Common Senses

My husband surprised me the other day with a white noise machine. Keep in mind that this is not just a white noise machine. Nope, this is a Big Red Rooster 6 Sound White Noise Machine. I had no idea what a game changer this little piece of magic would be until John pushed the “on” button. Suddenly we could slumber to the sounds of a babbling brook, the roaring ocean, sporadic thunder, gentle rain, literal white noise or crickets chirping on a summer night — as if getting out of bed wasn’t hard enough for me already. 

            We had talked about getting one, but like a lot of things, the idea got pushed to the outer skirts of our radar by more pressing issues such as purchasing a new Crock-Pot, finding a basketball league for The Tots, and swapping out our Halloween décor for Thanksgiving swag. Regardless, I’m glad John took the initiative to swipe the “Buy it Now” tab on Amazon so that this wonderful machine could join our home. It fits in nicely with my “sensory recovery program,” which John knew nothing about. 

            Truth be told, it’s not an official program, but the more I practice recognizing what my senses (all five of them) are experiencing, the happier I am, and the beautiful part is that the smallest things get their attention. 

            For example, we’ve used the same laundry detergent since The Tots were two years old. John mentioned the other day that we should try something else. (This is bizarre coming from a man who has never worn cologne or aftershave, scoffs at scented candles, and is not in charge of the laundry.) Regardless, I went with it and selected a detergent with a tropical scent because our family isn’t going anywhere tropical anytime soon for a host of reasons. 

            I figured this new scent would transport us to a magical place (think Calgon bath powder ad from the 1980s) as we (me) folded our freshly washed clothes. One minute I would be matching socks and the next I would be basking on a beach, complete with a beloved breeze and fruity drink. Okay, so my new detergent didn’t beam me to St. John while I scraped the lent out of the dryer, but it was a nice change, and change is not a bad thing right now. 

            Weeks ago a friend of mine told me to do something different for the holidays to help ease the pain of not having mom here. I know she’s right because I was hit with a land mine of grief at Target the other day. It began innocently enough. I was heading to the pet department to buy collars for our two cats, who refuse to wear collars for extended periods of time. (Seriously, these little guys need to figure out a video for YouTube to support their lost collar habit.)    

            Anyway, the pet section is beside the Christmas section, and, of course Target had Christmas music blaring throughout the tree display. Suddenly my eyes welled up when I realized that Christmas was going to take place regardless of the fact that my mom is dead. I couldn’t believe Christmas had the audacity to do that. I quickly did not find what I needed and got out of there, knowing that this is a sign of what’s to come. 

            You never know what will trigger grief, but Thanksgiving and Christmas offer a lot of material. That’s why embracing the positive experiences of my senses is crucial right now — or any time really. The other night I pulled out the soft robe I bought for the hospital when I gave birth to the twins. I snuggled in it as I watched Mr. Mom with my family. John made homemade soup in our new Crock-Pot this past Sunday, and I savored the smell of it just as much as its delicious taste.

            And then there’s our beloved white noise machine. As the crickets sing their song, I go back to summer nights at Lake Tillery, where I smell freshly cut grass, hear the water lapping against the pier and see my mom playing cards at the kitchen bar. It’s a nice place to go for the holidays, even if I can’t stay there.