How I Saved My Daughter's Sanity or Scarred Her For Life--The Jury's Still Out

We've always claimed that Carmen is our family’s best hope for normal. I often wonder if she wasn't shamed into it. By her mother.

You see, when she was younger—maybe nine or ten—she started showing definite OCD behavior. She had to touch certain spots on the floor before she left a room. She had to touch certain pieces of furniture or sections of the wall. She counted stuff. I handled this quirkiness in my usual fashion—with humor because patience has never been my strong suit.

Then it happened. An OCD quirk I couldn't laugh away.

The Quiet and Calculating One developed this truly awful habit of interrupting her speech with little humming patterns.

“So, Mom, when are we…mmm mmm mmm…going to the pool?”

“What’s…mmm mmm mmm…for dinner?”

“Can I…mmm mmm mmm… have friends over?”

I think I managed to ignore it a total of two times. Then things got real. My loving and compassionate response was, “Stop doing that! It’s annoying and people will think you are weird!”

Eventually I shortened it to, “OCD!” Every time she would start the hum, I would yell, “OCD!”

And when she asked what “OCD” meant, I snapped, “It means Oh Carmen Don’t! Because it’s annoying and people will think you are weird.”

Fast forward 7 years. I’m watching a documentary that followed kids with OCD from grade school through high school. I’m truly amazed at the struggles and challenges these kids and their families faced. One girl had to move in with her grandmother because she thought her family was contaminated. Another girl stayed home from school for three months for the same reason. Yet another took four hours to get dressed every day because of the washing rituals.

Why had my daughter not succumb to her OCD tendencies which, even though I’m making light of them here, were very real?

So I asked. She answered, “Because you shamed me out of it. You told me it was annoying and everyone would think I was weird. I didn't want to be annoying and weird, so I forced myself to stop.”

It’s true. She actually was shamed into it by her mother! I’m putting this one in the win column anyway. After all, I did stop her from a life of struggle and possibly never being able to enter a department store. Right? 

Besides, she is still our best hope for normal even if I have to shame her into it.

Even Roaring Moms don’t always get it right. What’s your not-so-proud parenting moment that somehow worked out anyway?

There are Worse Things

"You are turning into the cat lady."                      

At least that's what my friends tell me. Just because during a two week period in December, nine out of ten of my Facebook posts were about my new kitten does NOT mean I'm turning into the Cat Lady. Just because my sister opened a photo text from me the other day and responded, "I thought that would be a pic of your new grandson, not your cat," does NOT mean I'm turning into the cat lady!

I have dogs. I hate the dogs, but I still have them. And what's the use in keeping alien beast canine creatures who wake me up three times a night, sneak naps on the couch which used to be green but is now a lovely dog hair white, eat entire stacks of pancakes from the kitchen table when we turn our backs, and do unspeakable semi-sexual things to each other when they are bored. In the middle of my living room. With company present. Sometimes my mother. What's the point of keeping them around if their mere presence does not preclude me from being called a Cat Lady!

Besides, if I am a Cat Lady, I'm not a very good one. I'm not sure actual Cat Ladies would allow me in their club. I almost got my last cat killed. In my defense, I did nurse it back to health after a broken leg which was NOT my fault, I might add. Still, I did almost get it killed. But not until after I tried to give it away to numerous people. But the stinking thing (and I do mean stinking) wouldn't stop pooping on everything--except the litter box. I just couldn't live in a cat toilet anymore, so I took him to the Humane Society. Seemed like the humane thing to do, right?

After I filled out all the paperwork and said my goodbyes, they inform me that they don't take Pooper Cats. They would be putting him down that day. Then the intake lady confesses that her own cat sometimes prefers to poop on her bath towels and gives me a look that says we should expect as much when we invite animals into our homes. She follows that with a mini-lecture on how cruel it is to just turn a cat out and make him live outside when he's been used to being inside.

Careful, Lady! I perfected the guilt trip lecture! In fact, maybe it was cruel of us to turn him into an inside cat when we "rescued" him from the outside. Maybe he prefers to be outside. And maybe your Pooper Cat prefers it, too and that's why he poops on your bath towels! I took Pooper Cat and left. I brought him home and introduced  him to his new lodgings--nature!

Can I help it if I missed the snuggle of a soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur? So when I saw the ad seeking a home for an unwanted kitty, I couldn't help myself. I ran over to the owner's home and scooped him up (after making sure he was box trained, of course).

So you see, I am not a Cat Lady. Just because my arms and hands and feet and legs have so many cat scratches I look like I've been attacked by a poltergeist but I still let the little furball snuggle under the covers at night does NOT mean I'm a Cat Lady. Just because I turn on Maru You Tube videos for hours on end because the kitty is obsessed with them, which forces me to put off my computer work until it's cat nap time, does NOT mean I'm a Cat Lady. Just because I like to watch the occasional Maru video myself does NOT mean I'm a Cat Lady. Just because I bought my first QVC purchase--a new camera--late one night with the idea in mind to document cute kitty poses does NOT mean I'm a Cat Lady.

...                                                SEE MARU VIDEO HERE
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What does it mean, however, that I am now buying things off QVC in the middle of the night?
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Oh, God! I think I'd rather be a Cat Lady!

Claustrophobia

You know, they say some day we might be able to live on Mars. We already have a Space Station that sustains life for astronauts for months and months. I'm wondering, if I had been down in that hole in Chile, if I wouldn't have opted out of the 15 minute capsule ride and just taken up residence down there.

If being trapped in the dark with 33 men wouldn't have put me over the edge, I know the capsule ride would have. I'm just a little bit on the claustrophobic side.

I panic when I'm in an enclosed place that I can't see my way out of.

I'm a firm believer that it is our neurosis that keep us sane. Embrace your neurosis and it will keep you from slipping into psychosis. At least, that's what I believe. That belief has actually worked for me over the years. Especially since I became a mom. Roaring Mom philosophy states that we offer a better show of strength to our children when they can see our weaknesses and also see us work through them. Nevertheless, I did try to calm my few neurosis when my kids were younger, if for no other reason than to not scare them.

Case in point: Several years ago we visited the caves in Hannibal, Missouri (Mark Twain's boyhood home) while on our family vacation. This was pretty cool because I've always enjoyed Mark Twain and the kids were all big fans of the movie Tom and Huck. The caves were the exact same caves Mark Twain explored as a child and brought to life in his Tom sawyer and Huckleberry Finn adventures. Number Two Under the Cross, where Tom and Huck find the treasure, is a real life, actual place! And because of the nature of caves, it looks pretty much the same as it did back then. With the exception of a wall full of autographs from when they used to let visitors sign their names.

Anyway, we're touring these caves. In several places, the tour group had to walk single file. As I remember it, at the narrowest point, the path is only 19 inches wide. I had stayed back to take a picture and got separated from the rest of the family. They were just a few people ahead of me, but I couldn't see them because I ended up in the single file line behind a man whose head practically touched the cave ceiling, whose shoulders filled the cavity, and whose butt, I KNOW, was more than 19 inches wide. I couldn't see my kids and, more importantly, I couldn't see my way out.

I felt my throat start to close up and my chest tighten. My skin became clammy and my heart raced. Tears welled up and I knew I was going to cry or scream or have a seizure at any moment. I needed to calm down, so I did what any panic-stricken, neurosis-embracing mom would do...I inhaled deeply through the nose and out the mouth. In through the nose. Out through he mouth. In through the nose...

Oh No He Didn't!

Oh Yes He Did!

He cut one right in front of me. A big, nasty, stinky one.

I couldn't get past him. I couldn't turn around. I couldn't hold my breath because the deep breathing was the only thing keeping me from full-blown anxiety attack.

So I kept breathing. In through the nose. Out through the...nose. Ain't no way I was opening my mouth in that foul smelling air. In, out, in, out, until I finally just had to laugh.

I heard a sweet voice from up ahead, "Mom, what are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing, sweetie. Just embracing my neurosis."

"Huh?"

Who knows? Maybe I would have been okay in that capsule. As long as I remembered to breath. And laugh. Amazingly, that's exactly how the trapped miners seem to keep their sanity, too. The videos of these brave men, smiling and joking and singing in the cave were almost as inspiring as the emerging Phoenix. And nearly as miraculous. The human spirit is a wonderful thing, is it not?

Congratulations to the Chilean miners and their loved ones! You've inspired us to embrace much more than our neurosis. You've inspired us to embrace life, whether it's on Mars, a Space Station, or a deep, dark hole in the ground. God Bless You All!