When did I get to be such an anxious person? Driving in the rain scares me now. Yes, it's pouring today, and the weather-people agree it will be pouring until two days from now, which means the streets will flood, which means I will be tied in knots the whole time, watching the weather radar, checking the traffic cameras, calculating how else I could possibly get the kids home from school if the usual route is impassable, should I skip going to this meeting that takes place in the low part of town, should I pick the kids up early, and how I would cope with the kids in the car if we had a problem....
I suppose it all dates back to the Great Floating Car Incident of 2001, when I drove into a puddle and ended up in a dead car in the dark with water coming through the floor. It was really frightening, and I was already stressed out that day by being secretly pregnant with what I didn't know was Doomed Miscarriage Baby. Rod came to my rescue that night, but he's out of town this week, so if I end up in high water now, it's all my problem.
I am really unhappy with myself for being such a ball of nerves about something so stupid. I lived here for over a decade without any weather anxiety, driving little bitty cars and renting in a neighborhood that floods. Why can't I get back to that un-bothered state of mind? And do you have any, say, Xanax, that I could use in the meantime?
Moving on to the news: Carl says he wants to be an inventor when he grows up. I lobbied for "poet" or "mechanic" (like an inventor, but more practically useful) or "doctor" (wouldn't it be great to have someone around here with a prescription pad?), but he's pretty firmly committed. The Engineer Gene Lives On.
The birthday parties went well, with many kids attending and huge piles of presents accumulating. We have all been busy assembling Lego kits and trying out toys. My favorite gift, just because it appealed to my immature streak, was the "Cosmic Thruster." ("Oh Mom, it has balls!") Anyway, Carl has a pile of thank you notes to write, which will take a while because all he can write is his name, although he does have a certain talent for copying things out.
Ruby had her first Brownie meeting, and is all psyched up to earn badges and sell cookies; not even the ugly brown vest can deter her, and now I need to figure out how to neatly iron all the badges and insignias and patches onto it. It also reminds me of my mom, who wouldn't settle for merely ironed-on badges on my sash. Oh, no. Mine were lovingly sewed in place with great precision, and as a result, my uniform did look much neater that everyone else's. How I miss my mom.
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