I don't quite understand what all the fuss is about. I bought the pop tarts. I own the pop tarts. It should be asked of me if it's ok to eat them if someone would like one.They're strawberry.
One of my daughters many - um - UNIQUE - traits is that she demands everyone ask her about everything. Is that your half finished bottle of water in the fridge, Sara? Is that chocolate candy the dog is eyeing, perchance, something you could put away? Do you need the: restroom, tv remote, FAVORITE CHAIR? May I touch your shoes before I trip over them with all these grocery bags?
And yet she doesn't ask me if she can open up not one but 2 packages of pop tarts. Because there are two to a package, and she has to have 3.
Sara jokes that she's OCD. But the strangest thing happens when I give her a handful of Peanut M&Ms, a baggie of crisps (potato chips to most of you) or her daily does of pills. There has to be an odd number, most preferably 3 or 5.
For the longest time, I thought it was a joke. I mean, come on. Who is going to refuse their favorite kind of candy because I don't have the right number to give her?
It was comical until the day I found her in tears over a plate of Pizza Bites (which, most of you already know, isn't actually food, as far as I can tell). I had made a bunch for the kids, at their request, and her brother had taken some and left her with the wrong number. She couldn't eat any. I wasn't allowed to take any and, when I tried to take some to make her plate be filled with an uneven 5, she sat on the floor and sobbed.
You see, for her, 3 really is the magic number. When she was little and we lived where there were button operated crosswalks, she'd have to tap the button 3 or 5 times. If someone else pushed it again, out of silliness or fun, she'd get mad and have to start all over again - after waiting for the light to cycle through.
Now, I admit this gets on my last nerve at times and I have a tendency to tease her and give her 6 of something. But thanks to some really good medication and a fantastic psychiatrist that works diligently with her, she survives pretty well in the world. Especially my world, where she rarely gets a break. Letting her anxiety win is not an option - for her, but especially for me.
For her, 3 really is the magic number. Oh, yes it is. Unless its 5.
Shameless plug:
In case some of you don't know this - and are interested - I am on the Board of Directors of Oregon NAMI, an organization the supports and advocates for people with mental illness - like Sara. Read more of our story here.
She did, however, accept two new baby rats when her pet died recently. Hmmmm. Selective numberism. I'm so not surprised.
