For the last few months, Max has been sleeping with a bowl, a plate and a cup in his bed. Purple, of course. This is a kid who's never had an attachment to teddy bears, blankies or any of that stuff. No, my son likes to canoodle with tableware.
The purple obsession isn't showing any signs of dwindling, but still: dishes? And they need to be placed just so, the bowl evenly centered on the plate, the cup the "right" distance away. Max will spend minutes arranging them when he lies down at night and make sure they are appropriately set up before he leaves for school in the morning.
A few weeks ago, he decide to leave a purple bowl and plate at his place at the table. Now they are also there all the time, also placed just so. In case you are wondering how we happened to have amassed all of this glorious purple, environmentally toxic tableware (and there's more in the cupboards), we have traveled to distant lands to acquire our collection. Or, more specifically, anytime we've visited someone's house and they have a purple bowl and happen to show it to Max, he's basically begged to take him home. He is hard to turn down.
One plate came from Disney's Animal Kingdom hotel—a woman was setting out dishes for some craft activity by the pool, and Max refused to let go of the purple plate. The cups hail from the dollar store. "Oh, it's the purple cup lady!" the guy says when I show up to purchase another stash.
I've been wondering what Max's purple tableware thing is about. It's kind of...eccentric. And then I thought: pot calling the kettle black.
I've never told you about my little crystal animal problem, have I?
This my Swarovski menagerie, started when my sister and I were teens. I think the mouse came first, bought with some babysitting money. The bird followed and then the other creatures, one by one, like Noah's ark. Dave got the rattle and baby carriage when he was in Europe on business while I was pregnant with Sabrina.
I am completely and utterly weird about them. Every morning, even as I am running around like a headless chicken getting ready for work, I check to make sure they are in their place. The kids are not allowed to touch them.
Last fall, we hired a cleaning lady to come in every couple of weeks. One day, after she'd been there, I noticed one of the bird's wings had fallen off. I was crushed. Then, a few weeks later, one of the fish's fins was gone after she'd visited. Just, gone.
I started dreading the day she was coming to clean. Which animal would she maim?
The last straw was the panda's legs. Two of them, kaput.
I called and told her things weren't working out. And it was mostly because of the crystal animals.
For the last few weeks, I have been carrying around the maimed fish in my purse; I'm hoping to make it to a Swarovski store to get it fixed. I am sure they will charge me a bundle for one measly fin but I will pay it.
So, yeah, my attachment to itty bitty crystal animals is strange. Max's purple plate habit is kinda strange.
"Normal" is all relative, anyway, as we all know so well. And overrated.
Yay, strange!
What's "strange" about you? Share!
