A Happy Home Needs Kleenex

My parents take care of my nephew Josh one day a week. In preparation for their weekly visit, my sister likes to stock her house with some of my parent’s favorite goodies. It’s her way of saying thank you. My way is to move the dishes into the sink and find the TV remote just before they arrive for babysitting duty. Both are appreciated. As is the on-time “Happy Anniversary!” card from my sister compared to my four-days-late phone call. Not surprisingly, only one of us has any idea when “Grandparents Day” is.

Recently my sister told me that my Dad had made one small request for their next visit. He wondered if it might be possible to get a box of Kleenex. Like me, my sister has embraced toilet paper as a completely adequate tissue replacement. With special provisions allowed only for the most severe of colds (repeated blowing and raw skin variations). Paper towels could also be used in a pinch. But a regular everyday supply of Kleenex? Never.

It hadn’t dawned on either of us that maybe it was slightly uncouth to send our family members and house guests to the bathroom to blow their nose. It certainly wasn’t a targeted effort to exhibit boorish manners, or even a veiled attempt at conservation – more like a complete oversight on WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO. The typical home that plans to have visitors should include running water, heat, a bottle opener, maybe a grill, but certainly a $1.59 box of Kleenex. Some chairs would also be good. [The normal home probably also doesn’t have condoms lying around under every seat cushion, but my husband maintains that the desire for spontaneity coupled with the need to prevent a fourth child is more important than just about anything else. So if you visit our home, please don’t go looking underneath the couch. That might be even more awkward than sending you to the bathroom for scratchy toilet paper.]

I digress, but it still defies expectation how both my sister and I have maintained a Kleenex-free home. We grew up in a home with a never-ending supply of Kleenex. It was a staple. Found in every room. And not just the cheap stuff, but the good multi-ply super soft kind. I’m sure we were one of the first to get Kleenex with Lotion when it came out. So, either my sister and I share an uncommon insensitivity to sandpaper on our nose or this represents a twisted form of repressed rebellion against a lifetime of an overabundance of tissue.

Regardless, we are now committed to making Kleenex a part of our happy homes. I plan to include it on my next stock up (actually purchased a 10 pack today at Costco) and hope that my Dad notices and tells me he is proud. In spite of this, I have no plans to stock up on Rueben sandwiches or Ding Dongs. Because that would mean I was trying to compete with my sister for my parent’s affection. I would never do that – at least not so brazenly. I also have questionable self-control where Ding Dongs are present. In fact, it’s a long and sordid history with the Ding Dong and the rest of the Hostess family.

While happy to be on our way to tissue recovery, I fear that my sister and I have much more work to do on our “half-pour” habit. Most commonly observed when pouring orange juice, my sister and I learned at a young age that orange juice was expensive and therefore not to be squandered and that full glasses of anything had greater potential for spillage. So began our years of pouring only a half a glass of juice – for yourself or anyone else. That was something we definitely got from our mother – probably even passed down from her mother - and so it’s difficult to overcome. It may also explain why all the women in my family are challenged with finishing a full bottle of water. Although we are exceptionally good at carrying half drunk water bottles from room to room. Our brother on the other hand took a different path. He took the 7-Eleven road which says that every pour should be at least 32 ounces.

Observing habits that you share with your siblings is intensely amusing. It reminds you of years of bonding and shared experiences, some of which are deep and others just a little whacky.