Addictions and Missions

Our dog, Star, has a fondness for small stuffed creatures. Either the furry creatures that populate our daughter's room (more accurately, the four corners of our home) are little known canine delicacies or upon seeing them she enters into some sort of predatory mode and is simply protecting us all from the dangers of Beanie Babies and Webkins. My desk has become a make-shift stuffed toy infirmary. Cuddly dogs and cats, bears and wombats are lined up next to the computer, some with simple lacerations and others destined to be amputees. When my daughter sees one of her stuffed animals in the dog's mouth she feels betrayed by the dog. Like she, the dog, had promised my daughter that she would end her addiction, but then she is caught red-handed (or red-snouted to be precise). The look in my daughter's face is one of disgust and deep sorrow because she knows that she can't trust the one that she loves.

Speaking of addictions, my middle son has developed a fetish of sorts with temporary tattoos. I blame my aunt and uncle who sent him a book of over 500 temporary tattoos. Even though he is not quite 7 years old, his arms, neck and chest resemble those of a 42 year old biker. All he is missing is the motorcycle, leather apparel, long white beard and the bandana. His father and I are hoping that he gets the need to have body art out of his system while he can still remove them with a little soap and water. His addiction is like any other; it's done in secret and he is somewhat ashamed by it. We find wet papertowels and washclothes in unseeming places, evidence that he has been feeding his habit. Later, he wants us to remove them or he covers them with shirtsleeves. He is horribly fearful of having his classmates see them. If he weren't too young to understand the tenets of a 12 step program we might have to consider finding one is some church basement or school cafeteria. Either that or hide the book of tattoos.

I have much more to write, particularly about my soul-searching mission I just completed. Well, maybe I didn't complete it, but I did start it. Rather than journeying to the far east, I went southwest to Laredo, TX. If you can believe it, this trip to a border town was the trip of a lifetime. I credit God and my husband for forcing me to go on this pilgrimage. I must admit at first I was somewhat reluctant. More than anything, it gave me the opportunity to ask really difficult questions. But after I started talking, I realized the questions weren't all that hard to ask, they weren't all that taboo and most people wanted to (or were at least willig to) talk about the topics I proposed. Talk about clearing up a lifetime of misconceptions! Had I had these conversations 20 years ago I could have saved myself a hell of lot of time and money in therapy. But it was probably all those hours over all those years sitting in that chair that enabled me to get to the point where I was ready and preparred to ask the questions without judgment, anger or fear. It encourages me to tell others to do the same. Don't wait to ask the questions or have the conversations. You'll be suprised at what you may learn and mostly, even if it's not what you expect, it's all good.