I’m Not OCD

Now please excuse me while I go wash my hands.

Ha! I kid. See, that’s funny, because the common misconception is that all people with OCD wash their hands constantly. But that’s irrelevant, because I’m not OCD.

We have two basic types of sippy cups in our house: Lightning McQueen and Toy Story. Like So:

The Lightning McQueen cups came with blue and red lids. The Toy Story cups came with green lids. Last week I grabbed the last clean cup out of the cupboard—a Toy Story cup. Then I grabbed the last lid.

It was red.

I did what any perfectly sane non-OCD person would do.

I washed a green lid.

What? That’s perfectly normal. The green lids go with the Toy Story cups. Do you see any green in the Lightning McQueen cups? I think not! It’s not OCD. It’s a keen eye for coordination!

Shut up. It’s not like I would’ve panicked if I had to use a red lid. I believe we could characterize it as “moderately disturbed.”

If anything, I have Obsessive-compulsive Personality Disorder.

Actually, I don’t know if that’s better or worse, as one of the sub-headings in the OCPD article is “Hoarding.”

Crap.

Anyway, I had a little chat with Car about proper use of sippy cup lids on Saturday, so I think we’re cool. Y’all can breathe easy. Moderate disturbance averted.

Doesn’t matter anyway. After all, I’m not OCD.

Forget the Weather

The fact that I’ve voluntarily eaten oatmeal for two consecutive mornings is far more indicative of an impending apocalypse.

This morning’s OCD moment is brought to you by Big G: “Mom, I need you to get the crust off the waffle but not any of the holes, because I might want to eat those.”

And a spending update: I spent $6 yesterday because I forgot to take lunch to work. The Mongolian Beef was totally worth it, though. Today I’m getting a haircut, and I defy you to tell me that’s an unnecessary expenditure. Go ahead. Try it. I will cut you.

FYI: Last night I was going to write a scathing post about Medicaid, but I fell asleep on the couch. Obviously I was overcome by my feelings. Here’s a preview: stop whining.

Okay, then. End of pointless post. You may now return to your regularly scheduled Friday.

The Shot Across The Bow: A Photo Essay

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Perhaps some bizarre form of psychological warfare?

Reading: It’s Not for Sissies

We have a bedtime routine. Most parents of small children do, as it’s the only way to maintain some tiny semblance of sanity. The very end of the routine involves reading a chapter out of the children’s scripture reader (because I’m such a great mom), having family prayer (see previous great mom comment), and reading a book. Then I have to swing the boys to their bedroom, because Big G is borderline OCD and if I don’t swing him, the next hour will be spent listening to a total meltdown.

I digress. I want to focus on the part where we read a book. I love books. And by love, I mean “I would wither up and die without books.” I want to share that love of reading with my boys, but some nights it’s so hard to make it through an entire book without collapsing on the floor in defeat.

What, you need an example? I just happen to have one from last night, when Big G picked “Go, Dog. Go!” as his bedtime story.

For easier readability (and because I’m too lazy to keep typing dialogue tags), I’m going to put my comments in regular type, and Big G’s comments in italics.

“Big dog. Little dog.”
Why is the big dog sitting down?
Because he’s tired.
Why is he tired?
I don’t know.
Is he tired because he’s so big and heavy?

“Big dogs and little dogs. Black and white dogs.”
Does he weigh a lot and that’s why he’s tired?
*sigh* Yes.

“Hello!” “Hello!” “Do you like my hat?” “I do not.”
Why doesn’t he like her hat?
I don’t know.
But why? Why doesn’t he like her hat?
He doesn’t like flowers.
Oh. Okay.

“One little dog going in. Three big dogs going out.”
Why is the little dog going in and the big dogs going out?”
Because they are.
But…

***At this point I actually read 2 pages without interruption. And the angels sing.***

“Some big dogs and some little dogs going around in cars. A dog out of a car.”
Why is the dog out of his car?
Because it doesn’t work.
Why doesn’t it work?
It’s broken.

“Two big dogs going up. One little dog going down.”
Why are the big dogs going up and the little dog going down?
The little dog got on the roller coaster before the big dogs.

“The green dog is up. the yellow dog is down.
Why is the green dog up and the yellow dog down?
The yellow dog weighs more than the green dog, so his bucket is lower.
The yellow dog is a really big dog!
Yes. Yes he is.

I could keep going, but I think you get the idea. By the end of the book, I’ve convinced Big G that all the dogs drive red cars because they bought them from the same dealer, the bird is crossing the street because he’s on his way to work, and if you eat your boogers you’ll get sick because they’re full of germs. That last one might be unrelated to the actual book reading. We’ve also had a five-minute discussion on the dogs sleeping, the one dog who doesn’t sleep, and why there’s a dog still asleep when all the other dogs are awake. (I tried to tell him it’s because he stayed up too late and now he can’t get up and have fun with all the other dogs, but Big G wasn’t buying it.)

Reading a book with Big G has become an endurance challenge.

I suddenly understand where Bill Watterson was coming from when he wrote the Calvin and Hobbes strips featuring Calvin’s dad explaining various concepts:

As much as I always loved Calvin and Hobbes, I never expected to be living it.

Please Forgive Me

No, seriously. Forgive me. I know I’ve left the story at a point where it’s inexcusable to take a breather (especially since my last post was Wordless Wednesday) and you’re going to hate me for begging off tonight. Hopefully you’ll still come back to read the rest. For now, I’m falling asleep at the keyboard and I can’t type a thoughtful post if I can’t keep my eyes open.  It would read something like this: I was sad. I used drugs. It was bad. I stopped using drugs. The end.

You see why I can’t write this tonight, right?

But because I love you, I will leave you with a Big G moment.

As many of you know, Big G has some OCD and some sensory issues. One of the many things this means in my life is that he likes to have his clothes warmed up in the dryer before putting them on. I know. Pretty soon I’ll have to separate out the green M&Ms.

I’ve been trying to wean him from the warm clothes thing, but it’s a slow process. Last week we were getting ready to go to his friend’s house, and he refused to put on his clothes because they weren’t warm.

Big G: “Mom, these aren’t warm!”
Me: “Do you want to go to Bob’s house or not?”
Big G: “I want to go to Bob’s house!”
Me: “Then I recommend you put your clothes on.”
Big G: “Well I recommend you put my clothes in the dryer!”

Dude. No.

It was one of those moments when you think, “Did he really just say that?” and you want to laugh, but you need to be the parent so you try really, really hard to keep it in.

FYI, I did not put his clothes in the dryer. Advantage, mom.

Dear Huggies

I appreciate Pull-Ups. Really, I do. They make me feel like I’m making some sort of progress on the potty-training front, even though all I’ve really done is put my child in a less-absorbent diaper that he can take off himself.

I just have one itty-bitty complaint. If you show a picture on the package of Lightning McQueen Pull-Ups, could you perhaps actually have Lightning McQueen Pull-Ups in the package? I know that sounds like a small thing. Really, for many children, it probably is a small thing. After all, Buzz and Woody are pretty cool too, right? (Although I have to stifle the giggles every time I tell my son to “Go get a Woody Pull-Up.” But I’m pretty sure I have the maturity level of a 14-year-old boy, so it’s all good.)

Ahem. My point is, when you’re dealing with a child who has a meltdown when his sheets are changed (“I need the light blue sheets! Where are my light blue sheets?!”), a Pull-Up discrepancy is a disaster of epic proportions. My mornings are hard enough without spending 10 minutes coaxing my son into his Pull-Up.

I recommend you address this problem ASAP, or I’ll have to switch to the Pampers Easy-Ups. After all, they have Diego.*

Yours Truly,

Mom on the verge of a nervous breakdown

*I’m so very sad that I know this.

Chaos Theory

I took the boys to Carl’s Jr. today to burn off some energy (theirs, not mine). Sadly, I did not realize the local school district had a teacher development day. The result: Lord of the Flies–with playground equipment.

Little G fell asleep soon after we got home, so Big G decided he wanted to draw a picture for his cousin. It went a little something like this:

Big G, handing me a marker: “Draw something that’s cool.”
Me: “Okay. What do you want me to draw?”
Big G: “Something that’s cool.”
Me: “Ooooookay…what’s cool?”
Big G: “You draw something, and I’ll let you know if it’s cool.”

Long story short? I apparently don’t draw cool things. And when I do start to draw something cool, I’ve done it all wrong and it’s not cool anymore.

In other news, my husband is currently playing Resident Evil 4. In case you’re wondering just how big a wuss I am, I can’t watch him play. In fact, I finally had to leave the room, because the noises in the game were freaking me out. So FYI, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I’ll be in the corner, peeing my pants.