Not that I really wanted to have to do it.  But I had said that's what I would do if they kept leaving them in the middle of the floor and they did. So I HAD to do it.   I left them there.  And there they'd stay until they were noticed by the owner and properly hung up in the closet. I was mad.  Should I feel guilty for the pleasure I felt by slamming them into the trash?  Probably. It was bad.

Maggie noticed hers as soon as she came down the stairs, probably because it was on top - the least disgusting place because she had the fewest offenses. As she walked over to the trash, she started to say "Why is my backpack....?" Then she stopped mid-sentence and quietly took it out and hung it up. Lesson learned? I don't know.  We'll see what happens tomorrow.  Ty's was in the bottom. The way down deep BOTTOM.  And at the moment it didn't feel like I could get it deep enough.  Neither Ty or Claire had noticed their backpacks by the time we had to leave for baseball.  I called Reas, who hadn't come home yet and told him whatever he did, do NOT take the backbacks out of the trash!  Specifically, I said, "If you have to dump bacon grease in there and feel like smearing an open peanut butter and jelly sandwish on them, go ahead. Just don't take them out."  Told you I was mad.  He was like, "uhhhhhh. ok."  And probably was reconsidering why he ever thought I'd be a good mother to his children.

We came home and honestly, I can't really remember how or when the other kids noticed their backpacks.  Maggie may have said something to them. I know it's an anticlimatic ending to my story, but I think they got the point.  If anything, they learned that I do what I say I'm going to do.  And that I'm mean sometimes...and maybe overly dramatic when I get worked up, and a little OCD when it comes to keeping order, but I think they already knew all that.  My point is that more and more I'm learning that if repeating the same thing over and over (asking them nicely to put their stuff away) has failed to give me the results I want, then I have to DO something differently (shock them to pieces by throwing their bags away). I'm definitely not saying that this was the best or kindest approach. But it was different, and they responded.  This can be applied to everything.  If we're tired of being late, wake up earlier.  If waking up to a dirty kitchen stresses you out (like it does me), clean it the night before.  If you're kids regularly argue over who's turn it is to play the computer, come up with an entirely new plan.  It sounds so simple, but we're creatures of habit and so we easily get into a rut of reacting or responding the same way to a situation, even when it never works.  And for me, that's when I get tired, frustrated, and sometimes even feel helpless.
So here's my thought for the day: Stop exhausting yourself by doing what you know doesn't work and try something else.

 It's deep, I know.

Somehow I made it through the first half of my married life believing that making lists and getting another bucket would solve all of life's problems.  If I was stressed, I made a list. It would help me stay focused on my priorities.  If I had too much stuff, I found a nice bin to put it in.  Yeah...somehow the logic just really isn't there on that one.  Then instead of lots of little things here and there, I had one HUGE plastic bin to find a place for.  Buckets don't work.  They will consume the bucketeer (that was me).  In the last 5 years I've made great strides in overcoming this "solution" to too much stuff.  Now I'm pretty darn good at just getting rid of it.  I hate stuff.  I love dumping stuff at DI.  It's very liberating.

But, unfortunately one rather large bucket problem remains and really I see no alternative.  It's the kid clothes issue.  Is there some other ingenius method that I've not thought of?  Please say yes.  We're now up to 11 large totes filled with either outgrown clothes, or clothes waiting to be grown into.  Seriously, we could park a Harley in the bucket area of the garage.  All the totes being stored in the garage really just lead to trouble because as clothes are outgrown they get thrown into a pile in some unlucky corner until it gets so big that I'm forced to have a bucket day.  Most recently, it was in a corner of Claire's room.  One day last week when Cosmo the hamster went missing for a few days, I realized that pile of clothes would be an awesome hiding spot for him and we'd probably never find him there.  And if he were a she with lots of babies in her belly, think how disgusting that'd be.  Lucky for us, he's a he (not that I'd know exactly how to tell on a hamster - I'm just going by what it said on his hamster profile).  Anyway, I knew it was time to tackle the pile.

I hate bucket day.  Separating all the clothes into boy's or girl's, then by sizes.  Then the worst part, digging out all the corresponding buckets.  THEN, finding the next size up clothes for each kid so I don't end up buying new unnecessary clothes (heaven forbid).  Then the VERY worst part - just as I think I'm making sense of the madness I turn around to see Claire pulling clothes from buckets because everything is so pretty she wants to try it all on.  It happens every time.  Now Lily's a participant as well.

Finally, hours later when it's all done, I think the same disheartening thought I have after every bucket day...I need more buckets.

Sometimes...most of the time I feel like my life is on fast forward.  Whatever it is I am in the middle of doing I have to do it fast because there is always something else that I need to start on.  I'm tired of being on fast forward.  I always know my life is getting out of hand when I'm scarfing down my lunch for no apparent reason.  Yes, maybe my whole day's list isn't checked off yet, but there is nothing so pressing that I should feel the need to swallow without chewing.  Or sometimes during dinner, I don't even think to take off my apron.  Maybe it's my big momma bib (which often is very handy), but usually I think it's because I know in ten minutes time I'll be up doing dishes and wiping up messes anyway, so I may as well save the time.  But wouldn't it be nice if I removed the apron, sat down, chewed, and then got to the clean-up when I felt like it.  Yeah, that'll be the day.   I know I need to slow down when one of the kids asks me to play with them and my answer is "yes, I just need to_______ and then I'll play."  I hate to admit that as I'm saying that, deep down I know that they'll get distracted and forget that they wanted me to play, and then I'll be off the hook.  Playing with my kids should not be the hook.   How do I make myself stop,  look around, and say everything else can wait?  Playing babies with my 4 year-old is by far the most important thing I have to do at this moment.  I know that now.  But how do I remember that when I'm in the middle of scrubbing toilets, working on a church assignment,  or maybe reading Percy Jackson for me and she wants me to play?  I'm feeling guilty.  And sorry.  And overwhelmed.  Guilty, sorry, and overwhelmed about the number of responsibilities that I am 100% responsible for and I'm not doing any of them as well as I should be.  How do I slow down, focus on my most important job as a mom, without letting everything else slip?

On Saturday we did a little Christmas shopping. First I went out and Reas stayed home with the kids. Then we switched.

As I was happily prancing around Kohl's all by myself, I noticed other moms who weren't as lucky as me - they had their kids with them. And then I made a BIG mistake. I laughed at them. Just in my head, of course. And the only reason I felt justified in this cruel behavior was because usually I'm THAT mom - the one shopping with the kids. I don't think that I was actually laughing because they were so miserable, but more because I was so happy to not be them at that moment. See? I'm not really all that bad. But still, I should not have laughed. Carma would soon teach me that.

My shopping trip went smoothly. I was gone about 2 1/2 hours. I came home a new woman. When I walked in the front door everything was in order. Kids were happy, Lily had slept for nearly the whole time I was gone, Reas was even able to rake leaves and clean up the yard. He and Ty were happily lounging in front of a football game. A pretty simple success for him, I'd say.

THEN HE LEFT.

Here's what I did in the 1 1/2 hours he was gone:

Finish making and cleaning up lunch

Start working on my mom's gift and soon realized it's NOT going to work

Claire's complaining of a tummy ache

Bundle up Claire, lay her on the couch, and continue to listen to her complain

Listen to the others fight while they're trying to play Uno.

Put away the crappy Christmas gift supplies

Still cleaning up lunch

Lily's crying...loud. Can't figure out why.

Hear the familiar sound of throw up coming from Claire...on the floor, on the couch, on the pillow, on the blanket, in her hair, down her shirt, on me.

Strip down Claire and leave her standing there while I at least get the stuff cleaned up off the floor, so it's not tracked around the house.

Get Claire upstairs to the bath.

Lily's still crying. She'll have to wait.

Back downstairs to scrub the couch.

Throw a load of puke clothes in the wash.

Scrub the cushions.

Pick up Lily because she's still crying. Smell poop. A lot of it. It's everywhere - on her clothes, on the couch, on me.

Clean her up and get a diaper on her.

Run upstairs because Claire's crying. She wants out of the bath.

Get her out. Get her dressed.

Run downstairs to finish dressing Lily.

Scrub the poop couch.

Rinse poop clothes.

Back upstairs to bring Claire down to the couch.

She's complaining of a tummy ache. More throw-up.

Put another load in the wash.

Oh! Reas is home.

Claire falls asleep.

Lily falls asleep.

...and I am done.

Next time, I won't laugh.

I really have a problem. I have serious procrastination issues and I'm just gonna come clean with the world. Here it is Friday - two days before Sunday. This weekend is about as crammed full of stuff to do as one weekend can possibly handle. Like there is NO time to spare. And to top it off, I'm teaching Relief Society on Sunday (which I haven't done since I was oh...19 years old). I have a 38% completed lesson.

All this being said, you would think I would be somewhere else right now. And my burning desire is to...change my blog layout?! And then blog about not doing what I should be doing. This is the ultimate example of not being a wise steward of my time. In my defense though, I have been working on my lesson for quite some time and my brain needs a little break. I need some time to throw all the ideas around in my head, chew some up, spit some out, rearrange, and figure out how it will all come together. Anyway, I tend to do most of my best thinking in my sleep...really. Some of my most BRILLIANT ideas come in the wee hours of the night. Ideas like how to rearrange the furniture in my family room in order to achieve an open yet cozy feel, how to sneak veggies down my kids without them knowing it (wait - I haven't figured out that one yet), and how to handle the pounds of Halloween candy that seem to be disturbing our peaceful home life. I'm thinking my lesson will definitely come together tonight. I'm feeling it. And besides, I'm running out of time.

How's that for rationalization?

So, back to my blog layout. I want to change the header to have something snazzy. I have no idea how to do that, so I'll have to do some research OR one of you can just steer me in the right direction. My dear friend and old BYU roommate (hi Manda!) created my last custom header for me, so really I'm very clueless. I loved it, I bonded with my blog, we got along great, and now it's time for a change. I'm also considering changing the whole title. "Carrie and Company" is appearing a bit self-absorbed to me. Afterall, there is more to this family than me. Maybe I'll let you vote on some ideas. Hmmm. That could be fun.

Alright, now that I've successfuly put off preparing my lesson, I've got to get down to the nitty gritty (said with a Spanish accent). Name that movie.

Hasta, amigas.

I didn't get around to posting yesterday. I guess that's a good thing. We've been keeping busy. I've been working on the kids' Halloween costumes and am happy with how they're coming along. I figure this is a great project to get overly involved in while Reas is gone. I don't clean, don't cook, just throw some crackers at the kids every now and then and call it good. OK, it hasn't really been that bad. I DID do 4 loads of laundry today and even baked frozen pizza. Don't worry. It was DiGiorno. Also, I forgot to pick up Maggie and Catherine, our little carpool buddy, from school. It's a long, terrible, brainless story. By the time I saw Maggie she was in hysterics, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. Oooo I felt AWFUL! It's a good thing I have these "I'm a terrible mom moments" every now and then. They help get me back on track. After lots of hugs, extra tasty after-school snacks, and showing Maggie all the cute progress on her costume, I think she started to forgive me. Then we headed out to Primary Soccer games where I could socialize a bit. Boy am I glad for friends...they sometimes forget their kids too.

We're so ready for Reas to be home. The kids are missing him terribly. Today, whenever Lily would get a little sad, someone would say something like, "She's sad because she misses Daddy." Ty even went as far as giving a full-on interpretation of a cry to mean, "She's crying because she wishes Daddy only had to work in Arizona on Monday. Not ALL week." Wow. He's good.

Tonight's my last night alone. We're nearly there. It hasn't been too bad, but it's a good thing he's coming home tomorrow. Each night has become progressively worse. Like earlier tonight after the kids were in bed, I carried the phone around with me everywhere, so I could call 911 at the drop of a hat. Dead serious. It was bad. I swear I heard a noise like the door opening. I stood at the top of the stairs around a corner where I had a decent scope of most of the down stairs. Where I couldn't actually see, I used the reflections in the sliding door and big window to be at an advantage. I sat waiting for the crook to turn the corner. I knew I'd see him before he saw me. What I would do when I saw him, I don't know. I thought about jumping down over the railing onto his head, but I wasn't sure how many of them there were. Maybe just calling the cops with my cell phone in hand would have been best. But then where do I hide? How do I get all my kids into one room before he or they... or I suppose it could have been a she...ascended the flight of stairs and overtook me? Oh, the pressure! I miserably failed the "what if" test. It's a good thing it was only a drill. After my heart stopped pounding and my stomach returned to its proper anatomical location, I started blogging. Somehow staring at this brightly glowing computer in the dark makes me feel like I'm with real people. Pathetic, I know. The bowl of coco puffs helps too.

I think it is now sufficiently late enough to head up to bed.

So um...do you still ever jump into bed from 3 feet away so the monsters can't reach you?

Not me. Nope.

No robbers in the night, not too many scary noises, and a very full bed thanks to cuddly kids.

So far, so good. With the exception of very clogged milk ducts. I'm assuming I speak to a predominantly female audience. We're talking lactation here, ladies. So any outsiders of the male variety - you may want to move on out and find yourself some other pleasure reading. I ALWAYS get clogged milk ducts when I'm experiencing unusual amounts of pressure. And then all that pressure just builds up in one place, if you catch my flow. And why is it that this sweet baby seems particularly uninterested when I need her most? Ahhh, the sacrifices of a mother.

On another note, today's dinner menu - oatmeal and toast. The kids will love it. There will be minimal prep, and clean up will be a breeze. Reas will be especially glad he's on Wells Fargo's tab tonight.

And thanks for all the helpful tips you left me regarding survival on my own. Sounds like I should just party all week. Hmmm. Reas may begin to question my judgement. Oh wait! He's not here to see it. Honey, are you reading this? Don't worry about us...I have it alllll covered. Got the icecream. Got the girls coming over. Got the DVR set to record. All is well.

Today is Day 1 of 5. Reas left at 4:30 AM to head to the airport for a week of work in AZ. I'm feeling strong. Like A WOMAN! Afterall, I made it out the door at 7:30 AM with 4 kids in tow to head to a doctor's appointment. Now...remind me what crazy lady scheduled that appointment?


I'm kinda feeling like I'm heading out on a long roadtrip... alone. A little nervous, a little scared, maybe even a bit excited (about what, I'm not sure. Maybe just the fact that I can get away without making dinner for a week.) But when I get drowsy at the wheel, there's no one to take over. That'll be the hard part.

Ok, who am I kidding? Let's actually ditch the whole roadtrip metaphor. It's not working because there's no fun destination at the end in this case. I've never been one to enjoy the role of brave and responsible caregiver for the whole family. A house without a husband kind of creeps me out. I don't like an empty bed. I don't like searching the kitchen for something tasty after the kids are in bed only to eat it alone. I don't like the noises at 2:00 AM that suddenly become violent robbers trying to break in. Eeek. Why do I do this to myself? I'm already getting all worked up about night time. Ok, I can do this. YES I CAN!

So here's to turning up the music, rolling down the window, and flying solo for a week!

May I first begin by informing you that it has been a long day and I am exhausted as only a mom can be. This may explain why I am writing to a household appliance as if you understood or even cared a hoot about me. The fact that my husband has been away at work and school all day and that it has been 12 hours since I have spoken with another adult face to face may offer further clarification.

I feel that it is in my best interest to apologize to you. I use you. Over and over again. I depend on you to perform perfectly day after day. I come to see you everyday, multiple times, yet it is really never to be with YOU. The only time I come to you is to shove my family's dirty clothes, underwear included, down your throat. Then I am gone without a word. Not even a simple thank you or smile. Occasionally, I wipe you down, dust you off, scrape up the gummed up fabric softener off your head, but I admit that all too often this is only when company is coming and I want them to think that you are always treated this good. Then they come and USE you too, praising me for being a good housekeeper because you are so clean, but never giving a thought to you.

After 8 years of intense labor you only occasionally complain. Like when I expect you to wash 16 pairs of jeans at once. Hey, I'd complain too. Almost a year ago, I thought I was going to lose you. You were crying out in agony with each load. In fact you were so loud the walls were shaking. Literally. The repairman came and said, "She's not worth fixin'. You may as well run her into the ground. Just know she might stop and that'll be the end." So that's what we decided to do. For the first few weeks after the diagnosis I went easy on you. Your loads were a bit lighter and I tried not to make you wash 9 loads of laundry in one day. But soon I forgot to be gentle and worked you like always. Then today as I stood there shoving muddy socks, chocolate covered t-shirts, and poop stained onesies into your faithful mouth, it hit me. You've been quiet. You've been agitating like a star. Your tub doesn't rattle. You're really going the distance for me. The walls of the house are even still. Who knows how long it's been this way. I didn't even realize you were better. I didn't pat you on the back and say, "Good job, glad you're ok." I've been selfish and ungrateful. I am so sorry.

Thank you for your dedicated service. Thank you for running even when you may feel like quiting. Thank you for keeping a family of 6 clean and Downy fresh. Our friends and neighbors thank you as well.

I promise that from here on out I'll be more aware of you and your feelings. I'll shine you just because. I'll pop my head in to say hello whithout an armful of malodorous laundry. And occasionally I'll even change detergents just for variety's sake. I will treat you like the indispensible member of this family that you are. You are a true friend.

Here's to many more years of "loads" of fun TOGETHER.

With many thanks,
The Designated Dud Doer

In the last 24 hours I have...

cut out curtains one handed
made enchiladas one handed
emptied the dishwasher one handed
moved laundry from washer to dryer one handed
made 2 pans of potatoes for a funeral one handed
googled "colic" and read numerous internet articles while standing and doing the baby dance
walked Lily up and down my street 12 times while singing all the verses to at least 5 primary songs
bawled like a baby
neglected 3 other children
taken a record speed shower to the sound of a screaming baby
drove to Jack in the Box at 10:00 PM so Reas and I could drown our sorrows in smoothies and milk shakes

In fact, I am typing this very minute one handed and standing up. Lily is one of those elevation sensitive babies.

Yes, the evidence is conclusive and the verdict is in. I've been avoiding the dreaded baby "C" word, hoping that this little Lily of ours would just get happy. I haven't even mentioned it to my mom, sisters, or closest friends. So, um girls - there you have it. Lily is colicky with a capital C. I guess she saves her "best" moments for when we are at home, so it's sort of been our little secret, but it all seems to be getting worse.

I'm not even going to ask for advice, mostly I'm just enlisting the help of blog therapy. I know there's not much I can do for her. However, any advice regarding how I can remain sane through this would be appreciated. I probably shouldn't go through the drive-thru every night.

So, to end on a happier note. I did get a laugh out of one of the articles I read last night. It was listing some of the possible contributors to colic. One of which stated...

* the presence of excessive anger, anxiety, fear, or excitement in the household;

ok. I'll admit we have some of that at times but LILY IS THE CAUSE OF ALL OF IT!

After reading through a whole list of causes, the last one was the best.

* probably a multitude of other factors as yet unknown.

Basically meaning, we don't know why the heck you have the saddest baby on the block so suck it up and deal with it.

Here's my current view of Lily. Close up and personal in the baby carrier. My back could use a break about now.

I better go check on the other kids now. I just heard Claire say, "I feel wicked!"

I have recently discovered a major oversight in the world. You know the all popular "What to Expect" series - somehow along the way they forgot to write a "What to Expect When You're Overdue and Showing NO Signs of Labor." Yep, that's what I'm needing about now. A few tips on how to cope, how to change my mindset from "I have a feeling this baby is coming early" to "I have a feeling I'm gonna be pregnant for 6 more weeks" would come in handy. The 13th was my due date, so it's only been a day, but feels like FOREVER! Not only that, but I'm totally the last man standing right now. I have 2 friends and a sister in law who were all due within a week or so of my due date. 2 of the 3 are holding their sweet baby girls right now and the last one is in labor as I type this. As a side note I feel the need to add that one of them was like 10 days overdue, so I am so so happy that she's done now, but now we're talking about ME! Why the heck does my baby want to stay in there? Ok, I guess I can think of quite a few reasons, but still. And yes, I do have a say in this. My doctor would happily induce, but I've gone that route before and I'll just say the induction/epidural road is NOT for me. My body doesn't cooperate, so in the meantime I wait. Maybe she's just giving me more time to practice my breathing technique, or to clean my bathrooms, or to learn a little patience, but probably to buy her more clothes. Whatever the reason, I'm finding myself not knowing what to do with myself. Suggestions anyone? And no, I'm not going to drink castor oil!

The simple truth is I have had absolutely zero blogging inspiration lately. I know it's obvious. My brain has gone into vegging mode along with my body which seems to barely be able to get me up the stairs these days. And since we all know that pictures speak more loudly than words, I'll just SHOW you what I've been up to....or what I HAVEN'T been up to.


I haven't been up to putting away laundry.



I haven't been up to organizing the pantry/coat closet.






I haven't been up to making my bed.





I haven't been up to unpacking after last weekend's quick trip to CA.





I haven't been up to grocery shopping. Looks like sour cream and pickles tonight!



The list goes on, but you get the idea.


To keep things on a more positive note, here's what I HAVE been doing.


I've been watching my toes disappear under my belly.





I've been keeping a tight watch on this bag of chocolate chips, not letting it get too lonely.





I've made a new best friend named The Calendar. If I take my eyes off of it for more than 6.2 seconds I am sure to forget what I'm doing in 10 minutes.




Most importantly I stay far, far away from THIS.





And to satisfy the nesting instinct, I washed my first load of baby clothes today. If only it could always be this fun!



And lest you think it possible for me to stop project-ing all together, here's my latest little redo.

I sooped up this lamp with some fabric and fringe - LOVE it! And a sweet little lady at church crocheted this...I know it has a special little name, but can't think of it at the moment. I didn't quite know how to display it, but I'm loving it now!









Oh yes. One more thing...I decided to make my bed today.

Yes, I know the word choice is a little harsh, but at the moment it's accurate. Isn't it ironic how the same hormones that are working hard to create a sweet little baby can be so horrible for us mommies? And for everyone around us, for that matter. My dear sweet, honey who totally deserves husband of the year after putting up with me today hasn't even thrown me out the door yet.

My day was rolling along as usual and then, in an instant, the world was bleak and out to get me. All because Reas called from work to say hi and to see how we were doing. Had he stopped there, maybe things would've been different, but he had to go and tell me that he probably would rather NOT go to Costco with me - that he might be too tired. The nerve!! And then to top things off when I kindly asked if he had any ideas for dinner he couldn't think of a single thing!! Doesn't he know that it's hard to come up with dinner ideas day after day? Just one little suggestion would've been nice. And then... the hormonal beasts kicked in. Well fine. Be that way. But I'll show you (these are the beasts talking now). I'm going to make TACO SALAD for dinner, even though we just had tacos. Maybe next time you'll help me out a little. You have to understand Reas' thing with mexican food. He enjoys it, but can only stand so many taco seasoning flavored meals in one week. MWAHAHAHAHAHA, say the beasts. He's just gonna love THIS.

So by the time he gets home, I'm a mess, really for no good reason, but trying to hide it. The kids are crying, fighting, and I'm not doing a thing to stop them because I'M busy making taco salad. I said hi - how was your day -the typical, but was mostly quiet. He knew right away he was treading some murky water. Neener neener neeeeener. We've taken over, say the beasts.

Now I don't really know how the male mind works, but I can try to imagine what he might have been thinking in this situation, drowning in my flood of nonsensical madness, which I am attributing 100% to pregnancy. Something along the lines of, "jeesh, Carrie's like super mad right now. I wonder what I should say. I think I'd better stay quiet just in case I say the wrong thing." And of course, I'M thinking, "Can't he tell I'm feeling rotten all over right now? Why doesn't he say something? I'm not making eye contact and I'm a little too enthusiastic about browning this beef. That's ALWAYS a bad sign!"

Still he's quiet. I'm about to boil over and the floodgates are seconds away from letting loose - all for no reason remember. Except I'm pregnant. And The Beasts. Have. Taken. Over.

Dinner was practically silent. I had to excuse myself TWICE to go have a little sob session in the bathroom.

By the time I returned from my second cry everyone else was pretty much done eating. I sat there eating in silence. Alone. And miserable. And wanted everyone to know it. So you know what Reas did? He did the only kind, husbandly, selfless thing that was left to do for a wilting hormonal wife. First he thanked me for a delicious dinner (which was meant to be not so delicious), then he made sure the KIDS thanked me for dinner, then he started doing all the dinner dishes, and THEN to top it off he said, "The kids need baths tonight. I'll bathe them and you can go out."

WHAT!?!?! No retaliation? You're not going to get mad because I'm behaving like a wild, selfish, baby, brat of a woman? You're going to be nice and thoughtful and sensitive even after I've treated you like this? And give me my OWN night out? Awwwwww. And just like that the beasts were quiet - they fell asleep or something. I was myself again.

And you know what I chose to do on my night out? I went to Costco. Alone. And had a great time.

Honey, there's light at the end of the tunnel. Only 2 1/2 months to go.

HAVEN'T HEARD OF IT? READ ON...

Obsessive Possessive Disorder

Inflicting 9 out of 10 toddlers and young children under the age of five. The cause is unknown, but the presence of siblings and other children might put your child at risk. A child suffering from OPD will break into wild tantrums if his possession is not immediately returned. If it is NOT returned the tantrum may last, on average, from one to 15 minutes, although there are rare cases where crying, screaming, and head bashing have only subsided due to the child's loss of consciousness. In other instances, the length of the fit remains undetermined due to a temporary parental abandonment. Signs and symptoms of this disorder often mistakenly lead a parent to believe that his child simply has a favorite toy or object. This is incorrect. Your child may suffer from OPD if he clutches to an object until reddening of the knuckles and face occur, if he insists on sleeping with an item for more than 5 consecutive nights, or if he screams loudly when another child looks or steps toward the object of choice.

There is no known cure for OPD. In some instances a parent will consistently give in to his child in order to avoid conflict, or the child may eventually outgrow this condition. If a child remains free to act upon his OPD the lasting effects are severe. He will grow up to be a selfish, manipulative adult who is disliked by his peers.



A toddler with OPD clutches to her dining room booster seat, insisting she take it with her.

I'm sure there will come a day when I miss those gentle tugs at the pants and a sweet little voice saying, "Mommy, hold me." But I am quite certain I will never miss dragging around the dead weight of a toddler wrapped around one leg, who's screaming in anger (for no apparent reason) as I'm throwing a roll of paper towels down on the THIRD cup of spilled milk of the day. This of course happens as I'm trying to make dinner, fold my 5th load of laundry, and help with homework. Talk about multitasking. Most days I handle these situations fairly gracefully. There are even some days when I say, "Bring it on! SURE, I'll take dinner to so and so, SURE I would love to volunteer at Family Fun Night. And SURE, I'll get the oil changed and even take the kids with me!"

Then there are OTHER days. Those days when I think, "If I have to change one more disgusting diaper, I'm making you live in the bathtub for the rest of the day." Or those days when the mere sound of my children (who I love) saying, "Mom, I'm hungry," makes me want to scream and run out the door. Or those days when I tell myself, "If I can just make it till bedtime...then I can sit and do nothing except watch American Idol."


What is it that makes our moods so changing? I'm sure it can't always be blamed on hormones. Why can't we all be superpeople - every day? We know there must always be opposition, so maybe it's because if we were always "supers" then there would have to be those people who were destined to be supervillans. And then we'd go around hating them for being so mean and they'd hate us for being so NICE. And that doesn't sound nice at all.

So, as much as I'd love to be SuperME around the clock, day after day, it makes sense that we'd all have to take our turn at being really rotten every now and then. And since we all know what it feels like to be grumpy, tired, impatient, or whatever else we might be feeling, then maybe we can all be a little more understanding of when someone else is struggling to overcome his supervillan self.

So, if your feeling like SuperYou today, enjoy it and let your family enjoy YOU! Maybe you could even flash a smile to the mean cashier at Wal-Mart. And if you're right in the middle of a supervillan day, don't worry - there's always tomorrow, and you can choose to make it SUPER!