Like every parent, I’ve laid awake at night worried that I’ve passed on my neurosis to my children. Let’s see. I’m claustrophobic. I about had a panic attack when my doctor recommended I have a MRI for the headaches I was experiencing a few years ago. It took me awhile, but I convinced him that a CT scan would give us sufficient results to move forward with my care. When life gets hectic, I can’t wait to grab onto the first familiar routine within arm’s length to calm my racing heart. I used to love to fly, but now I don’t and I can’t even tell you why. I just don’t. I’m not sure if this qualifies as a full-blown phobia, but I have a thing with germs. I wash my hands constantly and I have disinfectant gel in my car. Thank the Lord the grocery stores finally installed the handy wipes right by the grocery carts. I like to sit on the aisle, or at the very least one seat in from the aisle. Do not pin me in the middle of a crowded room of chairs all occupied by bodies. It freaks me out. I don’t know why. I’d rather stand. This isn’t a phobia, but more like a major flaw navigating through the world that my children had to bear witness to over and over during their childhood. It’s the inability to get from point A to point B, unless I’ve been there at least a dozen times before. You do not know how much the invention of GPS devices has meant to me. The first day of my daughter’s fourth grade year…yes she was ten and I was thirty-seven, I had no idea where to turn to get us out of the new neighborhood we had just moved in to. I heard this little voice from the back seat….”You need to turn here, Mommy.” Meredith was my GPS before I officially had a GPS.
Despite all of this craziness that has come and gone and sometimes come back again in my life, I have always put myself out there. What you see is what you get. I’m not good at faking how I feel or what I think. If you ask me, I’m happy to tell you as well. I know what I like and what I don’t. So where am I going with all of this?
I was just thinking about how well my children know me. Each and every time they surprise me with a gift, it represents a piece of who I am. They ask me for suggestions on what they should get other family members for Christmas or birthdays, but they always tell me they already have mine narrowed down or figured out.
It gives me peace. Despite getting them places late, and making them crawl over people to get an aisle seat, my children know who I am and what I’m about.
I really couldn’t ask for a better gift.