Recurring Childhood Illnesses

I'm an itchy b---- (babe) tonight. Apparently the chickenpox I had when I was eight haven't forgotten how to make me miserable. They came to visit again in the form of shingles. A tiny rash on my side is suddenly a giant pain!

The doc said he was glad I came to see him early in my suffering (this virus can last six weeks!) because there's an anti-viral Rx that could shorten my torment. I hope so—it cost me $108!

I was eight when I broke out in chickenpox the first time. Aunt Ree was tending me for the weekend. She dumped boxes of soda in my bath, and coated me with sticky pink lotion that dried into coral colored clay. I still remember trying to levitate on the couch so nothing would touch the cracked pink coating. "Don't scratch; you'll get a scar," I was told as I dug into my itchy pox.

We heal from most ordeals of childhood, but I bet all of us have a few scars of one kind or another. Maybe someone said, "You are so awkward," or "You'll never amount to anything," or "You're not an athlete," and left a sore spot that still flares up from time to time. Moms have a huge role in this kind of childhood trauma. It's contagious, and spreads by word of mouth.

"Think over everything you say, and don't say everything you think" is good preventative care. The Rx is most effective if it's started early in motherhood, although it works even in small doses over time. It's costly, though. You sacrifice the brief buzz of getting it all off your chest, by saying it like it is. You miss the split-second surge, knowing your cutting remark hit the bone. (A positive side-effect is less craving for those self-serving thrills.)

In a fabulous talk called The Tongue of Angels Jeffrey Holland said,

We must be so careful in speaking to a child. What we say or don’t say, how we say it and when is so very, very important in shaping a child’s view of himself or herself . . . Be constructive in your comments to a child—always. Never tell them, even in whimsy, that they are fat or dumb or lazy or homely. You would never do that maliciously, but they remember and may struggle for years trying to forget—and to forgive. And try not to compare your children, even if you think you are skillful at it. You may say most positively that “Susan is pretty and Sandra is bright,” but all Susan will remember is that she isn’t bright and Sandra that she isn’t pretty. Praise each child individually for what that child is, and help him or her escape our culture’s obsession with comparing, competing, and never feeling we are “enough.”

Even intentional mothers might notice themselves using words that would earn a time-out in their own home (more likely the kids will notice it for their mothers.) This is the time to try Aunt Ree's old-fashioned remedy. Go take a bubbly soda-bath, coat yourself in perfumed pink lotion, have a nice long think about the mom you want to be. Re-emerge from your mini-spa treatment and say something nice to each kid, tell a funny story, and find a reason to laugh. Post traumatic stress syndrome will be averted, and a healing atmosphere will fill the home.

Amy in the sick bed, 1985

Childhood illnesses could be a fond memory of sleeping in mom's bed, eating breakfast on a tray, and keeping a colorful throw-up bowl at the ready. It's a chance to play nurse and hospital, and teach your kids how to treat you next time you're sick. They'll love the foot-rub and be experts when you want one after a day at the zoo.

If you do all this to your best ability, and your chickenpox still returns as a pain in the assets, (when you're old and don't deserve it,) you have my permission to be an itchy b---- (babe.)
At that point you're teaching "Lessons in Reality."

Your turn:
It's your big chance—
gripe about how miserable you feel!
(I'll totally understand.)

Use some alliteration, stick in a little joke or two, and create an image.