Extreme OCD...ing

EXHIBIT A: an ordinary dust pan and broom. 

What is so hysterical about a simple household object; one that would cause two sisters to burst into giggle fits? 

The answer: Pop's OCD. Normally not a topic that would cause raucous laughter but allow me to show you ...












EXHIBIT B: the same ordinary dust pan and broom from a different angle.  The same ordinary dust pan and broom that Pop spent at least one minute straightening.

What's cooking?

What's cooking? Nothing. More like what's burning. And it's not food!

Yesterday around 2:30 p.m. I just put granddaughter down for a nap, Mom and Pop were napping soundly in their recliners and I smelled smoke. Smoke was pouring from their bathroom and filling up the living room. Why the smoke alarms didn't go off, I'm not sure. (Unfortunately, the alarms are not loud enough to disturb their slumber)

I entered the bathroom and the smell of burning rubber was noxious. The washing machine was making a loud banging noise. (Not quite loud enough to disturb their slumber) I quickly unplugged the machine, scanned for flames, opened the window, then exited the bathroom. After opening the windows in the rest of the house and turning on all the ceiling fans, Pop, like Rip Van Winkle, awakens and wants to use the bathroom. Once again, as described in previous posts, the bathroom is off limits.

I'm convinced their bathroom has a spell cast on it!

He's no tree-hugger

Dinner time is a synchronized and choreographed event at our house. Like other families, setting the table, preparing the meal, serving dinner, lively and humorous conversation and feasting are features of every evening meal.

What sets us apart from a normal family meal is keeping Pop away from the paper products. Husband, Mom, and I take turns moving, sliding, and hiding the napkins, paper cups and tissues from Pop. Here is an example when choreographing goes awry.