Grandmother's Dish Soap

Grandmother’s Dish Soap

“I really wish your Great-grandmother Lutz had lived to see you grown-up,”  I told Oldest Daughter this week.

“Why?” she asked with a smile. She probably guessed what I was going to say.

“I think she would have been pleased with how much you resemble her in attitude, actions, and even in body build.”

"Oh, yeah. I could have a long talk with her about the size of my butt. Thanks, Grandma.”

"You’re Dad’s Grandmother was a lovely woman with a strong business sense and a no-nonsense attitude toward life. I very much admired her.”

"Oh, well, I liked Grandma, and I remember as a small child being curious as to why she never slept with a pillow. I kept trying to bring her one when she spent the night with us. She said she never slept with it. I thought that part of her was weird. Now that I am older, I would likely say. ‘No, shit, Grandma?”

“And your most-proper, lady-like Grandmother would speak sternly about your language. She did not like for her grandchildren to talk crudely, even though Grandpa Lutz and her daughters did.”

Husband interjected at this point. “Yes, she would tell you to get her bottle of dish soap, and she would wash your mouth out with soap.”

Oldest Daughter quickly caught his message. “How many times did you have to get the soap, Dad?”

“Once was all it took, thank you very much.”

“Did it make you sick?”

“Hell, I mean heck yes. It made me sick. It only took one time for her to use soap on me.”

“Did she squirt it in your mouth? That would make me vomit.”

“No, she squirt it on a dishcloth and brushed my teeth with it. Then she told me to rinse my mouth. It tasted nasty, and yes it did make me a bit sick. She had warned me, though. She said she would do it if she heard me swear one more time.”

“Why did you do it again, then? Didn’t you believe her?”

“I forgot. You know my ADHD impulsiveness and forgetfulness. I was caught in the moment. I just didn’t remember until I heard her call my name and tell me to go get the dish soap.”

“Isn’t 17 a bit old for your Grandmother to wash your mouth with soap?”

“I was only six or seven, smartie.”

I could see the wheels turning behind Oldest Daughter’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine my own Mother doing such a thing, and she couldn’t image me allowing her to do so.

Laughingly she asked, “What did your Mother do? Did she actually allow her Mother to wash your teeth with dish soap?”

“Mom would never correct Grandma Lutz. She just sat there and laughed at me. She was afraid to say much because she knew where I had learned those words. She might have been afraid she would be next.”

I knew that part was likely true. Grandmother would not have washed Betty’s mouth with soap, but mentally I saw her stern gaze and heard her firm tone. I imagine she would have said, “Betty! He only talks that way because he’s heard the same word come out of your mouth.”

We do not approve of Grandmother’s method in today’s world, but it was effective. Without medication or complimentary interventions, she quickly instilled in her grandson a motivation to remember and catch control his behavior when he was in her presence.

Husband still respects her memory, only praises her graciousness, and admires her business acumen. I don’t think the dish soap hurt him in any manner. And in fact, I have heard him tell the story so often , I rather think he views it as funny.

Tetanus Shots

People get tetanus shots to avoid tetanus, an infectious disease that can cause severe spasms in the area of the neck and jaw. 

People can become infected with tetanus when they get a puncture wound.

I think Husband and I should own stock in pharmaceutical companies that produce tetanus shots.

I’m remembering  what happened last week and the wound on Husband’s left hand. That’s where he jabbed a screwdriver as he attempted to open a can of paint.

“Look here,” he calmly said as the weapon stood embedded in his flesh.

Oldest Daughter came running as she yelled over her shoulder, “Good night, Dad! I can see muscle and tendons. Mom! Grab some bandages and antibacterial ointment.”

After we bandaged it, we insisted on taking him to Minor Emergency. As I drove, he admitted, “This hurts.”

The Doctor agreed Husband needed stitches and a tetanus shot.

So what’s the big deal, you might ask.

This is his second tetanus shot in the past three years or less.

This time it was the screwdriver. The one before that was a power tool he sliced through an index finger.

Back in his office days he often came home with deep cuts I would see the masking tape on his finger. “What did you do this time?”

“Sliced my finger with an Exacto Knife.”

“Do the nurses ever give you tetanus shot?” I once asked.

“No,” was all he said as he gazed back with a blank expression.

I know he is not really accident-prone; he just doesn’t pay close attention. He goes about certain tasks with a part of his mind in other places.

It’s a lifelong practice.  Once he told me, “Dad had these boards in the backyard with two-inch nails jutting out.  I stepped on one and drove the nail up into my foot.”

“Did you have on shoes?”

“Yep, tennis shoes.”

“Thank goodness for that. What did your mom do?” I asked, thinking how I would panic if that happened with one of my kids.

“I already pulled my foot off the nail. She bandaged it and said ‘Get in the car’ with a commanding voice. Off we went to the doctor’s office. Mom was a person of the moment. She seldom panicked.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven. That’s the first time I remember getting a tetanus shot.”

“The first time?”  My mind filled with pictures of monthly visits for shots.

“The next time I was about 10 and taking apart a dog house. I smacked the wood, and a piece of nail landed in my arm just above this artery.  Blood spurted straight up. I put my finger on it to keep it from bleeding.

Mom was at the store.”

“What? “ I raised my voice. “You mean she wasn’t home?”

“No, I sat down with my elbow bent and my finger on the hole. When she came in, I said, ‘Hey, mom look at this.” I took my finger off the hole, and there was the geyser effect again. ‘Get in the car,’ she commanded, and off we went to Doctor Morgan’s. He was impressed that I knew what to do at such a young age.”

“You seem to think that is the most notable part of the story.”

“Well, it is. Here, you can still see the scar.”

“Don’t you ever think you are dangerous to yourself?”

“Don’t bind me with your words,”  he admonished me.

“What do you mean? You know all these cuts and shots frighten me. I am sincerely concerned. Was that the last tetanus you got until we married?”

“When I was 14, my brother, sister, and I were in a car wreck,”  he said pointing to a scar on his forehead.  “I don’t remember if I got a shot then.”

“I do know that was one time when mom panicked.”

I merely looked at him, thinking how fortunate it was he had not been killed in the accident, but I still worry the fatal blow will someday be related to the way he injures himself with a tool.

Mindfulness in Action

In my quest to learn as much as possible about the world of ADHD, I am prone to buy the newest and more applicable books I can find. The latest has been The Mindfulness Prescription for ADHD: An 8-Step Program for Strengthening Attention, Managing Emotions, and Achieving Your Goals.

Lidia Zylowska, a psychiatrist, is the writer, and she also created programs for adults and children with ADHD through her work at UCLA.

In simple terms, Mindfulness Theory, says individuals can become more aware of the present moment while being caught up in it through meditation. By meditation, she means the individual concentrates  on  the present or a focal point rather than internal and external stimuli that can cause such reactions as depression and conduct disorder.

I am excited about what Mindfulness can do for Husband, so I rushed into an explanation of the book. I started with the concept of neuroplasticity.  It means the brain changes structure throughout the course of life. Evidence-based research shows that significant changes occur in specific areas of the brain which can truly alter how the brain works in response to experience.  We’ve always thought that to be true of children, but research shows it is true for adults, no matter how old they are.

Think of how pliable certain plastics can be.

Research suggests that experience can actually change both the brain's structure and the way it perform. Mindfulness helps persons with ADHD train themselves to become more aware of attention and other possibly other ADHD symptoms.

Husband got a quirky expression on his face when I mentioned plasticity and the brain. He put his hands to his head as if manipulating Silly Putty.

“Dr. Zylowska proposes different steps in her program beginning with the five senses. In one of her exercises she challenges individuals to be aware of eating during meals. Concentrate on chewing, tasting, the sensation on the tongue, and those types of experiences.”

“And that is supposed to help me control the symptoms of ADHD?”

“No, but the entire program of eight steps can help areas of your brain or silly putty change, thicken, and even become stronger as they function. It’s learning.”

“Oh,” he said with that blank expression on his face. It’s the one where he is politely listening just before his eyes glaze over.

“Zylowska begins by having her patients attend closely to their five senses. It is like concentrating on how the feet feel as they sit flat to the floor. Every time the concentration or thoughts flit away, the person makes a conscious decision to bring them back to the feet.

“She even has exercises on how to bring the wandering mind back to attention, how to listen to body sensations, how to be mindful of thoughts in general, and how to be mindful of emotions.”

“It sounds too simple,” he said. Ah- ha, he was listening!

“It does, but it really isn’t. Like any skill it requires practice and the D-word you hate to hear: discipline. It reminds me of when I have quiet time with God or even better, when I wake up in the middle of the night to pray. My mind wanders between words or phrases; I begin to think of other things. I have to make a conscious effort to bring my thoughts back to the prayer.”

“That’s about the time you fall asleep.”

“Well, yes. Zylowska says mindfulness practices reduce stress and help people relax. She goes on to imply that when persons become aware of their attention, they learn how to direct it.”

I asked him, “What do you think about the example of using Mindfulness during a meal?”

“It takes away the joy of eating. Instead of chewing or tasting, you have to concentrate on the goosh.  Most of the time, I concentrate on the taste. If it is really disgusting like this Diet Dr. Pepper you put in front of me just now, I don’t finish it. I also concentrate on what the food does to me. I used to eat liver and onions, but I don’t now mostly because of what I’ve heard is wrong with doing so.

“I am more interested in how the taste is applied; it is not whether it is taste-worthy.”

I could tell it was time to close the book. “How about if we talk about this later, and maybe go through it chapter by chapter. The science in it is fascinating.”

I think we are going to get somewhere with this new information.

Weight Loss

Via Christi Health,  part of Via Christi Hospitals, sponsors a fantastic lunch of Wichita women each month where at least 200 of us keet to hear about solutions for healthy lifestyles.

One incentive is that the lunch is always free, delicious, and of course, healthy.

Today’s line up featured the Program for Weight Management: how to lose it and keep it off.

I played Free Cell on my phone all the way through the speech.

However, I gained much from it because it was practical, informative, and encouraging.

I met Husband at my offices afterwards where I set a Veggie Wrap sandwich in front of him and placed a Diet Coke next to it.

In response to his what’s this, I answered: “I heard the most practical discussion on weight loss today. Dr. Moore is the Medical Director and physician for the Program, and he is a perfect speaker for this type of thing.”

As Husband suspiciously eyed the Diet Coke, he asked: “I suppose he’s against regular Coke, huh?”

“Oh, yes, sugary drinks of any type can be a no-no, including sugary fruit drinks. But he didn’t say never to drink them; he merely said that even one 300 calorie-per-day soda quickly piles pounds on us.”

“Humpf”, Husband replied before he opened the wrap. “And what is this?”

“It’s my Veggie Wrap that I brought to share with you. I’ve had one before; it’s really delicious.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he said with his mouth full.

“I’m really stoked about the presentation. First, Dr. said he believes people when they say they try to lose weight and fail. He said much of our food environment and culture causes us to be overweight due to the sizes of proportions and the content of our foods.

“He said we should move ‘through the air’ at least 30 minutes per day to burn calories, eliminate sugary drinks, and have one meal replacement per day.”

“What does he mean by meal replacement?”

“I’m thinking he meant a weight-loss shake or something along that line which is low in fat and rich in protein and calcium.”

“Tell you what,” Husband said, “Next time we go to breakfast, I’ll just order hot chocolate with my meal.”

“Yeah, funny and cute,” I retorted. “Via Christi offers this weight management program for people and you and me who have tried many ways to lose weight. It sounds far less complicated that the old Weight Watchers program we tried 40 years ago. It seems doable and culturally responsible.”

He flinched at my last comment.

“They described their program as more than a diet. They offer evidence-based plans that are medically safe, supervision, educational classes, and support from a weight-loss coach. They say their nutritious low-calorie foods taste good, but all programs make that claim.

“But here the thing that related most to me. He said that people must have more than five or six hours of sleep per night. If we don’t get it, we can gain up to 12 pounds per year because we lack sleep. That means you are right, I have to get more sleep.”

Husband looked a bit pained, “ Does that mean I can only get eight hours sleep each night?”

“No, I think it means you should sleep the nine or so hours you crave.”

I got his attention with that. He read the pamphlet I showed him. I noticed he didn’t ask about moving through air which I guess is self-explanatory, but it is neat Dr. Moore said we just need to do several little extra things daily to move our bodies. No expensive gym memberships needed.

I didn’t go into the part where the fat in the cavity surrounding our organs is the deadliest part of being overweight. I can save that for the next discussion. Besides, I rather guess that he already knows those knows those types of things. He knows much more about many things.

Self-Centered Special Person of the Day

Last week I read an article on ADHD in which the writer said (loosely paraphrased): “Individuals with ADHD might have a tendency to be all about themselves. We can describe them as self-focused. ”

At that moment, I retorted aloud to God and all the walls in my office: “Might?  A tendency?  Are you kidding me?”  

It is insulting, the way she minimized it. Those who know or love a person with ADHD will tell you that it is not merely a tendency or a possibility.

It is reality, a sure deal, a given.

I’ve been telling Husband for decades that he is only tuned-in when the conversation is all about him. Hmmm- he doesn’t even argue the point with me.

As a matter of fact, he will often say it, “Yeah, I know; it’s all about me.”

Not that I really hold on to a grudge, but listen to what happened 35 years ago during a meal at our favorite restaurant. We had both worked all day, and then picked up Oldest Daughter from the babysitter. It had been a trying day at school, and I wanted to vent about it. About half-way through what I planned to say, I could see Husband’s eye glaze over. He said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t want to hear about it.”  

OK!, So that was the end of that conversation and many others. I vowed not to share about my day with him ever again, and I kept that vow for several years.

I declare he didn’t even notice.

I could tell literally dozens of stories from the reason why he finally got around to staining and repairing my dining chairs (his sister was moving in with us) to why he recalls for the umpteenth time that his father didn’t really love him.

Husband’s psychiatrist would likely tell me that his behavior patterns are evidence of his personality. Other people may claim it is a matter of self-monitoring as opposed to self-focus. Nonsense; we’re talking self-absorption.

But I want you to totally understand, this is not the same as selfishness. In this case, self-centered does not mean selfish. Husband can be quite considerate, which he has demonstrated many times throughout our marriage.

I shared such a thought with Tony, my hairdresser, just today. He was telling me about a family where the father walked away due to a son’s disabilities and mental illness.

“Yep,” I agreed, “We often hear about Dads who take a walk because they cannot handle the pressures of sick or disabled kids. Our Crown Prince was a sickly baby, and I don’t know how I could have managed without my husband’s support and collaboration.

“Matter of fact, I nominated him for Special Person of the Day for that reason, and he won.”

Tony had not heard of Special Person of the Day, a radio contest sponsored by a local station here in Wichita over 30 years ago.

“I sent a letter to the station explaining how ill our baby had been and how Husband helped me carry the emotional and physical load of care. It is not easy to care for both a toddler and a chronically sick baby at the same time. Husband was my Rock and buttress throughout each ordeal and trauma.

“The program manager phoned Husband at work and read the letter across the radio. I could tell Husband was totally shocked. Along with being named Special Person of the Day, he won tickets to a restaurant and movie, a cup and other nick-nacks that honored him. I think they delivered the prizes to his office.”

Tony laughed, “It sounds as if you won both of you a date night.”

“Yea, I guess, but I won more than that. I won a forever memory that counteracts those moments when I want to scream at my husband’s total immersion into himself and his feelings.”

Because as I said, it is more than a tendency or a possibility. It is a given.

The Book Report

When we were dating, Husband told me he completely read only one fiction book when he was in high school.

To me, an avid reader, that seemed so dubious, but the more I got to know him, the more l realized he was telling the truth.

Now I know that as many as 50% of persons with ADHD have learning disabilities. Keep in mind learning disabilities are not cognitive impairments; they are associated with learners with above-average intelligence, and they have to do with the brain’s ability to store and retrieve information.

Current research refers to his type of learning disability as a reading disability, and it says that for successful reading to take place, the brain systems used for spoken language and decoding the symbols must work properly. Reading disability reflects a problem within those systems.

Husband put it this way: “Reading for me was going three words forward and five words backward. When I got to the end of a sentence, I had to go back again and see what it said. When I got to the end of a paragraph, I’d have to read it again for content. I used a lot of underlines and parentheses.”

I knew he could write well because he often corrected my typing errors and some of my mistakes in grammar mechanics. “So how did you do so well in high school?”  He did have a high “B” average.

“I took classes where I didn’t have to read so much. I listened well because I have auditory strengths.  And ( pause, pause), I faked it a bunch. I never did read a book for the book reports we had to give.”

“How did you get by with it? I would have been caught.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t caught. I think teachers knew the reports were shams. As a matter of fact, Sarah, my 11^th grade English teacher as much as said so.”

“You called her Sarah?”

“Yes, I was the type of kid who could get by with that, too. Ms. Harvey realized my potential and encouraged me.”

“So back to the book reports, how did you do them?”

“I learned to read a bit from the front of the book, some from the middle, and the conclusion. If a teacher asked me additional questions, I would have enough to fake the answers.”

I thought it sounded a bit risky and told him so. Underneath, I admired his strategy.

“It wasn’t successful in my ninth grade class. We were assigned to read a book and give an oral report. I asked this guy named Tim ‘Do you have a book you’ve ever read that you are not using for this report? Is there one you can tell me about?’ He told me about Treasure Island.”

“What went wrong?” I asked.

“The day for the oral reports, Mills, the teacher, said he was going to start in the middle of the alphabet, which meant me. So the first person Mills called on was me.”

Husband went on to explain he gave a poor rendition of the book. The teacher kept asking him questions, and he couldn’t remember what Tim had told him.

In front of the class, the teacher said he didn’t believe Husband had read the book. “I don’t believe you read it.  Since you can’t answer my questions, I am going to give you an F.”

I felt so badly for him when he told me that part of the story.

“Tim sat the first seat in the middle row. He just sat there and laughed at me all the way through the agony.”

I tried positive comments. “Well, at least you got your misery out of the way. And think of what you learned from the situation. You became a faker with strategy.”

He cut his eyes toward me with a unexpected expression on his face. “I wish I had known about Cliff Notes that year.”

Ally Oop McNay

Nestled in the Old Riverside Zoo, the alligator pit created a hot spot of interest when Husband and I grew up in Wichita.

Even after the zoo moved to its newest location, we would visit the pit and talk about our memories as children.

One evening shortly before we became engaged, Husband took me to the old zoo for a stroll and to play on the statues there. It doesn’t matter that we were in our early 20’s; so what if the figures were designed for younger children? This zoo belonged to us and our childhood experiences.

Husband took me by the hand and in solemn procession led me to the empty pit.

“This is where we brought Henry Egghead Ally Oop McNay,” he said in near reverence.

“This is where you brought who-o-o-?” I asked with suspicion. I never was quite certain in those days when I was being set-up for one of his jokes.

“This is where we brought our alligator. When he got too big for the bathtub, Mom phoned the zoo and asked if they would take him.”

I am certain Husband kept looking at the pit to focus on the mental pictures running through his mind.

“And which of you named that poor ‘gator such a fancy name?”   I thought maybe all four kids got together with that name.

“Dad,” he replied.

“Your Dad?” I asked incredulously. His dad did not seem the type to me at that time. Of course, now I know it sounds just like him.

“Yes, Dad.” He paused several times as he pulled the memories from the back of his mind. All the time he kept staring at the pit.

“I remember the comic Ally Oop about the Caveman, but where did the other names come from?”  I laughed to think of the alligator being named for a cartoon that began sometime in the 1930’s.

“They were characters in the cartoon strip. It was all part of the comic strip. It was something popular at the time. Dad liked it.”

“Where did you get the ‘gator?” The memory of the story was a bit fuzzy to me.

“Dad mailed him to me in 1959 for my birthday. He was in Florida on business for Boeing, and he sent me a present for my ninth birthday.  Ally Oop was only six or seven inches long. It was the days before  federal regulations put an end to that type of mail.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I liked it for a few days, but then I lost interest. It needed care and oversight, so I became bored with it. Mom was the one who liked things like that, and she was the one who took care of it.”

“That sounds like her. Did your Dad really think you would be into things like a ‘gator?”

“Who knows,” Husband shrugged and turned from the pit. “I did like it for a while until the son-of-a bitch bit me. He put a small hole in my forefinger.”

“Which one, the ‘gator or your Dad?” We laughed together on that one.

Husband looked serious. “Even at that age I felt Dad did not accept me or even like me. I think I was surprised that he sent me something, even it did seem weird.”

“I doubt he thought he was being weird. I bet he thought he was doing something that would really interest your natural curiosity.”

Husband paused again, “Yeah. Well. Whatever. We would come each spring to watch the caretakers take Ally Oop and the other alligators out of their winter home in that building over there and transfer them to the pit. It was a big deal.”

As I reflect on that memory, I’m glad I had likely seen the family alligator in the days before Husband and I met. It made a special connection for me.

I also contemplate about a small boy with ADHD who possessed abundant interest in things of nature and in many other directions. I believe the gift was a logical idea and choice from his Dad. I know Husband no longer cares one way or another, but the memory from that extraordinary household is fun to share.