Wednesday, October 22, 2008


My 4 year old daughter said the funniest thing tonight. We were driving down the road and I asked her to reach in my purse to find my cell phone. After a moment she said with such a confident, helpful tone, "If you need it, the pad for your overalls is in your purse." I thought for a minute trying my hardest to figure out what in the world she was talking about. Finally I asked, "My overalls? What is it that you found?" She pulls out a feminine pad (I'm trying to be discreet with my words) and says, "This...for your overalls." Then she proceeds to try to put it down her shirt. I realized that my sweet daughter thought it was a nursing pad and that my bra was actually called overalls.

The things they say...

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Sunday, October 12, 2008


neurotic - adj.: affected by neurosis
neurosis - n.: a functional nervous disorder without demonstrable physical lesion

I am functional and do not have physical lesions, but I wouldn't have defined my "condition" as a disorder. That said, I have come to believe that one of the reasons I have three young children is to break me from my neurotic tendencies. And I cannot help but be broken. In a house where my attention is continually demanded, petty neurotic behaviors have no place (and no time to be fulfilled). Let me give you an example.

When my husband and I were engaged, we registered for our everyday china in two complimentary colors. Prior to having children I diligently stacked my everyday china in an alternating pattern... behind closed cabinet doors. (Have you ever seen Sleeping with the Enemy?) I was able to keep this behavior hidden from most; except our occasional friends who would come for dinner only to peak into my cupboard of secrets when reaching for a bowl.

The other morning, I was hurriedly putting the clean dishes away while my coffee brewed. (I knew the day would quickly be in high gear and wanted to start it with an empty dishwasher... can I get a witness?) I paused as I realized that two blue plates were stacked on top of one another, and three yellow plates were likewise touching. What had happened? And when? I fought the inward pull to rearrange the entire shelf and felt a sense of pride as I closed the cabinet door without giving in. It was the same feeling I felt when I called my sister just to tell her that I had allowed my daughter to mix the play dough colors. What freedom. What rebellion.

So have I overcome this nervous disorder? Not completely; but there is hope... one plate at a time.

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