kept a 50's-style June Cleaver household, to an extreme. If you moved something in the house, even a tiny nick-knack, she didn't rest until it was moved back exactly where it belonged. The house was deep-cleaned every Friday, and my dad took his shoes off outside rather than risk tracking any dirt on her freshly-scrubbed floors. There wasn't much laughter in our house growing up, but it sure was clean and orderly.
This has affected my marriage and habits in very strong ways. I veered in the opposite direction, and I tend to not demand anything of my husband and kids, even reasonable stuff like picking up after themselves. That's probably not the best thing for any of us, and if I had it to do over my kids are 21 and 17 I'd tweak that just a little bit and have regular, reasonable expectations from them. But the one unexpected difference from my upbringing is that we laughed a LOT. We laughed at life, at each other, and at ourselves. My kids are well-adjusted, happy slobs. If that's the trade-off, I'm okay with that. I'll have clutter with love and laughter over military precision any day.
Reva
