So my oldest son leaves in the morning for Havasupai. Already I have listened to him rattle off his itinerary and narrate his menu for the next three days at least ten times. It's not that I'm not interested. It's just that I got it all the first time.
I can't really blame him. His need to play it--or anything else he's preparing for or worrying about--over and over again in his head and to recite it over and over again to me is all my fault. As much as I have lived my life trying to run from the OCD (or, as my mother calls it, OCDC) that flows through my genes, I think it may be time to concede. It is what it is.
I can thank my maternal grandmother. We used to joke that she'd wash the glass you were drinking out of and have it put away before you took your last swallow. We were only partly kidding. This woman--whom I love dearly--kept an immaculate house. In fact she even kept an immaculate garage and shed to go along with it. I still wonder what the carpet cleaners who were hired to come and shampoo the carpet she keeps in her carport to protect her driveway cement from oil spills had to say about that gig.
My mother has uniquely not-so-endearing ways of expressing hers. The latest occurred today. My husband was laying sod at her house while I was at work. She called him this morning in a frenzy requesting that my two children ages 7 and 11 (who are not pigs and who, while they may spend too much time barefoot in the summer, are always encouraged to clean up and put away toys after themselves) not enter her home while she wasn't there, as she was trying to keep it clean for her other grandchildren who are coming to visit next week. I'm trying not to be offended; but part of me is still wrestling with the logic--or lack thereof--of that request.
Those of you who know me or who have been in my house--or who have had to meet me on the front porch because I was too embarrassed to invite you in--might think I must have been adopted. But it's not really true. I have seen the traces of OCD surge in my veins and I fight it vigorously. To a fault. There is a part of me that digs my heels in the floor with the full force of resistance in mortal fear I will start to make things more important than people. Which is how I've always seen it. Afraid I'll be incapable of striking a healthy balance, I hightail it frantically away from any sense of order or perfection.
And so I live in disarray. I don't plan too far ahead, in hopes I'll never be too busy to make myself available for the important things. I don't make lists--unless you count the once in blue moon when I take a minute at the end of the day to write down what I did do in order to feel somewhat decent about myself. And I have a burning testimony of chaos theory.
Things fall apart.
I used to be envious of those couples where at least one of the pair were fastidious. Like they had at least half a chance. But now I've decided that if my husband and I were polar opposites in any one more way there wouldn't be a prayer. We would drive each other absolutely crazy. It just works better this way. If my clothes are on the floor too, then I won't be annoyed by his clothes lying on the floor. Right?
Lorien likes to console me with her take on my disorder (wow! what a deliciously ironic pun). She tells me I am just particular about how I express my OCD. I save it for my quilt points, she likes to tell me. Thanks Lorien. That's what friends are for.
But sometimes I save it for late nights of insomnia worrying about insignificant details of my existence. Or significant details I am powerless to control.
I also used to worry about how I might be ruining my kids by my crazy hodgepodge of a life. But now that I have one Oscar and one Felix--who were both raised the same way in the very same home--I have to wonder if they didn't just come they way they are.
There is a still a part of me that is still just a tad bit envious of orderliness. And sanity. What I wouldn't give for just one hour with absolutely nothing else left to do.
But most of the time I'm too busy running away. Or running here to do this and there to do that. As if I keep running long and hard enough it won't catch up to me.
"We meet at the Sorensen's at 8:00. We start driving up. We drive all day. We stop for lunch and dinner on the way...I need my iPod. I need bug spray. I need $30 for the fee. Are you sure someone will have a water purifier I can use?"
13 comments:
no one ever is done with the things they have to do. thats what i've learned. plus, the people who seem to have it all together (my mom), really don't.
also, i learned in psychology that the phrase "opposites attract" is completely false. there is no such thing as that. so, if you and your man were oppisites, you really wouldn't have a prayer.
but, what do i know, i've never been married or had kids.
to comment about your last post: it is sad to have family leave on missions, but you'll love the blessings that come from it.
hey young lady...isn't it past your bedtime???
Thanks for the advice. I keep trying to tell myself that about all those people who appear to have it all together.
But deep down I don't think I really believe it.
My OCD manifests itself in laziness. I am COMPULSIVE about my sloth. And OBSESSIVE about my slack. And I thank the Pfizer company for that sweet release.
And someone will have a water purifier he can use. For the love--it is Havasupai.
Quit comparing yourself to others. We are all important in our own little ways.
Mine was to ride you into the sunset on a Harley ;o)
You are my inspiration on the days when I really don't want to make my house look like my mother-in-law's house did when Phil was growing up. (That would be EVERY day.) I want to be more like you: a person who puts other people first at all times. You are the best, Dalene. Love ya!
No worries--I'm not really beating myself up here. It's just that on occasion my keyboard becomes a sofa and you, my dear readers, become my shrink.
I more just mulling over my current state of being mingled with a few ongoing childhood issues, topped with just a bit of concern about my genetic legacy to my son.
That's all.
Love all your comments. Particularly love the thought that I can choose to be done. That's either a solution or part of my problem (I'm going to go play now because I'm done already.)
And Shannon--your riding me off into the sunset on your Harley is indeed important! As is your ability to be yourself and to make me laugh. Glad we finally met. Let's get together again sometime.
Jeez! The one week I am internet-less you go on a posting spree! :) Rather than post on everything, just wanted to let you know I did my reading, and did my assignment, and the lemon pie ingredients are on my grocery list.
A hallmark of OCD is that it has to cause "significant" disruption in family, social, occupational functioning", which means that you are probably sub-clinical--just thought you'd like a professional opinion ;).
My great-grandmother was a neat freak. My grandmother never cleaned house that my mother can remember. My mother is a neat freak, so guess what I am? Not a slob by any stretch, but definitely see my house through my mother's eyes, and I will never measure up.
I liked your point about couples. I can't stand dirt, and DH can't stand clutter. So between the two of us the housework gets done.
My bet is that you're more balanced than you give yourself credit for--that you think about caring about people more than things, and that the concept helps curb your autopilot ocdc says to me you probably have it together. :)
I love you ... and, like your kids, I know there is no single item in the entire world that you would chose (or try to keep clean at the cost of my feelings) over me. You're a goddess...did I all ready say that?
I heard that exposing kids to germs and dirt builds up their immunity to sickness and disease.
Judging from the condition of my house, my kids will be of super-human anitbiotic strength. Able to crush viruses with one hand and leap piles of dirty laundry in a single bound.
I am now going to add to my list of five talents that I am amazingly good at picking good--no, make that wonderful friends!
And how 'bout that? I got a real shrink to analyze my ponderings and it turns out I'm sub-clinical! Now I can cross that off my worry list.
Who says doctors don't make housecalls anymore...
I'm not doing analysis-I'm minimizing your pain, your experience (tongue-in-cheek). I'm just trying to say that we all have our quirkiness; if it isn't one kind or another. We all come from families, so we're going to be a little nutty. But, the next time you run across someone who seems a bit neurotic, and you lovingly think of her as sub-clinical, that's okay with me. You could even work it into conversations with your friends--"Sally? Oh yeah, I talked to her last month at FHPE [like Prince, formerly known as Homemaking]. She's a hoot! And you know, she's a bit, well, let's just say she's subclinical." And everyone would know that she's pretty okay.
I know what you mean--I used that term analysis loosely (that whole tongue in cheek thing is so lost in cyberspace). I looked at what you wrote as giving me perspective--which was very helpful. And subclinical is a great euphemism for "quirkiness."
OCDC. That is beautifully funny.
Amazing, I just now realized something important about The Ancestor. Thanks for turning up the dimmer switch.
You know, I really like you.
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