BOOTY CRUMBS

This month, for the Sensory Blog Hop, I thought I’d keep it light. Well, at least as light as it is possible to be when certain things that other people barely notice can make you completely nuts. Those tiny crumbs of cheese or vegetable dust from eating any sort of snack food that has a tasty coating (my favorites are Pirate’s or Veggie Booty; this category also includes Smartfood, Cheetos, Cheez Doodles…) that get on my hands make me CRAZY.

Here are some similar things I am actively choosing NOT to write about, or even think about, beyond this paragraph: unidentified particles on bare feet (there’s a long-told story in my family of how I stepped into a small puddle of water in the kitchen once and screamed. Well…yeah. Right?); seeing Booty Crumbs on someone else’s hands (shudder). This latter is a particular issue as my son falls on the strongly not-noticing Booty Crumbs (or any schmutz, anywhere) end of the Spectrum.

I imagine – the operative word being imagine – that a “normal” response to Booty Crumbs would be to notice a mild dust on your digits and brush it off or calmly wait until you have a chance to wash your hands. As in, not be completely consumed by the awareness thereof?

                                                      Figure I – Booty Crumbs, Typical

That’s not an option for me. The surface of the skin is an information-rich field. When I have Booty Crumbs, I can feel them (whispery, tickly, dirty), smell them (cheesysour), see them (ew! Scandalous!), taste them (still in my mouth, but also from smelling), even hear them (that oily-dusty sound)…Consequently, if I have Booty Crumbs, I cannot stop thinking about said Booty Crumbs.

                                             Figure II – Booty Crumbs, Sensory Sensitive

Like anyone, I like to eat a nice snack of cheesy or vegetal goodness. The various Booty snack foods are a common part of our family snacking habits. Yet how can I function when there are Booty Crumbs? I cannot.

But! I have the answer! Being a bit slow on the uptake, largely because I am often overwhelmed by feelings and environment, it has taken me, ohhhh, 45 years to, first, realize why I felt so discombobulated every time I had a snack of this sort, and, then, to come up with a solution: “drink” my snacks out of a cup.

Happy snacking – and please do check out the links below.

Coming up next: THE COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT!!!!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

P.S. I didn't receive any compensation or incentive from the snack company that makes Pirate’s and Veggie Booty, I just thought Booty Crumbs sounded better than Cheez Doodle Crumbs as a title – AND this is the snack food I actually eat, because I am crunchy.

An InLinkz Link-up

MOVING PICTURES

G with a metallic plastic Easter egg between his face and the dining room table, rolling it back and forth (and back and forth…) with his nose, watching it with his eyes.

Z intently watching this. Being inoculated – I hope - against making fun of (or in any way judging) someone who is doing something “different,” something she’d never do -- and certainly not in public.

Me: having a flashback:

Rewind 30-35 years. See me at the dining room table, swaying slowly back and forth, almost hypnotized by the visions reflected in the curved silver water pitcher. 

Sometimes also intoning repetitive phrases under my breath, and/or slowly moving my fingers in front of my face to change, frame, or multiply what I was seeing.

Did anybody even notice me? Then and now I’ve tended to forget sometimes that people can see me, but I really, really think no one noticed these actions, which were frequent – and of which I have some of my only (and strongest) visual childhood memories.

All I can think is: it was the late-70s and early-80s: parents didn’t notice kids then the way they do now.

I’m glad Z noticed G; I noticed too – and felt, belatedly, like I belonged. Like me about a million years ago, G probably doesn’t currently notice he’s doing anything “different.”

But I love that when someday he remembers moments like this (I am thinking of David Finch, in his Journal of Best Practices, recalling pushing his nose along the rug, a LOT), G will surely know that we got and/or accepted him completely at ALL TIMES. I love, love, love that *Z* knows – without being told – that, in this family at least, “different” is absolutely “normal.”

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama