“WHEN YOU LIVE IN MY HOUSE, YOU WILL FOLLOW MY RULES!”
I was mad. And it flew out of my mouth, and it felt so good.
Of course it did . . . it was so familiar. How many times did I hear these words when I told my parents they were the worst, meanest, most unfair parents in the world?
I don’t even feel bad about it. Listen kid, I don’t care if all your friends are watching the second half of an Ohio State football game that starts at 8:30 on a school night.
You need to follow my rules. We go to bed on time on school nights. (Okay, we don’t, really, but we try. Or I try, at least!) You don’t need to respect me all the time and be perfect. But when you don’t follow my rules, and you don’t show any respect for me, you need to go to your room. (And I probably need to go to the laundry room to stamp around and shove lots of laundry into the dryer.)
But you need to follow the rules of this house.