When I was eight years old, on an early June afternoon, another eight year old girl who lived a few miles from me was abducted on her way home from school. She was found murdered in a culvert just blocks from her house.

I remember my Mom watching me walk to school the next morning, which she had never done before. I could sense her fear. It was the first time I can recall really being scared.

Shortly after this incident, I had a nightmare that the girl’s killer was in my room. I dreamed that he was hiding behind my bedroom door and I was facing certain death. The murder was never solved, so I have no idea what the killer looked like. But in that nightmare, my eight year old mind had a detailed image. The murderer was Mr. Clean.

In my dream, I slowly pulled the door back to reveal him standing there with a broom. Mr. Clean was sweeping my floor. It took many years before I could buy any of his products. But, those Magic Erasers? Well, they make my heart skip a beat.

My point is that even rational fears can sometimes turn irrational.

Some friends of ours are having a hard time with their daughter. She is suddenly terrified of tornados. Rational? Yes.

When she sees a random gray cloud in the sky, she begins to freak out. Rational? No.

I used to housesit for a neighbor when I was young and they had a cat that would greet me by standing on its hind legs while hissing and baring its teeth. From that experience, I grew to be truly scared of cats. Rational? Yes.

When a friend’s cat comes purring and rubbing against my legs, it might as well be a boa constrictor. Rational? No.

I even know a grown man with a true fear of clowns.

I know we’re not alone. There must be at least one person out there who is scared of Aunt Jemima or who cowers at the sight of cheerleaders. I want to make our friends feel better about what’s going on with their daughter. So boys and girls…what’s your irrational fear?

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Yesterday afternoon my Mom called and told me my Aunt M had passed away. It was unexpected, and as much as I tried to be strong I couldn’t hold things together.

My six year old son saw I was upset, came over to me and asked, “Why are you crying?”

I said, “Aunt M died today. Everything will be okay, but I’m crying because I’m going to miss her. I loved her very much and I was close to her.”

Then he climbed up on my lap, put his nose about an inch from mine and asked, “Were you close like this?”

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I have mentioned before that our family is highly competitive. My husband is the worst of the bunch. Coming from a family of eleven, his sibling rivalries are taken to a much higher level. When I heard there was a movie coming out called There Will Be Blood, I thought it was a documentary filmed during a family game of Boggle.

Our nine year old daughter, who used to let her friends win just to be nice, is now changing her tune. As she has gotten older and has begun to play sports, I’ve noted a real ruthless streak in her. Now, with a Wii in the house her new attitude is win first, friends second.

Yesterday she was playing tennis with her Dad when she missed a ball and, as is customary, he began to rub it in her face. He saw the end was near and before going in for the kill he asked, “Do you smell that?”

And I realized my daughter has learned the first rule of competition is knowing how to talk smack when she replied, “I smell something. But, it’s not your victory.”

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Because my six year old son has ear canals the size of a bug, and he produces a lot of wax, he has to go to the ENT roughly once a month for a thorough cleaning.

In order to be proactive about it, I am always looking for signs of wax build-up. For instance, when he starts asking, “What?” all the time, I know I need to schedule an appointment. Another indication is when worker bees start buzzing about his head.

But usually, I can see the wax. I give his earlobe a gentle pull and, more often than not, I’ll spy a gob that is screaming for me to pull it out. Though the last time I attempted to do that, I pushed it back in. Do you know how it feels to have an Otolaryngologist lecture you? I do.

So, I have to settle for pulling the lobe back to just look. I am constantly peeking in there and making comments about his ear wax.

Maybe I do it too often. Because when I was holding him the other night, he looked up at me and said, “Mom. You have some wax in your nostril.”

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