The Po Show

Gating

There's a term called sensory gating. It's the brain's way of dealing with repetitive stimuli, so that you don't have to attend so closely to repeated input. For example, if there's a noise that repeats, like the ticking of a clock, your brain takes note of the first tick, then sorts of gets used to it and tunes out the following ticks. It's nice, because otherwise you'd spend your whole life having to pay attention to ticking clocks.

Certain psychological disorders mess with sensory gating. Schizophrenics in particular often lack the ability to filter out repetitive stimuli, so they hear each tick of the clock as clearly as the first. It's enough to drive anyone crazy, if they weren't already crazy to begin with (actually schizophrenics aren't crazy to begin with. They generally don't develop their symptoms till their late teens/early 20s, which always struck me as incredibly tragic. But anyway).

I've come to conclusion that I have a serious sensory gating problem when it comes to my children, and it IS driving me crazy. Not that that's a long trip. (As Ross said, "Driving you crazy? That would imply you're not already there.")

I just can't tune them out. The constant, steady stream of input from them overwhelms me, particularly in the car. Two little voices coming from the backseat in a never-ending barrage. Stream of consciousness musings by Matthew on what the largest things in the world might be, queries from Tessa as to where Daddy is (which she asks over and over and over again).

Requests (demands) for this and that and the other; in Tessa's case, over and over and over. She'll ask me to pick up the thing she dropped from her carseat. I'll explain that I'm driving and can't get it now, but that I'll get it when we stop.

A nanosecond passes. "NOW you can get it, Mom?"

"No, I'm still driving. I'll get it when we stop, sweetheart."

We stop at a red light a second later. "NOW you can get me the brown puppy, Mom?"

Matthew exhorts me, in excruciating detail, about how to get through the level he's working on in the current video game he's been playing. Tessa wants me to sing with her, then yells for me to stop singing.

They've reached the "MOM, he/she's touching me; took my [whatever]; that's MINE!!!!!!!!" stage with each other. I know this is all perfectly developmentally appropriate, but it's driving me bonkers.

I just can't tune them out. I just can't ignore them. I feel obligated to respond to every single myriad comment, request, accusation. I try to do so in measured tones of voice. I try not to yell.

I wish Home Depot sold sensory gating. I need to give my brain a little rest.