by Denise McGonigal
Last night our family was laughing over how our three married daughters and their husbands decide who gets their way in household matters. Like, where to store the ketchup – refrigerator or spice cabinet? (Editor’s note: Refrigerate after opening.) Jif or Skippy peanut butter? Kitchen sponge or dishcloth? Powder or liquid dishwasher detergent? Every couple has their list.
Rock, Paper, Scissors surfaced as Joe and Caitlin’s go-to method of arbitration. Meghan and Jeremy duke it out over their favorite video game – winner’s preference rules. And, to no one’s surprise, Erin touted her way of settling domestic disputes with Keven: “I decide, because I’m the boss.” Good grief, how did that oldest one turn out to be so much like me? Forgive me, oh kind and tolerant son-in-law. That apple just didn’t fall far enough from this tree.
Looking back over the past thirty-four years, I wonder just how many times I let insignificant household disagreements get in the way of family and marital harmony because, well, “I’m the boss.” Why did it matter so much that dishes from a dinner party be cleaned and put away before bedtime? And why couldn’t the pool towels hang over the fence to dry a little? And, perhaps to even broaden the scope a little, what really was the big deal about a child wearing the same favorite outfit every week to Mass?
Thank you, dear younger generation, for offering me a much more sensible way of resolving issues that amount to, well, nothing. I have no skill with video games, but I can definitely develop a facility for Rock, Paper, Scissors. And seriously, as “the boss,”why didn’t I think of that?