Is it just me, or does anyone else revert to their childhood self when they get together with their family?
Unfortunately for myself (and my next of kin) my childhood self is…well…kind of a brat.
Late last night, Scott and I returned to ‘Sota after five days in beautiful California with my parents and younger brother.
My brother is stationed in San Diego, and scheduled to leave on his first deployment to the Middle East in just a few weeks. We wanted to make it down to California to see him off and spend some quality family time together.
Let’s just say we certainly got our family time in. Remember how we still hadn’t booked a hotel last week?
I think you can see where this is going.
Long story short, Scott, myself, both my parents and my brother ended up holing up at his two-bedroom apartment. There were five adults and only four bath towels.
Did I mention he has a roommate?
To say we wore out our welcome would be an understatement.
To say I grew slightly crabby after being in such close quarters with my parents?
Also an understatement.
A gross understatement.
Essentially, I fought with my dad for the majority of the trip. I’m certainly not proud of this, but anyone who knows both myself and my father is probably not all that surprised. Basically, we’re the exact same person aside from our gender, age, and spending habits.
Also? He willingly wears fanny packs.
Anyway…both my dad and I are extremely stubborn. We also both insist on getting our way. Unfortunately, my way is generally the polar opposite of his way, which results in some good old-fashioned head butting.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
(Most of the time.)
The funny thing is, I always regret our little spats after the fact. Yet during the actual argument…I seem to be totally on auto-pilot. It’s as if I’ve been transported back into my snotty, Old Navy-wearing, hormone-raging, sixteen-year-old self, and am completely incapable of acting like an adult and simply biting my tongue, no matter how hard I try.
Also…we fight over the silliest things. There was literally a fifteen minute debacle regarding milkshakes.
So, while the trip was a total blast, my sassy tantrum-throwing ways certainly put a damper on things. I really feel terrible about squandering the last visit before Leif deploys by engaging in petty squabbles and making snide remarks towards my dad.
I realize this blog is typically a place of jest and facetiousness, but today, I’m being one-hundred-percent serious– please take every opportunity you have to treat your family with love, respect and care.
Even if they do willingly wear fanny packs and have horrible taste in milkshakes.