Before I delve into tonight’s post, I wanted to let everyone know that it is official. My computer and I have parted ways. After 6 long intimate years, my MacBook Pro from 2012 has chosen a much more simpler life of playing educational DVDs and providing services in terms of educational games as well as mind-numbing games, to three little giggly girls. In my mind, I have created a beautiful montage of magical moments of the MacBook and myself together complete with amazing music. It is a great visual. Wish you could see it.
Without further ado, and with Snowden’s ‘Black Eyes’ gently serenading me in the background, I bring you this evenings post…which technically, was written over the weekend. But I was extremely busy laying around and just couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to hit the publish button.
I was in college when I first learned about the term sensory processing disorder.
Halfway through the middle of my first semester I wrote a research paper on my findings regarding tactile issues, for the special education course I was taking. Because of this assignment I was able to identify or make sense of my odd proclivity for scratchy materials against my skin. Of course, with the powerful information I had uncovered about myself, I didn’t seek rehabilitation. Rather, I used it as a way to excuse some of my peculiarities.
Like the time I just had to have those $80 brown leather Oluki flip flops. They had this incredibly gorgeous design on the footbed…you know, the part of the shoe no one ever sees. I needed them to be mine.
Fast forward to the day I paid for and brought them home. As soon as I slid my feet in I had this twinge of buyers remorse, which of course I chose to ignore. This nagging feeling in the back of my mind telling me the ‘all leather’ footbed, because it was slick, wasn’t going to be my favorite shoe.
Rather than returning the extravagant purchase, I convinced myself they just needed to be “broken in”.
I won’t tell you how one year later, I took them to our local resale shop, barely worn to be sold for a measly $15 dollars, because who in their right mind pays more than $15 dollars for a pair of flip flops for everyday wear?
Certainly not a native Floridian.
During this time of year, my sensory issues become more apparent. Just like the time I first tried on the flip flops and immediately took them off to scrape my foot on the cement sidewalk, I replace all of our 200 ply cotton bed sheets with rough flannel sheets and a scratchy heavyweight electric blankets. I pull out my old scratchy wool sweaters and purchase a brand new set of stiff socks. It probably goes without saying, but every year I enjoy knitting a set of hats, gloves, and scarves out of the itchiest 3~ply wool or mohair yarn I can find. And I cannot forget my most coveted winter apparel must have item, the one and only heavy pea coat.
So basically if it’s high in texture, I’m all in.
If I’m being honest with myself, I prefer scratchy cotton sheets all year long. Hence the measly 200 thread count sheets. In the summer I like heavy-weight canvas shorts, scratchy cotton tee shirts, and of course, now we are all aware, the scratchier the shoes, the better.
I don’t know what makes me this way, any more than I know why certain people have PICA.
All I know, is that if it’s lightweight, and silky soft against my skin, this girl is NOT INTERESTED!
And yes, before you ask, I do like weighted blankets at night.
All this to preface the real point of this story which is to explain why I spent half of my Monday morning looking for the girls snow suits in the basement. After last years experience in the northwestern Michigan snow, I vaguely recall storing the fancy snow suits I found on consignment, in the basement.
Yet, I also vaguely recall taking them to my favorite local consignment store in town after Phoebe and Cecilia kept dragging them out in the middle of June, just because they were laying around, demanding we find a snow hill.
Who knows if I actually reconsigned them or not but one thing is for certain, the bin I thought they were in, sits in the corner of my very own painting room with all the other empty bins. So, pajamas underneath jeans and sweatshirts to keep the kids warm while playing in the snow it is.
The kids on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Fall and get your pants wet? No biggie. Get smacked in the face with a powerful snowball thrown by Daddy, while I’m sure it hurt, still no problem. Wear long socks with rain boots and feel your feet frost over…they can handle it. “We’re fine Mom…we don’t feel anything and it’s really not even that cold outside” my oldest insisted while the snot dangling from her nose began to solidify.
“Okay fine” I said as I withdrew myself from the bleak conditions of the frigid outdoors to the warmth of our car, where I continued to watch my lovely children frolic in the snow with their purple lips.
The skin tight silky smooth moisture wicking workout gear from their spring and fall wardrobe didn’t seem to bother them or deter their spirits in any way. Obviously, if my only choice was my adult version of the kids workout clothes underneath my jeans/sweatshirts, I wouldn’t be able to partake in all of the fun without throwing myself on the ground and thrashing up against a rose bush or a rock hill. I would need those waffle knit long johns my mom used to make me wear underneath the puke green snow coveralls and matching jacket. But then again, lucky for them, they are not me.
Sadly, two hours later, all that beautiful white fluffy stuff was gone. But, for three whole hours in the frigid grey weather, fun was had by all.