I wonder what happened with your socks then? 
“You kids are going to drive me to the nuthouse!”
“If the (family name here) kids jumped off the _(name of river) Bridge, I suppose you’d jump right along with them, right?”
“How many times do I have to tell you?”
Although clearly rhetorical in nature, that last one actually elicited a response from me, when I was 16 years old. I very sharply retorted, “Six.”
And there I was, standing just a few inches from my Mom, looking down at her (I had passed her in height a couple of years earlier). The next thing I knew, her right hand was hitting the left side of my face - hard. “How’d that happen?” I thought, trying to hold back the tears. “Man, she’s quick!”
I never crossed my Mom again. Ever.
The teenagers in this town seem to have little else to do. They don’t go no 8-9 blocks though. Maybe 2-3 blocks. Just circling round and round on Saturday nights. Drives my sister batty.
There’s a girl we know, she’s only about five years younger than me, but much younger, emotionally. She’s always calling wanting us to go drag main with her.
Life is not fair - get used to it.
What do you want ME to do about it?
Saying you are just like your father is NOT a way to get sympathy from me…
Oh - wait - these are things I say!!! 
Missy
At least once a week my mom yells at me, “Would you please stop whistling in the car, it’s driving me nuts.” (Luckily she means mouth whistling, not whistling using a whistle.)
My dad had two:
Whenever there would be a light left on in a room noone was occupying, he would ask, “Who’s reading in the __________ room?”
And seeing shoes scattered all over the hallway/family room/kitchen/stairs or wherever they happened to be: “What is this, the National Shoe Depository?” (There were 9 people living in the house, so there often were a LOT of shoes).
I am only human. Alas.
That’s funny. I was at a wedding in a small (ex)mining town in Cape Breton. After the wedding, my gf’s grandmother got everyone together to “Shoot the Drag”.
I’m going to steal an old boyfriend’s mom’s gloomy phrase that won’t leave my head, unfortunately. I try not to say it out loud every time I see an impending disaster (ie, child running obstacle course in living room with sharp-edged coffee table). I end up thinking it a lot: “Laughing turns to crying.”
“There’s a boo-hoo egg in that tee-hee nest.”
Jennie
Thanks, Jennie. Much less gloomy!
From Mom I got-
" Always act like a lady"
"RE-member not “member”
From Dad I got -
“Keep your heels down”- as in horseback riding
From both I got-
"You can do anything you really want to "- as in aspirations
Wisdom she passed on in a tongue-in-cheek, yet serious, tone, from a posture teacher at college…
“Hold your quarter!”
Anyone know what that means? (I still do it, btw)
The Prime Directive: “Always wear clean underwear–and make sure there aren’t any holes–you never know when you might have to go to the emergency room.” (She was a nurse.)
At the beach . . . “Don’t go in over your knees. You’ll get caught in the undertow and drown.”
Alternated with . . . “Don’t go in over your knees. You’ll fall in a hole and drown.”
Accented with . . . “Shuffle your feet. You’ll step on a stingray and they’ll have to cut the barb out.”
“Put shoes on those feet before you get ringworm.”
“Don’t play in the puddles! You’ll get ringworm!”
“No, you are NOT going to wear flip-flops. You’ll get ringworm.”
Pointing to grimy child with excoriated mosquito bites all over his legs: “He obviously didn’t listen and now he’s got ringworm!”
“You’re pale as a ghost! Go sit in the sun!” (That was then.)
“You’re pale as a ghost! Don’t you have lipstick?” (Now.)
“You look like the wreck of the Hesperas! Can’t you DO SOMETHING with that hair?” (Then and now.)
“Are you planning to go to school/Mass/shopping/movies/work wearing THAT?”
"DON’T LOOK! Pretend you don’t see them!" (About every carload of cute guys who pulled up next to us at stop lights. To this day, I have trouble flirting with guys in cars. Well, shoot, I have trouble flirting, period. I’m afraid some giant hand will come out of nowhere and smack me.)
Closely related to the above . . . “They won’t buy the milk if you give it away for free.” (Took me years to figure out why she kept talking about dairy farming.)
“If you learn to type, you’ll never be out of a job.”
“No, you are not going to take music lessons. You’re not musically inclined.”
“Stop that whistling. It’s not ladylike.”
And–I swear this is true–the one I have never figured out: “Don’t open the venetian blinds that far! Do you want people to think we’re Irish?”
Dad’s Prime Directive: “Just float until the Coast Guard gets here.”
“I don’t know what the hell ringworm is, but don’t worry–we’ve got insurance.”
“Keep whistling. She can’t tell if it’s you or me.”
“What’s her problem with your hair?”
And the piece de resistance: “Let’s tell her we’re going out for ice cream, and we’ll see if somebody’ll drag with us. You can steer!”
My paternal grandmother always said that tennis shoes were bad for your eyes.
I’ve been told my maternal grandmother (who died before I was born) always instructed, “Never eat blue food.”
When my dad was ordained a priest, he decided he needed to clean up his language a little bit. He was a cop - Chief of Police - when he was ordained, and cops don’t always have the nicest language. So, instead of saying whatever naughty word he wants to say, he yells, “BOOGERS!”
From Dad:
Oil is the lifeblood of anything mechanical.
Take this bucket of fish heads & guts down to the creek and throw 'em in. And don’t puke.
Don’t tell your mother I let you shoot this.
Reckon what your mama would like for Christmas? (Usually on Dec. 23 or 24)
Boy, you get back in that truck.
Here’s the Father of the Undisputed circa 1943 in the United States Navy.
Ringworm ain’t bad. In my day, it was polio.
“Don’t make me come back there!” was for me and my friends in the backseat of the car.
My mother’s big threat was, “I’m gonna skin you alive!”, but she never did.
Also, “If I have to tell you again, you’re going to be sorry.” (She made good on that one from time to time.)
“Michael, just stop talking for five minutes.” (I heard this a lot during long car trips. Apparently I was a voluble little feller.)
Daddy was very laid back, and seldom said a harsh word about anything. When Mother got mad, she’d say things like “Oh, sugar!” or “Oh, fudge!”. Occasionally she’d loose control, and a “Dammit!” would come forth. This would always elicit a shocked, “Inez!” from Daddy. I guess that’s why I never got much into swearing–especially in front of other people.
Oh, Cran. I’m sorry.
I saw a boy running from the post office with a pile of letters, and then he tripped and dropped it all in a puddle. His mother gave him the most awful, foul-mouthed scolding I’ve ever heard. I wanted to rescue him.
I know that some of the things I say to my children, though not inappropriate in terms of language, are said more to make them feel guilty than to guide them. Hope they survive to remember some of the other, more noble things I’ve told them.
Jennie
Oh my gosh, what memories you’ve all brought back for me!
Peggy, my mom was always the one who covered for us kids - my dad didn’t talk to us unless there was a punishment involved. We were terrified of him, so it was appropos that the one sound my dad made that had the most instantaneous effect on us kids wasn’t actually anything he said. He was a highway patrolman and whenever he came home he radioed in to the jail to let the guy on duty know he was home for the night. When he did this for some reason it caused a few seconds of static on our television set. When we saw that, someone always yelled, “Dad’s home!” and we scattered like roaches when the light is turned on.
Ah, the good old days. 
And…I’m so proud of myself…I asked my 23-year-old daughter earlier today if she can recall any words of wisdom or instruction I repeatedly threw at her - and she said no. 
Susan
It really is child abuse. Heaven knows when I hear parents talk to their children in this way it gives me the same awful feeling.