I have mentioned before that our family is highly competitive. My husband is the worst of the bunch. Coming from a family of eleven, his sibling rivalries are taken to a much higher level. When I heard there was a movie coming out called There Will Be Blood, I thought it was a documentary filmed during a family game of Boggle.
Our nine year old daughter, who used to let her friends win just to be nice, is now changing her tune. As she has gotten older and has begun to play sports, I’ve noted a real ruthless streak in her. Now, with a Wii in the house her new attitude is win first, friends second.
Yesterday she was playing tennis with her Dad when she missed a ball and, as is customary, he began to rub it in her face. He saw the end was near and before going in for the kill he asked, “Do you smell that?”
And I realized my daughter has learned the first rule of competition is knowing how to talk smack when she replied, “I smell something. But, it’s not your victory.”
Because my six year old son has ear canals the size of a bug, and he produces a lot of wax, he has to go to the ENT roughly once a month for a thorough cleaning.
In order to be proactive about it, I am always looking for signs of wax build-up. For instance, when he starts asking, “What?” all the time, I know I need to schedule an appointment. Another indication is when worker bees start buzzing about his head.
But usually, I can see the wax. I give his earlobe a gentle pull and, more often than not, I’ll spy a gob that is screaming for me to pull it out. Though the last time I attempted to do that, I pushed it back in. Do you know how it feels to have an Otolaryngologist lecture you? I do.
So, I have to settle for pulling the lobe back to just look. I am constantly peeking in there and making comments about his ear wax.
Maybe I do it too often. Because when I was holding him the other night, he looked up at me and said, “Mom. You have some wax in your nostril.”
On yesterday’s Oprah, we met six individuals suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, also known as OCD. Though, if you really have this disorder, you know it should be referred to as CDO, so the letters are in nice, neat, alphabetical order.
Dr. Mehmet Oz and Dr. Jonathan Grayson took these individuals to OCD Boot Camp, where they were forced to deal with their anxieties. Most of them had an aversion to being touched and to germs, so Dr. Grayson started them off with a group hug, so they could cross contaminate each other.
Then Dr. Grayson had everyone get down on their knees, put their hands on the floor, and lick their fingers.
Meet Brian. Brian was so afraid of germs that he constantly kept his left hand in his pocket, and he was so scared to sit on the toilet in his own home, that he would go to the bathroom in his yard. Dr. Grayson thought this wasn’t normal behavior and explained Brian’s course of therapy was to rub his hands along a toilet seat, and then lick his fingers. Because that is normal, and Brian needs to get on the right track. As you can see by the look on his face, Brian clearly wanted to stay on the wrong track.
Next, the good doctors took the six people into Philadelphia where they found two sticky and smelly trash cans. One woman said they contained a mixture of cat feces, old food and vomit. Mmmmmmm. Dr. Grayson had Brian touch the inside of the trash can, then…you guessed it…lick his fingers.
After the Boot Camp the participants said they felt much better, but they strongly felt that Dr. Grayson needed to get some help.
After a lot of occupational therapy to get over some serious sensory issues, my six year old son is no longer afraid to touch anyone. He’s also not real shy about it. When his sister started playing soccer and softball a few years ago, I would take him to practices where he would approach any Mom who paid him any mind and would begin rubbing her legs or arms. Not to mention, he would inevitably try to rub her chest as well.
Thanks to some good fortune, last week our family got a Wii. What does a Wii have to do with chest rubbing? Well, I’ll get to that.
Aside from the fact that we warned the kids not to hurt themselves while playing their new video games…okay, that was after I pulled a shoulder muscle while bowling…we also told them never to touch buttons if they don’t know what they mean. Because, so help me, if someone wipes out my Guitar Hero standings and I have to start over, it’s not going to be pretty.
So, back to the chest rubbing…
Tonight, when I was folding laundry, my son saw one of my bras and asked, “Mom, is this for boobies?”
I replied, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Then, I realized we stressed being careful with the Wii a little too hard when he said, “And, I never, ever, ever touch private parts like boobies…and I never, ever press reset on the Wii either.”