Obsessions
My son Thomas has a way of being passionate that is all-consuming, especially when it comes to something he wants. The topic will come up as we’re driving somewhere, as we’re getting ready for school, as an urgent call from bed 20 minutes after you think he’s asleep. Most kids his age would want things like new gaming systems, scooters, or tennis shoes worn by rock star athletes. Not Thomas. Thomas wants a copper pan.
A few years ago Thomas saw an infomercial about Snugglies, the blanket with sleeves. (Think a bathrobe, worn back to front, and make it out of a thin, cheap, polyester blend: You’ve got it.) He would pause the commercial and make us come watch it with him while he pointed out the “features.” (“It’s a blanket. With sleeves. For $19.99, plus shipping and handling.”) After about six weeks later he got one for his birthday and he promptly forgot about it.
The Pink Panther cartoon had an episode where they went to a laundromat, and suddenly it was all Thomas could think about. We had to find a laundromat. (“Mom! You can wash clothes! And there’s bubbles!”) He’d point out laundromats around town, casually, as if discovering them for the first time. (“Mom! Look! It’s a laundromat! For washing clothes!”) Pointing out that we owned a washer and dryer in our very own house did nothing to curb that desire. Finally Megan took him to a laundromat to wash some towels we’d retired to be rags and he was in bliss. (“They had Tide soap! And I bought one!”) Sure enough, he had: He was the proud owner of a small box of Tide, which now resides in a place of honor in his bedroom.
The box of Tide lead to a new obsession: Tide pods. (For those of you who don’t know the amazing Tide pods, they are little gelatinous packets of laundry soap that you can throw into the washer.) For several weeks we had to visit the laundry soap aisle at Raley’s, where Thomas would gaze lovingly at the display of Tide pods and extoll the various features. (“Mom! They’re Tide pods! And they are for laundry!”) I pointed out several times that we not only don’t use Tide – it is too scented for me, and we have sensitive skin in our family that doesn’t do well with most commercial brands – but that we had plenty of laundry soap at home. I invited him to help me with our laundry and tried to sell him on the idea of pouring our non-scented Arm & Hammer detergent into the washer, but apparently I am not a very good salesman. The Tide pod phase went on for several months before I received a picture of my son lovingly cradling a container of Tide pods that he’d purchased with his own money while running errands with his dad. (Ironically, I was attending a conference on autism at the time, and the speakers had just been talking about perseverations – a fancy word for being obsessed with something.)
The latest crush was discovered on an excursion to the fabric store. We had picked out the fabric I needed, and then Thomas and I wandered around to look at things in the crafting aisles. I was hoping he’d find a project that caught his attention – painting a piggy bank, or beading something – but suddenly he was staring, rapt, at a display of “As Seen on TV” items. A coppery pan had his full attention, and he began to sell it to me by reciting the features. (“It won’t scratch! And it won’t stick! And you can cook eggs! And it’s $19.99!”) I admired the pan – who wouldn’t?—but pointed out we didn’t need a pan. (Ha! As if that mattered!)
For a few days he wistfully recalled the pan (“It won’t scratch, Mom!”) and then it dawned on him: He had money! He could buy the miracle pan, himself! He only had $4 cash, so he began campaigning to earn money with chores. I have a 50-percent-off coupon, so I predict we’ll own the miracle non-scratch, non-stick, coppery pan by next weekend. And a new obsession by the following Monday…
