Coping

So Bella has OCD. Or at least, what I think is OCD. Well, let’s put it this way. Anytime she gets one tiny pimple or two or five (and it’s really NEVER MORE than five), it is cause for alarm, consternation, and multiple trips to Duane Reade for Clearasil, or calls to the Dermatologist, and, at the very least, at least 40 conversations about the mountainous puss spewing dots upon her face, all within a 12 hour day. Which has caused me to drink at least one if not two or five glasses of white wine (haven’t been able to make the switch to red despite my numerous attempts.) In the meantime I told her that if she mentioned those goddamn pimples one more time , I was going to start chanting the Barucha’s, (in Hebrew) loudly, whether or not we were in public. Which I did. At least 5 times today, ending quite resonantly, and loudly with AAAAMMMEEENNNN. Which at times caused her to laugh, but the final time, caused her to tell me she was “GOING TO MY DAD’S” and I’m like, buh BYE! So, she throws her clothes all in a huff in her bag, and storms out the door to her father’s. (She did bring her toothbrush) And I sigh, thinking, it was almost a good day. And then, I find in her room this paper: Calm down Overcome, Problem solve, Invite, Negotiate, Go for it. And I thought, “I did a great job with that.” Amen.