The Obsession Gene is something that has been passed down on my father’s side of the family for generations. His parents both showed their obsessions through various addictions. Daddy’s obsessions at least took healthier forms. Don't mention his golf obsession around my mother. Take my word for it. The word "golf" does not bring back good memories in our family.
Most recently, Daddy's obsession is he is running again. The man is 67 years old, and he had to stop running years ago due to health issues. However, he has now built back up to running an amazing number of miles at a time. (I won’t quote how many miles he runs because I’d probably be wrong. I’ll just say it’s at least 15 times what I have ever run at one time in my entire life.) This can only be explained by The Gene.
I have The Gene. Though I’d rather not admit it, I do. Through the years, The Gene has resulted in half-finished craft projects strewn all over our house. Mr. Everything knew about this personality trait before he married me. He chose to marry me anyway, so if our house is always messy, it’s really no one’s fault but his own.
In case you have no clue what I’m talking about, allow me to explain. The Obsession Gene is a personality trait that causes us to not be able to think about anything other than what we are obsessing over. At one time, I was obsessed with selling Pampered Chef. My house was full of cooking tools, catalogs and flyers. Then, I was obsessed with baking wedding cakes. Icing roses, pans and piping bags filled out space. (That obsession ended when the Goose started walking and could steal my icing roses of the dining room table. It was all downhill from there.) At least these items made money for us, so they weren’t too bad to deal with. Then, there was the obsession with rubberstamps. I have the dusty stamps to prove my one-time love. (I still love the idea of making rubber stamped cards. I just don’t have the time to do it.) There was beading. Those are hard to vacuum up off the floor, by the way.
No matter what the obsession, it always resulted in supplies left around the house and things half-done. It meant no dinner on the table and late nights as I couldn’t sleep for wanting to create or do.
I think the wildest obsession I ever developed was for pottery. Those of you who know me know how well that turned out for us. Willow took me to paint pottery for my birthday one year. I had never heard of paint your own pottery before, but after one trip, I was hooked. In fact, I dreamed about painting pottery for three nights after we went. I obsessed over how my plate would look after it was fired. Once I picked up the plate, it was a downward spiral. I took the kids back to paint pottery, but it was very expensive. That’s the one thing that normally limits my obsessions…lack of funds. So, when I realized I could not continue to drive to Ybor City to paint pottery for $30 a pop, I knew I had to figure out how to paint pottery for cheaper. This developed into a traveling pottery business that ultimately grew into a paint your own pottery store. While you made think that sounds good, it ultimately was the cause of our family’s financial demise. We only thought we were broke before we started our own business. Fast forward 6 years, and then there was the fire. See? This is what my obsessions cause. Fires.
Anywho, both kids got The Gene. For them, it has meant flute lessons, guitar lessons, sewing classes, cooking classes, beading supplies, air soft supplies, American girl doll stuff, GI Joe stuff, Legos, military medals, nail polish and fake fingernails, and, and and….
Right now, as I type, the Goose is sewing a dress for her American Girl doll. Yes, it’s 9:15 at night, 3 days before we are loading a moving truck. She hasn’t touched the sewing machine in 2 years, but tonight is the night. My prediction is, the dress will not be finished tonight, and it will be permanently forgotten tomorrow. When she goes to bed, the pile of fabric will be left on the floor. Then, my head will spin around.
Keep in mind that I said she has the milder form of The Gene. It’s the boy child who really got it.
A perfect example of this was about a month ago. He decided to be a cowboy for Halloween. He wanted a holster for his gun, and I wouldn’t let him drive to Gainesville to search for one in a store. (I’m so unreasonable.) He took leftover leather and created his own. This included staining it. Bare-handed. He came in yelling for alcohol. I asked him why, and he said it might remove the stain from him hands. I asked him what about the stains on his shirt and jeans, but he said he didn’t think alcohol would work for those. I asked how he knew alcohol would work. He said he read it on the bottle of stain. I looked, and, indeed, it was there; right under the caution to always wear gloves when staining leather. I asked him if he’d happened to read that part, but he said he had not. I’ll just blame it on The Gene.
Due to the Beetle’s obsessive tendencies, he walked around with orange hands for a week. I had to admit, though, his gun holster turned out pretty well.
I’m not sure who I pity more, my children for inheriting The Gene or their future spouses who will have to live with them. Mr. Everything can attest to the fact that life with the obsessed can be quite an adventure. One thing I can say is, at least life with us is never boring! -Al