As OCD as it gets

My madre fits the clinical definition of OCD to the extreme. It’s like control freak to the max around here. We aren’t allowed to open and close the blinds in our own room, because she is afraid we won’t do it correctly, heaven forbid we don’t shut them all the way. I was blow drying my hair in the room with the door shut, trying to be quiet, but obviously the room got pretty heated. So like any other person would do, I went to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and cracked the window an inch. Five minutes later, she came in to let us know dinner was ready, and without even pausing, she walked right over to the window, and adjusted the curtains to lie flat against the wall, because I clearly had touched them. I bet if I left a gum wrapper on my nightstand, her super madre powers would send sirens alarming her of the crisis, shooting off neuron signals in her brain, and within half a second she would have it properly placed the trashcan.

As a nation, Spain basically shuts down between the hours of two and four in the afternoon for the siesta. Everyone heads home from work or school, businesses close, the University is gated shut, and it’s time to eat and rest. Since we’re still getting use to the schedule here, Andrea and I have been laying down after lunch each day and sleeping a little. The moment we get off our beds, our madre is in the room straightening the blankets and pillow, smoothing out every last wrinkle until it resembles a five star hotel room. Literally every time she passes through our room, she straightens something, shuts a drawer, or smoothes out our beds. I have never seen her enter and leave our room without adjusting something. I don’t have any idea how she raised two boys in this apartment.

On the day we moved in, we weren’t allowed to wheel our suitcases into our room. At first, I just assumed she was being overly hospitable. As I watched her wheel our luggage through the maze of doorways and hallways in the apartment, she took each bag one at a time—going in reverse, then forward, reverse, forward, reverse, forward like someone trying to parallel park an 18 wheeler in Manhattan. I finally realized she was trying to insure the bags didn’t graze past the doorways and damage the wood. Incredible.

We also received an intensive course on how to open and close each door in the apartment, including the main entrance with three different locks. I was sweating with anxiety as she had us practice open and close our bedroom door without making a single sound. I pray each time that the wood doesn’t stick or that the heavy front door doesn’t slip out of my hand and slam shut. I won’t be able to sleep at night just thinking about how she might pay me back at the next meal.

But really, asides from her insane, OCD, controlling tendencies, she’s just about the sweetest old lady I have ever lived with. She’s also the only old lady I have ever lived with.