Friends With Benefits.

When I adopt something, it takes awhile before it really feels like "mine."

When I was 14 and in the beginning stages of a new disorder, specifically obsessive-compulsive, we had just adopted a stray dog from Hooterville Pets. He was filthy when we got him, being a stray and all. It took several days and several baths, but eventually he became Mine. Once he was clean enough.

Oscar, wearing grey, and Kevin, the one-eyed Pekingese. Yes, one-eyed. 

He thought he was Tough Stuff and he got in a fight with a bigger dog one time. I'll spare you the details.

When I was 22, I moved out of the home I'd lived in since I was born. I was in some of the deepest darkest throes of OCD, and it was crucial to me that my new homestead be positively STERILE, a wild departure from the digs I had grown up in. Well, my apartment had had dozens of denizens before me, and it was hardly sterile. But I took my bleach in hand and Had At It. At first, the place was foreign to me. It felt unclean, it felt strange, it didn't feel like home. But perhaps a couple of weeks into living there, it finally became Mine. Once it was clean enough.

When I was newly 27, I was newly engaged. My fiance and I bought the house together, but I didn't move in until we were married, because I was such a good little girl. I didn't move in, but I did clean it. Oh did I clean it. I remember cleaning it so furiously that anyone who entered the room I was currently sterilizing would utter an incoherent "GUH!" in shock at the sheer amount of fumes present. I was cleaning with a tub & tile cleanser that almost took the paint off the walls. I am positive I did permanent damage to my alveoli. But the lady who lived in this house before us was a--choke--Cat Lady, and we found cat hair in the most foul surprising of places. Including INSIDE THE REFRIGERATOR. What. So you know this here OCDer was just freaking out. I killed this place with fire before I would allow my husband to move in. And once it was bleached, tub & tiled, Cloroxed, and Lysoled to within an inch of its very life, it felt like home. It was Ours. Well, it was His, but you know, Ours.

---

I mention all of this because last Saturday was my friend S's moving day. (S is becoming quite a fixture in this here blog!) Now, S isn't anything like me. A germaphobe she is not. In fact, she couldn't care less about such things. I've witnessed her child eat something off the floor of Starbucks. (And if she ever read this, she would have to concede this fact.) :-)  But she was moving into a new place on Saturday, and she had wrangled a bunch of friends to help her do it. She had the requisite beefy men to do the heavy lifting, and a gaggle of girls to to the packing and unpacking and arranging and so forth. But I was the only friend who volunteered, and energetically so, for the disinfecting.


See, I was the one who would go along and really truly clean. Yes, to clean ALL THE THINGS. Oh, sure, Kim was there before I was, and she had run a vacuum through the joint, and Rachel had put up some trinkets and doodads and made the place look homey, but I came along with my Clorox and my Lysol and my scrubby sponges and my clinical OCD eye for detail and really de-germed the fucker. I Lysoled down faucets. I Lysoled down handles. I Lysoled down doorknobs. I Cloroxed the inside of cabinets. The inside of cupboards. The inside of closets. I disinfected the countertops. The inside and outside of the microwave. The inside and outside of the refrigerator and freezer. The tops and knobs of the washer/dryer and dishwasher. I scrubbed and sprayed down the toilets and the showers and the bathtubs. I attacked the really grody gently used shabby-chic bedroom set that S had gotten off Craigslist for her daughter, and did so with a ferocity that would have pleased even the most OC of Ders.

All this, for my beloved S...who truly probably couldn't have cared less. :-)

But I did it because I  love S, and I care about where she lives and how she lives, and I wanted her home to feel like Hers. And I know what it takes for a home to feel like mine, so I did what I could for her. This was my contribution: Wet knees and dishpan hands and a sweaty brow and chemical burns fumes from here to right over there. I did it because cleaning and sterilizing and attention to nooks and crannies is my curse gift and sometimes it can actually come in useful instead of burdening me and everyone around me.

Love ya S! Hope you like your haven of purity! I did what I could for you, 'cos I lurve you.

In the Words of One Jack Black...

I did it. I've done it. I fuckin' did it.

I SAW CONTAGION.


I handled it well, I think. It was pretty much as I expected. Lots of handshakes. Lots of touching doorknobs. Lots of sweaty upper lips and flushed cheeks. Lots of hand sani placed strategically. Lots of smiling, toothy, slurred Gwyneth Paltrow lines. WHAT'S IN THE BOX? WHAT'S IN THE BOOOOOOX???

Oh, but Jude Law's janky fake front tooth? Completely unnecessary.

I remember thinking I should have taken my notebook and pen, movie-critic style, but instead I just wrote notes all over my hand throughout the movie, things I'd noticed, things I was going to blog about, things that were going to BLOW YOUR MIND.

However, by the time I got home, I'd washed my hands so many times, I now can't read my notes.

Well shit. But I swear, it was some great stuff. Genius. Award-winning.

I do, however, remember one part with great glee. A character was talking to a disease expert (portrayed by Kate Winslet), describing his wife's reaction to the outbreak, saying, "She makes me strip down and take off all my clothes in the garage before entering the house, then she slathers me with Purell. Isn't this over the top?" 

Kate Winslet answers with a simple, "...No." 

I silently laughed my proverbial bum-bum off. Because that is soooo me & my husband. And I felt vindicated. Actually, this whole movie made me feel vindicated. Everything made me want to scream, "SEE?! See? You can fuckin DIE if you touch an airplane drinking glass! Your face will rot off it you touch poker chips at a casino! YOU WILL KILL THE WORLD IF YOU DO NOT WASH AFTER TOUCHING YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!1112@#!"

I also found it humorous how in one scene, Kate Winslet had obviously pulled the duvet cover off her hotel bed.  Way to go, Kate! That's using your noodle.

101 Ways for an OCDer to Enjoy a State Fair.

So after my poor tot woke up sick, saying she had a tickle in her throat, she spent the early morning coughing and sneezing right and left, with a runny nose. This went on for like two hours, and then, voila, gone. We wondered, "Was this Sudden Onset Allergies?" It was weird. She seemed all better.

So after a very rough start to the day, when she seemed totally back to normal, we carried out our original plan of going to the fair!



...Another great choice for a mom with OCD. Why do I do this to myself? I get all KINDS of great ideas, don't I?

So we loaded up and went to the Evergreen State Fair. I've always loved the fair, LOVED it. Even just a few years ago, but that was before we had kids. (Because when I am responsible for only myself, I know that I'm not going to put my filthy hands in my mouth, or suck on the armrest of a ride, or drop my corndog and then eat it anyway.)

And actually, I still find myself looking forward to it, even WITH kids. But then we go to the fair and we end up dirty, dusty, sweaty, sunscreeny, and covered with possibly some of the most virulent germs around. Not to mention likely contact with other people's puke. And there's the smell of puke. And the smell of onion rings. The smell of puke PLUS the smell of onion rings. And I wonder, "What was I thinking??" Good times.

Anyway, we got there and the first thing we did was have a deep-fried Oreo or two. Because I'm health-conscious like that. Then we took Maya on the carousel. Well, my husband did, because that was how we spent the day--splitting up to take Maya on rides or go on one ourselves, while the other held down the fort with the baby. Sucks that when you have tiny kids, you and your mate can't go on rides together, but oh well.

MY CUTE KID, LOOK AT HER

 Doing her best Popeye the Sailor Man (actually, just showing off her matching tattoo):

And just so Naomi doesn't sue me for emotional neglect later in life, a picture of my other darling:

(I had wrapped the carseat/stroller buckle in a blanket, because when it's unbuckled, it drags on the ground. And I didn't want her touching it. More OCD Tips 'n Trix brought to you by Jo.)

My first ride was that one where you lay belly down and you go up and down around in a circle, like you're some kind of Superman. Exciting; thrilling; GERMS. You kind of had to rest your chin on the...chin rest, and grab the bar below you, but I'll have you know I did neither. I arched my back so that no chin germs would sully my person. Anyway, the ride, with modifications, was funnish. Except that, I had to take my flip-flops off before the ride started, and as I flew round and round like an enhanced Clark Kent, I saw pile after pile of human vomit on the cement below. And when the ride stopped, I had to tiptoe back to my flip-flops, trying desperately to avoid the omnipresent piles-o-puke. So that kinda sucked. Or blew, rather.

Then after that, I went on one of those thingers that takes you up into the stratosphere and drops you. You know, one of these guys:

Because I'm safety-conscious like that.

It was a blast, but of course, 90% of what I was thinking was, "OFUX THE GERMS ON THE HANDLES." Then 9% of me was thinking, "Dear sweet baby Jesus don't let me die." One percent of me had a blast.

At some point we foraged for food, and I had some fairly tasty nachos supreme. First I wiped my hands with two alcohol-based Sani-Hands wipes, then I followed it with a jigger of hand sani gel. I also wiped off the packets of hot sauce with Sani wipes. Then as I ate the beans, I couldn't help but think of how refried beans are a major source of food poisoning. Eh, a little of the old Clostridium perfringens never hurt anyone. Er, or something. Anyway, the nachos were yummy. And I'll keep you updated on the next 24-48 hours.

Maya, however, was being a little pest three years old, and her hands were everywhere. She kept touching the picnic table we were sitting at, which was literally filthy to the naked eye. It looked like it had bird droppings, drool, food driblets, nasal effluvia, and regurgitation all over it. It was FILTHY. I kept telling Maya not to touch it, but she was being a little pest three years old. It really bothered me. Or rather, bothered my OCD. :(

The baby was hungry, so I re-sanitized my hands 29837493 times, then prepared a bottle and fed the child. She also kept swinging her hands about and once actually touched the abhorrent table. I tried not to cry. And every time I held her (after using hand-sani, of course), I still felt like I was contaminating her. Like her legs and arms and bottom were germed out to the max because I touched her with filthy fair-hands.

Contaminating. That's a very accurate word. I feel contaminated every time I go anywhere or touch anything. And I feel contaminated BY my sick 3-year-old. When she's sick, I feel like she's poison. Every time she sneezed, I was like, "OMG SNEEZE INTO YOUR ELBOW!!" and every time she rubbed her nose I was like, "DO NOT TOUCH YOUR NOSE!!" That's just sad and miserable. I don't want to feel this way, certainly not about my own kid. But I do.

--

Anyway. After that it was time to walk through some of the exhibits, and I cringed at all the food samples where passersby hand-dipped pretzels into flavored oils and dips. But I put on my big-girl panties and the put my OCD in time-out so I could sample some salsa on a chip (I was able to do this because the vendor himself was spooning out the salsa onto a plate, and there was no dippage involved), and I ended up buying some. (It's a big old canister of dry salsa ingredients, and you mix it with diced tomatoes, FTW. Sooo yummy.)

I also bought a monkey-sock hat for Maya, but I will either wash it on hot first or put it in the freezer for awhile to ensure that it does not give us lice from all the kids that tried it on before we bought it. What, I didn't tell you that I have a massive fear of lice as well as germs? Let's save that for another time, shall we?

Sidenote: It must have been "Show Your Classy Upbringing" day at the Evergreen State Fair today, since 90% of the people were walking around wearing obscene slogan T-shirts. One such classy lady's shirt read, "I have the PUSSY, so I make the RULES." Niiiiice. I'd like to break me off a piece of THAT.

OK, so after perusing the exhibits, we ventured through the animal barns. We saw some gorgeous cows, sheep, pigs, and pygmy goats (which I call unicorns--don't ask). The stench was phenomenal, but the animals really were lovely. I asked Maya what one of the plain pink pigs was named, and she said "Hoinky." I asked her about the black pig. He was named Boinky. The spotted one? Noinky.

Then we passed the pygmy goats, and Maya explained that his name was Ngoinky. Not Noinky, not Goinky, but Ngoinky. This is Ngoinky:

He's all, "TOTALLY SIDE-EYEING YOU"

We also saw a cow named Beyonce, and for some reason this upcracked me so very deeply. You'll have to click to enlarge the photo to see her name:

Beyonce was having a bit of a lie-down. But she really was Udder-licious.

After the animal barn, it was time for another round of the screamy-droppy Big Shot thingy ride, more carousel, and a terror-filled ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl (I'm sorry, Maya, I thought you'd like it). Then it was time to head home.

We were disastrously dirty. I had worn flip-flops, and Maya wore sandals, and our feet were none more black.

The whole ride home, the baby cried. Screamed. SCREAMED. For 45 minutes. We were also driving Highway 2 in Monroe, and they don't call it the Highway of Death for nothing. Or, if they don't call it that, they should. Bygones.

(Wait, they really DO call it that. I thought I was making it up. Christ.)

Anyway, every time we drive it, we see the very grim, very stomach-churning sign reporting "No serious accidents in [X] days," and it's never more than 40 days. The last time we drove it, it was "No serious accidents in 2 days." My heart just drops whenever I see it.

And there are no "just accidents" on Hwy 2. If there is an accident, it's a fatality. :( I mean, it's a twisty, two-lane road with no middle divider, where people go 75 mph. Hwy 2 has been listed as one of America's most dangerous highways.

So I sit there, in the passenger seat, fingernails digging into my palms, saying a prayer to the Patron Saint of Hwy 2 (just kidding, seriously praying to the actual Jesus H. Christ), that we don't die in a head-on collision. And with the baby SCREAMING the whole way? Good times.

For this here OCDer, getting home is one of the most stressful parts about going anywhere. Because when we get home, we have to prioritize and figure out what the hell to clean first, where to start. Bottles, binkies, hands, our very bodies, where to begin? It's so much worse when I'm alone, too, and have to do it all by myself.

And we were filthy. Our feet, our clothes, our hands, our arms and legs. So I Clorox-wiped my feet (I love that you think I'm kidding), the carried Maya into the shower where we cleansed our persons. We washed like white demons.

And the feet got washed twice.

We were hoping to be able to leave Naomi in her carseat (inside the house) while my husband showered, but she was screaming so ridiculously that instead, he just stripped off his dusty dirty clothes and fed her a got-damn bottle. By the time she was done, so were Maya and I in the shower. I changed the baby's clothes and put her to bed while my husband showered. Then I washed the hell out of Noey's bottles and binky, and Cloroxed off the canister of salsa we'd bought.

Oh, and then I bleached the shit out of the shower.

Also? Because we are such awesome people and parents? We realized that Maya was actually still sick. She had done a good 180 earlier in the morning, and we thought she was just a wunderkind who had fought off her cold in mere hours, but really, turns out she was still sick. So I'm sorry, everyone at the Evergreen State Fair. But it serves you right--it's not like YOU stay home when you are sick, either, you bastiges.

My poor sweet sicky, just after her scouring shower. Look at those sad, sick, tired eyes. :(

It was a full, busy, fun, intensely OCD day. I mean, I guess we had fun, but these are the things that run through my head when we're out and about, trying to have a fun family day at the fair. Filth. Vomit. Colds. Flu. Food poisoning. Lice. Beyonce. But it's not my fault. I still try to have fun, but this is what fun is like for a person with OCD.

Anyway, maybe my next brilliant idea will be to take my kid to the ball-pit at the local play place. :/

P. Much.

I swore I'd never discuss this with you, and that if you tried to blather on to me about it, I would kick you in the slats. But a good friend's blog post got me thinking, and when you get me thinking, you get me ranting, and I cannot be stopped. So here we are: Discussing The Hygiene Hypothesis.

The link I am responding to from is my buddy Darlena's blog, ParenTwin, which you can find here. She's planning a "rebuttal" of sorts, so I will be sure to link you to that later. :)

---

Recently, Darlena was posting about the dreaded First Time at the Cesspool Preschool. Her poor kiddos got sick p. much immediately.

Now, this is not uncommon. Everyone talks about how as soon as your kids start daycare, they're going to be sick p. much constantly. If they start preschool and have never been in daycare, they're also going to be sick p. much constantly. What is their reasoning? "Because they've never been exposed to these germs before."

In Darlena's case, though, her kids have been exposed to tons of stuff, stuff any typical kid has been exposed to: germs that would make my skin crawl and my OCD spiral out of control, because I am not the typical mom and my kids aren't allowed to be the typical kids. Darlena is an extremely active mother, and her kids get a lot of exposure to the world at large--she runs a billion errands a day and takes her kids along, she takes them for walks, they're at the park p. much all the time, and they have had more playdates in their little finger than my kids have had in their entire life.*

*Pretend this metaphor made sense. Move along.

So, her kids have been exposed, like most kids. Maybe not to daycare, but to shopping cart handles, public restrooms, diaper "incidents," potty chair "incidents," playdates with other little kids, and surely poop on a hot tin slide or two. Her kids do not live in a bubble. If anyone's do, MINE do.

And yet, her kids got sick immediately after starting school, as is typical. Why? Surely they've been exposed to plenty of germs and colds before. Why isn't the Hygiene Hypothesis working here?

Because it's p. much bunk.

Oh, and please recall:

"A theory has been extensively tested and is generally accepted, while a hypothesis is a speculative guess that has yet to be tested."

Sorry, hypothesis!!

Listen, I totally agree that there are certain things kids need to be exposed to. Dirt, grass, plants, well, all of nature. Dust. Animals, along with their animal dander. Things like this. But there are certain things that never, ever benefit anyone. The stomach flu. E. coli. Salmonella. Staph. MRSA.

Even things like the good old common cold or the flu. (1) How, exactly, do these bolster one's immune system; and (2) why, according to so many people, must small children be exposed to such yucky things?

Let's examine (1). Say your toddler catches a cold. She is snotty and coughy and snivelly and miserable for a week. She can't sleep because her nose is all stuffy, and if she can't sleep, neither do you. Everyone is miserable when the kid is sick. Or, even worse, let's say your tiny baby catches a cold. She doesn't even know what's going on and has no tools to deal with being sick. She can't be told, "Here, blow your nose" or "This soup will make you feel better" or even, "Honey, I know how bad you feel, but you'll get well soon." She can't even take any medicine for it! All your baby knows is that she can't breathe.

So, has this cold helped either child? Colds mutate constantly. You never become immune to catching them. Because the next one is going to be one you have never encountered before.

And if catching colds helps us avoid catching colds (a ridiculous statement in itself), then why don't we ever "grow out of it"? If we attend daycare as kids and are constantly coming down with something, and the go through school still getting sick here and there, why as adults do we still catch colds? Why as old people aren't we completely immune?

Again, because colds mutate. And catching one does not mean you will become magically stronger and not likely catch the next one. We will catch colds ALL OUR LIVES. For many people, 2-3 a year, or eve more, for their entire existence, p. much as a rule.

So. On to part (2). If we are forever going to be catching colds, why is it so important that kids are exposed so young? Everyone always spouts off about how great and wonderful it is that kids get sick. "They're strengthening their immune system! Hoorahhh!!" But if we're gonna catch colds, why not do you utmost to prevent them from happening to your little tiny ones? Why not try to wait until they are older and stronger, and mentally/physically better able to deal with them and understand that they're sick?

If you had your choice, would you want your 2-week-old baby to catch a cold? No way, right?

Well, why, then? Why wouldn't you want her to? Wouldn't it help her? Give her a nice headstart on the good old immune system? No. It would be fucking misery, and possibly dangerous to boot. Babies can choke on phlegm in the night or become so stuffed up that they die. Silently. It happens. Your non-OCD mind might not worry about a baby dying from a cold, but mine does, because I have OCD but also because it happens. A good friend of mine almost lost her daughter right there at the doctor's office, after taking her in for a regular ol' case of the sniffles. Her two-year-old suddenly turned blue and had to be taken in an ECNALUBMA to the next-door hospital and be resuscitated. Anecdata, yes, but true, and fucking scary.

So why is it so great for a 6-month-old to catch a cold? Or even a two-year-old? And why am I the crazy one for disinfecting my daughter's restaurant table, or keeping her away from sick family, or not wanting to take her to the McPlaguePlace McPlayPlace?

My older daughter, Maya, has only ever had like two colds in her life. One was when she was 7 weeks old, when my sister-in-law thoughtlessly brought her two very, very sick kids to a family get-together. We all caught that cold, and not only were we miserable, I was terrified for my infant. I basically kept vigil over her and never slept until she was better. So how did this cold benefit her? She could still catch another at any point.

But she only did one other time (funny enough, thanks to the same oh-so thoughtful sister-in-law). Just those couple of times, because we take great pains to wash and sanitize our hands, teach her not to touch her eyes, nose, or mouth when out of the house, and to maintain a clean home or clean environment, wherever we go.

According to the Hygiene Hypothesis, my kid should be sick all the time, because we put forth such effort to avoid contact with germs. My Purell Kid should catch every virus we run into because of an immune system that was never allowed to develop. But she's never sick.

Whereas certain friends of mine (theee very friends mentioned in my blog post, "The Acid Test") are sick All. The. Time. All the time. ALL THE TIME.

And they never wash their hands. Seriously, like, never ever. Not when coming home. Not before eating. Not before cooking. Not after shaking hands. Not after playing at the Children's Museum of Every Virus Known to Man. Not after pooping. Not after touching raw meat or turtles or the floor of a Wal*Mart. Never.

If you took my family, and their family, we'd p. much disprove the Hygiene Hypothesis right then and there. They are exposed to so many germs you'd think they'd have developed chainmail fucking ARMOR against colds and flu. You'd think germs would cower at the sight of them. You'd think our friends would see germs and be like, "Dude, we've HAD you before. We've rolled in you. We've eaten you. We've rubbed you in our eyes and noses. WE PWN YOU."

And yet it is my family who never gets sick. Why? Because we wash our damn dirty hands.

Now, back to Darlena. This is not to compare her to my "Acid Test" friends at all. Not remotely, because no one else could possibly be that bad. :)

But because Darlena doesn't suffer from OCD, her kids have been exposed to a typical, normal amount of germs. They've been healthy, they've been sick, and so it goes. Yet at their first exposure to preschool, they caught the sniffles.

My turn is coming up soon. My daughter enters preschool in mere days. Will she catch a cold right away?

MAYBE.

But am I glad that she has not had a dozen colds in her almost-four years?

YES.

Because they would have been of no help. We would have had a sick, miserable child on our hands, for no reason, because the next cold to come along would be a new, mutated one she had never been exposed to anyway, and she could catch it too, if we weren't careful with hygiene.

If we can agree that kids who have been exposed to a lot of germs, AND kids who have not been exposed to a lot of germs, BOTH get sick pretty frequently when beginning daycare or school (which seems to be the consensus, since whenever daycare or preschool is mentioned, the response is always, "Ohhh, prepare for constant runny noses and coughs"), then I ask you, what was the point of all the colds your kid had when they were much younger?

Being exposed to certain things does absolutely no good whatsoever. These are things like the stomach flu or all the nasties that live on commoly touched surfaces, like staph or shigella. Who ever heard of becoming immune to E. Coli or being unlikely to catch it next time you're exposed to it? Or having had food poisoning so many times that now you are untouchable? Not to mention, frequent handwashing and all-around good hygiene has drastically reduced illnesses and has extended our very lifespans.

One source says of this theoretical idea that too much cleanliness has led to an increase in asthma or allergies:

"It is in fact well established that poor sanitation practices contribute to high infant and child mortality rates in underdeveloped countries...[Thus,] A decrease in hand-washing increases the incidence of infectious diseases which may more than outweigh the benefit of a possible reduction in immune disorders."

Being exposed to certain things can be important. These things are dirt, dust, and animals. Early exposure can and does help prevent many allergies.

But being exposed to colds and flu does not "help build your immune system." Because you will never be immune to colds and flu.

If your kids are gonna get sick, it's better to have it happen when they are older, stronger, and more able to cope with being sick. And, of course, it's best to just try to avoid getting sick altogether.

It's just common sense, people. We learned it in kindergarten. Wash your hands.

---

And now for one last treat, I bring you this gem. A month or so ago, I was visiting the public restroom *shudder* at the local UW Bookstore . The stalls were all full, so I was waiting my turn. And as I waited, a boy, aged approximately nine years old, crawled, Army-style, out from under the handicapped-stall's door. Crawled. Belly-down. Hands palm-down. Face-down. Slithered. On the restroom floor. The public restroom floor. His mother said nothing of it, opened the stall door, and exited. Naturally, without washing their hands.

Many of you probably recoil in horror at imagining this, even though you aren't OCD Like Me. Why the horror? Isn't that child just bolstering his immune system? And if you say "no, that's just fucking gross," why do you think it's such a wonderful, immune-system-strengthening thing when kids catch colds or other nasties off other public surfaces, which in all likelihood are even filthier than that restroom floor? Why?

My motto: Avoid What You Can, Deal With What You Can't. And I prefer that we all avoid as many illnesses as possible. But that's just me.

P. much.