Category Archives: phobia

May 23, 2012 · 1:15 pm

Bounce

This is how my anxiety works:  I discover pins and needles in my left foot, so I must have a tumor in my spine.  (By the way, the MRI I had last week was clear.)  I find a new freckle on my arm, so I probably have skin cancer.  I write a blog for a while.  Then, one day I decide I should write a book.  Right away.  Before it’s too late and I’ve become an old lady full of regret (if the melanoma hasn’t already killed me).

Of all the possibilities, I jump to the worst-case scenario.  I bounce directly from A to Z, and in the process, I skip a lot of important stops in the middle.  Working with my life coach over the last few months has helped me (1) slow down and (2) focus on B, C, D, and so on.  With her guidance, the elusive book is still in my future, but I’ve slowed down enough to improve the blog design, add a URL, beef up my writing skills, and experiment with new features, like giveaways. With less bouncing around, I’ve accomplished more on my blog than I ever imagined.

(Speaking of giveaways, there’s still time to enter to win tickets to the June 2nd advanced screening of “Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted” – South Florida readers only!  All you have to do is click here and leave a comment at the end of Monday’s “Crackalackin” post.)

A few weeks ago, I had a one-on-one session with Dylan’s occupational therapist about his mealtime challenges.  She asked me, “What are you afraid of?”  I said, “I’m afraid he’ll be a thirty-year-old man who only eats boxed macaroni and cheese and fruit squeezers.”  (Bounce.)  After delicately reminding me that he’s currently a five-year-old boy, she asked me what I want right now.  I said, “Well, I’d like to tie him to a chair and force-feed him a roasted chicken.”  (Bounce.)  Then I said, “But, I’d settle for him sitting at the dinner table for more than 30 seconds.”

And that was it.  Just like with the blog (and my health), I’d been bouncing around when what I really needed to do was stop moving.  Instead of forcing Dylan to sit at the table and try half a dozen new foods in one meal (and wonder why there was crying, whining, and chaos), I needed to work on getting him to simply sit at the table.  Just a few weeks into our new mealtime plan, dinnertime has become a lot less stressful.

Last weekend at a birthday party, Dylan went inside a bounce house for the very first time…and absolutely loved it. Until then, he wouldn’t go near a bounce house.  He was terrified.  I think it was a combination of the noise from the air blowers and the feeling of instability inside (a sensory nightmare).  As you can imagine, this has caused me a great deal of anxiety (and a lot of bouncing) over the years.

I actually don’t care much for bounce houses.  In fact, nothing makes me happier than knowing Riley is old enough to go in a bounce house without my assistance.  (Yes, Riley loves bounce houses.)  I believe people can avoid bounce houses and still lead successful and productive lives.  What bothers me is Dylan’s Fear.

I’ve brought Dylan to dozens of bounce house birthday parties only to see him cower in a corner.  I’ve seen the simultaneous fright and longing in his eyes as he’s watched his friends bounce in, out, up, down, and all around bounce houses.  He’s always wanted to join them, but he couldn’t, and that kind of phobia is dangerous.

On Saturday, though, he stared down the Fear and bounced.  And bounced and bounced and bounced!  Once he realized how fun it was, we could hardly get him out.

(I’ll get in big trouble if I don’t mention here that Mike played a big role in getting Dylan to go in the bounce house at the birthday party.  Yes, there was a little bribery involved, but no matter what I offered, he never would have done it for me.  It pains me to admit this, but Mike is the Dylan Whisperer.  I am not.)

It’s hard to describe what it felt like to witness Dylan conquer this fear, to break down the wall he was hiding behind.  It was a feeling of lightness – a weight lifted off my chest and a blend of joy, pride, hope, and possibility.  It was similar to what I felt when he got dressed for his graduation pictures.  After the birthday party, I hesitated sharing the news because I didn’t want anyone to deflate (pun intended) the delight I felt.  I also chose not to write about it until now so the glory would be all mine for a few days.

Every kid has a struggle, an issue, or a quirk.  And every parent has to figure out how to help them through it, all the while managing their own personal idiosyncrasies (i.e. Crazy).  In my case, I’m working on doing less bouncing.  In Dylan’s case, he’s working on doing more bouncing.  Big, brave, beyond belief bouncing.

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Filed under anxiety, food issues, Madagascar, phobia, sensory processing disorder

March 30, 2012 · 2:00 pm

The Bank

I went to the bank yesterday morning.  When I say I went to the bank, I mean I actually went inside the bank.  You should know that I don’t like going inside banks.  In fact, the mere thought of the inside of a bank conjures up all kinds of terrifying images in my head.

Besides real crime – I watch a lot of cable news – there have been countless movies and television shows about bank robberies. “Point Break” comes to mind immediately, and do you remember “The Nine,” a short-lived television show about nine people who survived a bank robbery together?

For the record, I’ve never been involved in an armed robbery at a bank or anywhere else for that matter.  I’m just smart (or crazy) enough to know that the physical act of being inside a bank increases my chances of being robbed, held hostage or shot.  In other words, online banking is just fine, thank you very much.

As long as we’re discussing places that give me irrational feelings of fear and anxiety, I don’t like going to the post office, fast food restaurants, or gas stations either.  I’ve just let a little bit a lot of Crazy Mama out of the bag here, haven’t I?  Now that we’ve established that I’m a nut case (but a good Mama, I swear), let me tell you about the bank yesterday morning.

Normally, I would have used the drive through, but I had to deposit a birthday check for Riley and I, somehow, misplaced his savings account deposit book at home.  Oops.

The birthday check is a big deal in my family.  It’s money, yes, but it’s so much more than that.  My dad’s father, my Papa, gave all of his grandchildren one hundred dollars on their birthdays.  As a family tradition, my parents did the same.  After my Papa died, my dad kept his father’s ritual alive by giving my sister and I two hundred dollars on our birthdays.  My parents still send us birthday checks (they even send one to Mike), and now, Dylan and Riley (and my sister’s three children) receive them as well.  It’s a giving tradition that, so far, includes three generations of our family.

The bank was surprisingly serene (unlike the thoughts in my head), and the personal banker who helped me order a new deposit book was super nice (and she had lollipops on her desk).  Her computer was moving slowly, so we chatted a bit.

“Do you ever bring your children to the bank?” she asked me.

Hell no, I thought.  “Not usually,” I said.  I wondered if talking about armed robbery in a bank was as taboo as talking about bombs at the airport. “I actually don’t come inside the bank very often myself.”

“They might like to see where their money goes.  It’s a great way to teach them about saving.  You should bring them in.”

She was right, but I had a don’t-bring-the-kids-inside-the-bank rule.  “Oh, my kids are still so young,” I said.

“I brought my daughter to the bank for the first time when she was three years old,” she said.  “I filled out the deposit slip for her, but she put the money on the counter all by herself.  She could barely reach it, but she loved the satisfaction of doing it on her own.”

The irony of my bank phobia – besides the fact that I’ve never been involved in an actual robbery – is that I have fond memories of going to the bank when I was a kid.  I remember going in the vault with my dad to see our family’s safe deposit box, and I remember depositing birthday checks and savings bonds into a special account for me.  When I was older, I remember opening my first checking account to deposit paychecks and cash tips that I earned as a waitress.  These memories aren’t just of special times, but also of important family rituals and life lessons.

The truth is, my boys have no idea what happens to the cash and checks that fall out of the cards their grandparents send them.  Maybe if they came with me inside the bank (deep breath), they would have a better understanding of saving, giving, and tradition.

When the new deposit book was ordered, I thanked the banker I and told her I would make a point of bringing my boys to the bank the next time there was a deposit to be made in their accounts.  (I would try, anyway.)

Actually, the level of personal service I experienced at the bank was impeccable (the post office could learn thing or two from them), and nothing horrible happened during the 15 minutes I spend inside.  Maybe it’s time to take the bank off my list of dangerous and scary places.  Even if my initial attempts to teach Dylan and Riley about the value of money and tradition are a flop, at least they’ll enjoy the lollipops.

Do you take your kids to the bank?

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Filed under Crazy Mama, money, phobia

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