OCD Much?

Our youngest daughter has a problem.  I'm not sure it's an actual problem or would warrant an official diagnosis, but she fixates like no one I've ever met.  Now it must be said (because otherwise my husband will say it for me), that I'm a fixater, too.  If I'm lying in bed thinking about doing something the next day and some random item I'll need for the project is missing in my mind, I absolutely have to get out of bed to find it.  That moment.  It can't wait until morning, or I won't sleep.  So perhaps she comes by it naturally.

Every two year old goes through the "Why?" phase.  Addie seems stuck there.  No answer satisfies her "why," nor will any answer make it go away.  And, to make it all worse, she doesn't forget her curiosity.  So, we have a two year old who wonders why about almost everything she sees, and then she fixates on it.  For the next three days.

You think I'm exaggerating.  Last week Monday, we were picking Meg up from preschool.  On our way out the door, we started talking to our friend Kari, who was there to pick her daughter Maddie up from school.  Unfortunately for Maddie's little sister, Molly, we continued our conversation after Maddie had opened the door of their Jeep, and the wind caught Molly's balloon, lifting it out of the Jeep and sending it soaring into the sky.  Maddie was traumatized about what she'd done, Molly was devastated to see her balloon floating into the sky, Meg was grieving for all of the balloons she's lost to the clouds, and Addie was fixated.

As we drove home from school that day, Addie must have asked "Why?" two dozen times.  Finally I got tired of the question and could no longer ignore her insistance.  So, taking the advice of another parent I'd chatted with recently, I launched into a full and detailed explanation.  The plan was that this would confuse her so much that she'd be distracted from her question and would stop asking.  It went something like this:

"Well, you see, that balloon was filled with helium, and helium is one of the lightest gasses in the world.  It's on the periodic table before oxygen, and the air is mostly filled with oxygen.  When the balloon was in the car, it stuck tightly to the ceiling because it was so light, but it wasn't strong enough to go through the ceiling, so the balloon was safe.  When Maddie opened the door of the Jeep, the balloon, filled with super light gas, wanted nothing more than to fly into the sky, because it is lighter than all the oxygen in the sky.  Because it's so windy today, the wind caught the balloon and pulled it out from under the ceiling and into the air.  The helium was too light to stay down and instead it floated up into the sky and just went up and up and up.  It's sad, but that's what happens to balloons filled with helium when they are set free in the sky."

There was the much longed-for and planned silence.  Then, the two-year-old voice behind me said, "Why?"  Super, I thought.  What do I do with this? 

Before I could answer, the four-year-old voice in the far back of the van said, "Do you suppose it just keeps floating all the way up to heaven?  Do you suppose all of the balloons we lose are there?  And maybe the ones we write on for Baby Zion?  There in heaven, with God and Jesus and Nana and Papa and Grandpa Meyer and Baby Zion?"

Then Addie asked, "Meg, do you think we'll see them again when we get to heaven, too?"

"I hope so," came the seasoned, big-sister response.  "I hope so."

There was a long silence after that in the car.  As the tears filled my eyes from thinking about all that we have lost waiting for us in heaven where we will gain eternity, that wise four-year-old voice piped up again: "When do you suppose Jesus will come back for us, Mommy?  Because it seems to be taking a long time, and I really want to play with my balloons again."

Some things you just can't make up.

You can't make this up either: on Wednesday, when we drove Meg to school again, Addie said, "Mom?  Why Molly's balloon fly into sky?"  Maybe she just wanted to be reminded about heaven.