Surviving Narcissismby Jesse Blayne

Underneath my laptop I have a magazine insert that advertises perfume.  I usually yank them out of the magazine and give them to Jenny to smell.  Then we giggle about what kind of person would actually wear that scent.  I kept this one because it reminds me of my long-distance friend.  I think the heat from the laptop warms it a bit.  Once in awhile I hit a keystroke and a little whiff of the scent comes at me.  It’s almost like he’s standing right behind me.  I wish I knew which keystroke was the magic one to warm up the scent.  The randomness is what makes it sweet.

__________

The kids and I are always talking about how something smells.  I can remember Will at his third birthday.  He was seriously into his sniffing phase.  Each present he opened couldn’t be enjoyed until he’d thoroughly smelled it.  He’s gotten a little more discreet about how he smells things.  Jenny often decides whether or not she likes someone based on their scent.

The sense of smell is incredibly powerful.  I’m fascinated by the memories that are conjured up by a particular scent.  The combination of lime and cilantro always transports me to Isla Mujeres.  A freshly sharpened pencil makes me think of Fall and the first day of school.  It’s not that the kids and I are part canine, it’s more that we are keenly aware of scents, and we make connections that anchor those scents to a time or place.

The other morning, the wood stove was cranked, and Will had just made a killer batch of pancakes.  I was walking down the hallway just as the water heater fired up and left a faint smell of gas in the air.  The scents of warm pancakes, coffee, smoke from the wood stove, a little gas fume and laundry detergent all converged in the same spot in the hallway.

I stopped in my tracks.

Those smells brought me back to 1966, when I was four years old.  I was wearing pigtails, and I was standing in the middle of my grandma’s living room.  I was safe, warm and cozy, and I had a full belly.

The current me wanted to get down on the floor with four-year-old me and play dolls.

If I could have, I would have whispered in my ear, “Don’t be so nice all the time.  You can be a good girl, but don’t jump so high and run so fast to please.  Don’t forget to make sure that you are happy, too.  Being a pleaser makes you a target for a Narcissist.”

I wasn’t going to tell me to walk around with my hands on my hips, sticking my tongue out at everybody in my path.  I wasn’t going to tell me to start kicking some of  ‘em in the shins.  I wanted to tell me that they would all still like me even if I wasn’t so perfect all the time.  I would gently tell four-year-old me that if they didn’t like me, I would still be just fine.

__________

In my efforts to help Will and Jenny navigate their relationship with their dad, I often find myself reminding them to acknowledge their own feelings.  They are compassionate little people.  They are both thoughtful and sensitive.  I’m often hearing, “Mom, I didn’t really want to do that or say that, but I didn’t want to hurt dad’s feelings.”  One of them will say, “How come dad never worries about our feelings?”  It’s a delicate balance teaching them to be kind, but also protective of their own feelings.   I’m proud of them when they get up the courage to politely tell someone that they feel slighted.  I encourage them to be honest, however, they are too schooled in all the costs of being honest with their dad.

It’s easier to be nice.  A default position of nice can create doormats.

I might as well paint little targets on their beautiful foreheads.  The targets would say, “Pick me!  I’m an excellent source!”

__________

Back in grandma’s living room, I’ll give four-year-old me a warm hug, and I’ll grab a jar of grandma’s spaghetti sauce, before I head back to 2009.

Her secret ingredient is Allspice.

Can you smell it?