The Water Snob

I am a glorified water snob. I often say, "this water tastes tainted" and am known to bring several large water bottles filled with the water from our house to other places.  Sometimes water tastes brown to me, even though it is clear. Yes, sometimes I taste in color.  I also have a pain that sometimes happens in my neck that feels brown. Some vegetables taste extra green. 

Sometimes I swear I can taste every mineral in a glass of water and proceed to feel each mineral scratching my throat as they enter my esophagus. Water can taste rusty, therefore it tastes a little bit red, and can leave a gritty feeling on my tongue.

At my parent's house I describe their water as tasting warm and thick. They have gotten to the point where they buy distilled water and separate ice cubes for me so they don't have to hear me complain.  Mom often says, "what have we DONE to you?!"  Unfortunately the distilled water tastes minty to me. She is just finding this out right now while she reads my blog...I love you mom!

I do like lemon in my water.  Last night while out for dinner with my friend Heather, they served the water with a cucumber in it.  We discussed how we REALLY try to like cucumbers but we just can't seem to acquire a positive taste.  Needless to say, the water was not easy for me to drink.  It is amazing how something that looks so tasteless has such a powerful flavor. By the way, the cucumber made the water taste green...a light green.

So, I shall sign off and go drink a glass of water from our tap. It tastes perfect to me...perfectly tasteless.  And always remember, everything always tastes better in a wine or champagne glass...

"Is this old?"

I incessantly check the expiration dates of everything that I  consume. It is not uncommon for me to ask, "is this old?" or "is this expired?". I get the most *sighs* out of Matt and my mother. Even if they say it is fine, I do not really believe them. I have a 24 hour rule on most items. My dad likes to say things like, "that has been there for DAYS!", which is typically followed by my mom saying firmly, "JOHN! Why would you say that? You KNOW how your daughter is! Now she won't eat it!". Even if I AM brave enough to consume the product I will ask a minimum of 3 times, "are you sure this isn't old?". This is followed by rolling eyes and exhausted looks on people's faces as they ONCE AGAIN say, "it is FINE!".

There is a reason behind this madness.  A reason that adds to my obsessive compulsive tendencies. I can't remember how old I was, but I know it was Thanksgiving.  It is not uncommon for me to feel "starved" after a day of holiday food because there is SO much grazing going on! I never feel completely full! Anyway, my dad is the same way.  We got home and both complained of feeling hungry and immediately went to the refrigerator to take a peek.  Apparently we both thought it would be an EXCELLENT idea to choose the CAN of swanson chicken broth shoved WAY back in the fridge covered with a small piece of tin foil.  What a great idea to boil some pasta in that and have some soup before bed! Me being a child, I only wanted the noodles.  Dad being the dad, gladly took MY broth and slurped it down.  A few hours later I awoke sweating SO badly and MAN did my stomach hurt! I trudged over to mom and dad's room and poked at mom. She woke up and asked what was wrong and I mumbled, "I don't feel very good" and BLAH...no need for details.  Dad then sits up and says, "I don't feel good either" and off he ran downstairs.  I am pretty certain the house was shaking from his violent sickness. My body had mended within 12 hours. Dad's did not. I am not sure if he EVER left that bathroom during the next 24 hours. He REALLY should not have slurped down so much broth!  To this day, both of us cringe and gag a little bit when we see this label:

As a matter of fact whenever I eat any sort of chicken broth I envision the following:

And question, "is this old?"

Btw, you CAN tell when pop is expired. I have had other witnesses...you know who you are.

It is JUST a sock!

My grandmother June was a very lovely woman. She was free-spirited, trendy, and relaxed.  She always had the most up-to-date hairstyle, colored her hair often for fun, and seemed to always be ahead of the time when it came to fashion. There was always a yoga pose, herbal tea, or reflexology technique to cure whatever was ailing a person at the time. She is who watched me while my parents went to work.  We walked a lot, went out to eat, sang and played the piano, had fashion shows, and painted pictures of scenery.  She would also take me along to Dubuque to visit her sister and go shopping. This is when I would see another side of the lady whom I referred to as, Nanny. I remember dreading the shoppping trip because the amount of stores we would visit and the amount of SOCKS that were tried on made me crazy! There was always something that didn't feel right.  The heel was too bunchy, the seam across the toe was scratchy, they were too tight on the ankle, you name it.  Her sister was the same way, which would just fuel the sock journey.  I used to think in my head, "it is JUST a sock!".  After Nanny passed away and we were able to go through some of her things, we realized that it wasn't just socks. Waistbands would be cut and collars would be hacked off of her clothes. 

My dad never had any problems with feeling "out of sorts" when it came to how his clothing fit.  As a matter of fact, when he worked at the Lock and Dam one Winter, he would come home, take off his boots and there would be his socks OVER his heel bunched up in the arch of his foot and frozen.  He would work 12 hours that way and not be bothered. I, on the other hand, seemed to have inherited the sensory issues my grandmother had. I have been known to cut the cuffs of my shirts because they are too tight or become easily distracted when a piece of clothing "doesn't feel right".

Then comes Collin.  Oh, my sweet, sweet, Collin.  Collin always seemed to be laid back and not phased by very much.  Matt was happy because he felt the house was now equally divided.  Recently this has all changed. BOY, has it changed.  It started with the tags in his shirts. They were, according to Collin, "scratchy!" and would often cry, "it hurts!!!". He now insists on picking out his own clothes. He checks for the tags and when he finds a tagless shirt he exclaims, "no tags!" and puts it on. Then one day I put on a 3/4 length shirt on him and he literally fell apart. He pointed to the inside of his elbow and screamed, "owie owie owie!". This resulted in, once again, allowing him to pick out his own shirt. Then it was time to put on a long sleeved shirt AND pants because it was cold. As you can imagine, it did NOT go over well. This is one of those times when what I do for a living gets thrown out of the window and I become a PARENT who is at a loss.  Through many sensory integration techniques and discussions with Collin, we have progressed to him tolerating either pants OR a long sleeved shirt.  Don't get me started on what happens when the coat is introduced or when his SOCKS bother him. Instead of thinking in my head, "it is JUST a sock!" I can now actually say it.

I guess the point is, it is always good to understand who you are as a person, how you became the person you are, and how you deal with the children you make. Genetics intrigue me.  My grandmother and Collin are so similar, yet my father has escaped the sensory drama almost completely. I have a few things here and there, but nothing that warrants spending an entire day looking for the perfect pair of socks.

Nanny, you had your quirks, but we miss you dearly and hope you are wearing the PERFECT pair of socks.



1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

I am known to engage in obsessive compulsive behavior.  Looking back, I remember always being this way. I remember drawing a boat, which turned into 25 boats in a few hours. Once that was perfected I moved on to houses. I am sure it was hard for family members to say something positive after boat #3.  Today I often question when my mom brings up such stories, "how did you NOT see there was something odd about me?!". She usually just laughs and says, "it was just who you were!". Another memorable story was when I decided one evening that I was going to tie my shoes.  It happened...at approximately 3 AM after many tears and frustration shared not only by me, but my parents as well. Call me stubborn and obsessive compulsive, but I prefer driven.  At least that is my positive twist on it.

Everything I do is to the "nth degree". Sometimes this is positive and other times it is not. It depends on the situation and whether I am moving forward alone or dragging someone along with me.  Matt is very patient with me...well most of the time. He has learned to reassure me FIVE times before what he is saying will actually sink in when I am worried.  It is strange it takes 5 times, when I subconsciously count to SIX repeatedly throughout the day.

This behavior or temperament, or whatever you want to call it has been around for generations and is seen throughout both sides of my family.  As a matter of fact, my cousin Jessica and I went out for dinner one night. We were sharing with each other how our anxiousness seems to worsen as we get older.  I then told her how I panicked the other day because some of the calk was peeling away from where the shower and the shower walls attach.  I yelled for Matt in a panicked voice, "Matt! You have to come see this!!". He ran in, probably thinking one of the kids had gotten hurt or perhaps an earwig had invaded the room. I said anxiously, "you have to fix this!". He didn't seem as alarmed as me so I carried the worry of the situation around for DAYS. I then told her that what went through my head in SECONDS after seeing the peeled calk was that, water was now seeping inside of the shower, which was now in the walls, therefore creating moisture and black mold, which would mean COMPLETELY gutting the bathroom and possibly being dead by morning because of mold infestation.  She started to laugh and said, "that SAME thing happened the other day at our house and I thought the SAME thing!". We then both laughed SO hard we were almost crying and then felt relieved we weren't alone.  It is nice to know you are not alone in your thought process, but because it is inherited I also feel badly.  Cooper is a mini-me. As a matter of fact he often says, "I am SO my mother's child"...

Collin also has exhibited some new quirky tendencies in recent weeks. My poor, poor husband...

9/11

I lived in a place called Watervliet, NY from January 2001-August 2001. I was a music therapy intern at a place called Capital District Beginnings in Troy, NY.  Watervliet  was off of a traffic circle which  was also the link to Schenectady and Albany.  I visited New York City a few times.  It was a nice train ride there.  When people came to visit me, I always tried to make sure we could go to the city.  When Matt came out to essentially move me back home after my internship was completed, I decided to surprise him with a trip to the city for his birthday.  We took the train ride on August 11, 2001 and made sure to meet up with my good friend Emily who lived in the city and worked near the twin towers.  We strolled over to the twin towers and Matt asked Emily, "wasn't there a bomb scare here a few years ago?".  Me being completely clueless when it comes to history of any kind, just continued to soak in the city itself. I had always imagined myself living in New York City. 

Exacly one month later the phone rang through the wonderful tri-plex Matt and I moved into. I was broke from living in NY on only a $300 a month stipend and Matt still had another year of college at Wartburg. I nudged at Matt to answer the phone and shortly after saying "hello" I heard him yell down to me, "TURN ON THE TV!" in a panicked voice. I turned on the television and just like that the second tower collapsed. I stared. I stopped breathing. I was speechless. Then it hit me...Emily worked across the street and had mentioned she went to the towers to workout and for other reasons daily. Matt then handed me the phone.  It was Mitch who had called.  He asked me, "doesn't Emily work there?!" I just said, "Mitch I have to go...I have to call her and see if she is ok".  The cell phone lines were so backed up nobody could get through to anybody.  I just paced that entire day with the sickest feeling in my stomach.  Eventually I was able to connect with her.  She was OK. It was a relief.

This is one of those situations where so many of us can describe in great detail what we were doing when the news broke.  Such a tragedy that will never be forgotten. 

You know, I said parades are funny and I still think that in many aspects. But the parade yesterday was a perfect tribute to all of the firefighters who played such an important role on 9/11.

Parades Are Funny

The boys and I watched a firetruck parade this evening in Monticello. Yes, a parade with nothing but firetrucks. It was actually kind of interesting with the many different towns involved and being able to see one of the first firetrucks ever used. My favorite was the one pulled by horses.  We even saw my cousin Austin driving a truck from Guttenberg. I am typically mortified when people shout at other people to get their attention, but something came over me tonight as I yelled, "AUSTIN!" and then waved like a crazy person.  He heard his name, slowed down, and gave a nice shout out to Cooper and Collin. It is unclear if I will ever be brave enough to do that again.

At any rate, parades are kind of funny to me.  People really take them seriously! They save spots hours in advance and are secretly worried someone might take their claimed spots.  I have been there and done that.  The parade entries prepare for their debut and flash their best smiles and maybe even secretly practice their parade wave. I mean, why don't people just line up every night and watch the traffic pass? It is kind of the same idea.  Except for the CANDY.  Maybe parades are an excuse to throw small, enticing objects at small children without it being a problem? Do parades exist because of the candy or for people to "parade" themselves through town?

I was IN a parade once when I was little.  I remember always looking at the people in the parades with such admiration, as if they were celebrities.  I watched other children ride by on their fancy bicycles, sit in the passenger seat of a really nice car WITHOUT A CAR SEAT OR SEATBELT, and have that special spot in a firetruck as they threw candy and imagined how much fun it would be.  I shared this with my mom and so it was planned that in the 4th of July parade I would sit in the FRONT SEAT of the ambulance with my Uncle Jim and throw candy. I was so excited! But once I was seated in the ambulance and that door shut, I sort of panicked. How would I know how MUCH candy to throw? How would I know how hard to throw it? How often do I throw the candy? And then the realization hit that I would not be able to SEE the parade and get my OWN candy if I was IN the parade. I felt sick and maybe wanted to cry. But I remained quiet and suffered in silence. In the end it was fun and a great experience, but one I never took part in again. 

I always try my best to FULLY enjoy everything that I do. To not let my "quirks" take over. They took over tonight. Every piece of candy thrown at my children made me think of the HUGE bowl of candy we still have from the 4TH OF JULY!!.

Now THIS is what we have!

So now I am thinking how HALLOWEEN is around the corner! This bowl will NEVER be empty! Speaking of Halloween...it is time to start perfecting the costumes.



"You should write a blog about your quirks"....

As I dressed in my best ninja gear to run a 5K at midnight last Friday, I was, as usual, a stressball.  Not about the race of course. I had to find my way to my friend Falon's house, which should not be a big deal since I had been reviewing my mapquest directions all night. Not only did I have to find her house, but then I had to decide whether I wait in the car pretending I had important calls to make when I arrived or simply walk up to the door.  The problem with walking up to the door was that a couple of things could happen. I could ring the doorbell, but what if it doesn't work.  It is almost always instinct to try pushing the doorbell again followed by pressing your ear up to the house to see if you can hear it. Then I have to stand there looking awkward. I could then knock on the door, but with what kind of force? I mean, she may be standing RIGHT there.

As I snap out of my typical daze of "what-ifs" I gather up my items and get into my car.  The drive was fine. I turned down Falon's street and dropped the speed of the car to a slow creep. Being I am barely 5'2" with a torso only 12 inches in length, I truly look like an old granny when I drive. Now I am driving 3 miles per hour, arms wrapped around the steering wheel, entire body hunched forward, eyes in a squinting fashion as I try my best to read the house numbers. I am CONVINCED every person in every house is watching me and laughing so now I am even MORE stressed. I don't want to PASS Falon's house because she may be watching and SHE might laugh...and just like that a light flashes on and I see her house number...as I drive by. After I took a deep breath and maneuvered a quick turnaround in a neighbor's driveway I am there.

Now I am back to the original situation I was stressed about.  Do I wait in my car or simply walk up to the door? I opt for walking up to the door.  I walked up the driveway and was startled by a small metal cat on her step. I am not gonna lie, it was kind of creepy! Anyway, I can't even remember if I rang the doorbell or knocked on the door at this point, but soon Falon and I were on our way to the race.

We talked about sore knees and how we are going to stay awake as we wait for the race.  I start to feel anxious (shocking) about where we are going to park and if I am "hitting people" as I drive. I admit I can only park left to Falon and then spew out, "um, I have a lot of quirks and am constantly a stressball!".  Falon chuckles and very calmly says, "you should write a blog about your quirks".

So here I am.

By the way, parking worked out great. I took a left, and a left, and was able to take another left, but decided to try parking right. I did it, not well, but I did it.  We ran 3.1 miles in the dark on a trail joined by our other running buddy Lisa. It was a muggy 90 degrees but so much fun! Next year full glow wear followed by hashbrowns.