Mom says she doesn’t make the rules. She says it all the time. Like when I ask why I can’t have ice cream for breakfast or why I have to wear socks inside my shoes. “I don’t make the rules,” she says, shrugging like she’s just some innocent bystander in the universe of rules.

But here’s the thing:
She knows all the rules.
Every single one.

Like, she knows I have to wear a jacket if it’s “below 60.”
But she’s outside in a T-shirt.
I say, “Aren’t you cold?”
She says, “I’m fine.”
I say, “But you said it’s jacket weather.”
She says, “For you.”
What does that even mean? Is she made of lava?

She knows when bedtime is, when screen time ends, when snacks are allowed, when snacks are not snacks (looking at you, marshmallows), and when it’s “too close to dinner.” She knows when I’m “getting cranky” even though I feel completely normal and just want to scream into a pillow because my sock seam is wrong.

She says “I don’t make the rules” when I ask why I can’t say “butt” at the dinner table.
But she says “butt” when she’s talking about the cat.
So… is there a butt schedule?

She says “I don’t make the rules” when I ask why I can’t bring my Nerf gun to school.
But she definitely made the rule about not shooting it at her coffee mug.
That one came with a full speech and a dramatic pause.

She says “I don’t make the rules” when I ask why I have to eat vegetables.
But she doesn’t eat the green beans either.
She just pokes them and says “Ugh, canned.”

So I’m starting to think maybe she does make the rules.
Or maybe she’s like… the Rule Translator.
Like a wizard who doesn’t invent the spells but knows exactly when to use them and how to make them sound like ancient law.

And if I ask too many questions, she just says,
“Because I said so.”

Which I’m pretty sure is the final boss of rule-making.