Running on Routine

Why I’m So Good at Rules (and Other Personal Flaws)

I am a rules person. I didn’t even realize this about myself until college, when my best friend pointed out that I wouldn’t let anyone eat food from a drive-through until we’d reached our destination.

In truth, I’ve softened over the years – now I’ll allow two or three hot french fries, but only if they’re fresh out of the fryer.

I love a good rule, the more arcane the better. Some people thrive on spontaneity; I find comfort in structure. My life is dotted with rules that no one else seems to understand, let alone follow.

Take the kitchen, for example. My husband has a terrible habit of cutting oddly shaped brownies or slicing homemade sourdough on the diagonal when he only wants a little piece. (Why not just take part of a proper, perpendicular slice?) To me, it’s almost criminal.

Or towels. Towels must be folded in thirds with the fold facing out. Somehow not a single one of my family members understands this rule. Or worse – they disregard it on purpose, declaring it unnecessary, impractical or both.

Don’t even get me started on the dishwasher. I could write a treatise on loading it – and later a companion piece on how to properly empty it.

When traveling, I must pack in daylight. I admit, even I don’t fully understand this one. I just know that if I pack at night, under artificial light, it’s a disaster. Somehow, daylight gives me the clarity I need.

And yes, I am a bed-maker. Always.

My husband and I have two decorative pillows on our bed in addition to our regular pillows. Sometimes he actually uses one of the decorative pillows to sleep with. I can’t even believe I have to explain this rule.

I can probably trace my love of order back to my mother. She was the kind of person who thought life worked better when things were in their proper place.

So here I am, clinking every glass when I toast, buying avocados only in odd numbers, and insisting the brownies be cut straight. Some might say I don’t really have “rules.” I just have quirks, hang-ups, peculiarities. Maybe. But here’s the thing: these quirks tell my family something about me.

They give my kids a glimpse into how I see the world – and someday, they’ll probably retell these stories with laughter.

That’s the beauty of family life. Our children learn just as much from our little rules and routines as they do from the big lessons. They see that some order is comforting, some flexibility is necessary, and that love is what makes the whole imperfect system work.

So if your family folds towels like a lunatic, or cuts brownies like a crazy person, they may roll their eyes now, but one day those very quirks will become the stories that remind them of home.

Susan Rosser is the editor of South Florida Family Life. She always uses her turn signal, a coaster, and – much to her family’s dismay – she insists that bread be cut in even slices.