I have weird relatives. Most of my adult life has been spent reconciling the delightful characters from my childhood with the realistic assessment of a more mature person. There would be no real benefit to waking up the skeletons in my closet just to show them to you and so there is no real reason for me to mention them. Except to say that it has suddenly dawned on me that I am a weird relative. I am also raising weird relatives.
Please, don’t object, let me finish. I stay up all night and sleep most of the day away. Weird. I blog my most insecure thoughts to 1,500 people for no good reason. Weird. It would be very hard to describe what a typical day looks like for me because I am weird. If you are reading this blog or have read other ones (and not this one?) then you don’t need me to tell you how weird I am.
My husband on the other hand, has all the markings of a normal person - unless you live with him. You can set your clock by him. Even on the weekends he gets up with the sun. He works from dawn to dusk and does very normal things. Unless you catch him mopping while singing “Hi Moppy. Say hi to Moppy! Hi Moppy!” It’s good we had kids because they give him an outlet for this behavior. But he did this when the kids were not around. I won’t mention the cold sweat he breaks into when someone does not recycle appropriately or what lengths he would go to, to avoid a library fine. (As in running home from the hospital to return a library book, unlike me who is wanted in 3 states for running away to avoid late fees).
My kids are all weird too but I blame my weird husband and weird self and would vehemently deny their weirdness to anyone who would suggest it, so I am not about to give anyone ideas here.
I don’t really have a point to telling you this, except maybe to say that if someone weird in your family makes you really angry with their weirdness, you need to forgive them. The chances are you are the weirdo that is making someone else really angry. Meanness is a different story and of course I am not suggesting that you look the other way for that. Weirdness, you have to learn to live with and probably if you can, most of the time, meanness will not become an issue.
I think the people who I find the most infuriatingly weird are the ones who have something I want. I can forgive the delightful and colorful weirdo who wears a shoebox, a pair of shorts and nothing else to walk up the street to check her mail. (I actually had a neighbor who did this and I marveled at how she figured out her breasts fit perfectly in a shoe box). I can’t stand the weirdo who knocks on my door and tells me I am parking in HIS space when the space next to it (MINE) is open. I like funny colorful quirky harmless weirdos, because I think I am one of those. I don’t like detail oriented, organized, efficient, structured weirdos because try as I might, I cannot seem to color inside those lines. Much of my frustration in life stems from those DAMN lines and the numbers corresponding to the space I am allowed to occupy verses the one I am not.
Speaking of the bathroom scales…
So in conclusion, if someone is weird in your family, love them. We are all in this boat together. If you build a fire on the side of the boat your weirdo lives on, then run back to your side, your ship is still going to sink. (But the fire will be out).
In fact, if you happen to live next door to a weirdo just smile and nod and try not to step in their weirdness any more than you have to. For the weridos in my life I say, “shallow end of the pool, safety in numbers”. Keep the conversation light and keep one or two people or animals between you and the weirdo at all times. This is a trick I learned from my former neighbor. She used to have weirdos across the street - until we moved.