Only a Phase

Sticker phobia and hairball mania... is it just me or are my kids exceptionally bizarre?

I wish I had discovered online shopping a few years ago when my son was going through his sticker phobia phase. Stickers are everywhere and in many cases they have replaced lollipops as treats for kids in public. Some stores hand out stickers when you walk in, many cashiers will plaster your kid with a day-glo orange "thank you" sticker as you check out, and most doctors consider them a healthier reward for good patients. As a rule, I'm in favor of sugar-free toddlers.

Stickers are a great concept... unless your particular kid has a totally phobic reaction to stickiness. My son had an aversion, more like a revulsion to adhesives. The same kid who would willingly swim in mud, could not tolerate tacky sensations. Stickers, tape and even Band-Aids would send my kid into orbit. He brought new meaning to the words 'sticker shock'.

Believe me, it never occurs to people that a child can hate stickers with such passion. I developed a whole set of maneuvers to prevent Harry from being stickered by some well-meaning person. If I noticed a young cashier reaching for a sticker, I'd casually say, "Gee, I never knew n' Sync shopped here." I'd be out the door before she finished adjusting her lip-gloss. Sometimes I'd try the direct approach and fend off would-be stickerers with a cheery - "You won't believe this, but my kid hates stickers." The smile would fade from their faces and they'd fix me with their best 'you-mean-mommy-you' look and mutter "Sheesh lady, it ain't like I was offering your little angel heroin. For the love of Mike, it was just a sticker!" Once in awhile, I'd let my guard down and one of the older store-greeters would slip past me and slap a smiley face on Harry's shirt. If these well-intentioned gents had any post traumatic stress syndrome left over from WWII, we definitely caused flashbacks, because Harry could do a pretty fair approximation of an air raid siren. We made more than one of these guys grope for his heart medication.

Not to be outdone, my daughter invented her own special way to test my coping skills. Jane's thing is playing with hairballs. Don't start. I am not too cheap to by my daughter toys. I tried really hard to get her to bond with a stuffed animal or a blankie, but she never went for it. As an infant she would nurse and rub my waist-length hair between her fingers. It became her source of comfort. When she started sleeping in her own bed a few months ago, she kept waking up at night and I would sit on her bed through the cold winter nights while she twiddled strands of my hair to fall back to sleep. After weeks of hair-related sleep deprivation, I was losing touch with reality. One cold morning at 4 am, on my forth or fifth trip to get Jane back to sleep, I snapped. I went in search of scissors to give myself a Mohawk and found my brush instead. Never believing for a second that this would work, I cleaned out the brush and handed the snarls to Miss Crankypants. Cooing and smiling like Marilyn Monroe snuggling into a sable coat, she rubbed the hair on her cheek and contentedly dozed off.

Since that fateful night, these socially unacceptable hairballs have been our constant companions. She begs me to give her the hair that collects in my brush. Chortling delightedly she wads the hair up into scary looking little clumps and takes them with her everywhere. A generous child, she is happy to share her treasures with anyone and everyone. Holding her chubby fist under her preschool teachers nose one day, she said slyly, "Pat, I have a surprise!" Her teacher, kind soul that she is, enthusiastically played along and was rewarded with what looked like a spider wearing a Mod Squad afro sitting on Jane's palm an inch from her face. Recoiling visibly, Pat gave me what I now recognize as "the hairball look". It's a mixture of disgust and bewilderment where the subtitle reads "you and your family need therapy."

As with Harry's sticker phobia, I know Jane's hairball phase too, shall pass. Until it does, I am grateful for the Internet and our UPS guy is getting used to being offered a free hairball with each delivery.

by Bonnie Coy

Posted by mayor at March 15, 2005 04:21 PM

Do you like to write? Get your own article on Deal of Day! Send email to The Mayor for more information!