I Feel Good, I Feel Great, I Feel Wonderful

Going on a vacation is stressful. Isn't that ridiculous? But, for me it is true. Not only is there the house to clean from top to bottom (I want our mothers [who are watching our boys] to think we ALWAYS live in a sparkling clean home even though I'm sure they know better), the groceries to stock up on, all of the laundry to do so the boys have plenty of clean clothes while we are gone, the routines to review with the grandmas, the medicines (the boys [and me] are fighting colds) to go over, and the lists of instructions to write, but I also have to contend with some deep seeded anxieties.

I am a worrier. I worry. It's what I do. I try not to let it rule my life. For the most part I appear to be a fun, carefree person. But, ever since becoming a mom the worrier in me is really hard to reign in.

No matter what I am doing with the boys I picture catastrophes. If I am cooking in the kitchen I picture a big pot of boiling water falling on the boys' heads even though the pots are on the back burners with the handles turned in. If I'm driving in the minivan I am on constant alert for any driver that is speeding, weaving, not paying attention, or that might miss a stop sign. If we are at the park I picture one of my boys falling down the metal ladder and breaking his neck. Or, falling off the top of the slide and paralyzing himself. Or tripping up the steps and bashing his teeth out. Or, any number of things. If we are playing baseball in the backyard I constantly hover over the boys as they swing the bat to ensure no one gets knocked in the head, falling to the ground, unconscious. And, ya know what? The bat is plastic. If we are playing out in the front yard I listen for cars that are blocks away and quickly estimate the rate of speed they are going in order to rule out the possibility that they are a drunk driver that will zoom down the street, jump the curb, and take out my entire family. It is awful. This brain of mine. I just can't help it.

So, as I pack my bags to head to the Keys with the hubby my brain is in overdrive. The pictures are even more vivid. The accidents the most severe. Only this time I'm not with my children in these sick little nightmares. I am all the way across the country sipping drinks and relaxing. Relaxing while my child's life hangs in the balance from falling out of a second story window (why this would happen I have no idea).
I hear that mothers often do this as a way to prepare themselves for anything that could possibly harm their children. A kind of mama bear instinct or something. I don't know if that is right or not. My mom seems to think that because my sister died at 9 years old I grew up knowing that death can happen to anyone at any age. No one is immune. And so it is always running through my mind. The possibility. The worst case scenario. I'm not sure that is right either.

I know I can't prevent bad things from happening to my boys. But at least I can be there if something does happen. This weekend I won't be here, and it freaks me out. I've had a headache for three days now. I can imagine why.

Ugh. I don't mean to complain about going on a vacation. What a knob. How about some whine with my cheese? {insert eyeroll here} I really am very excited about going on a romantic getaway with the hubby, just the two of us. Truly, I am. And to be honest, we really need it right now. I just wish life came with some guarantees.

I am sure that once my toes hit the sand tomorrow afternoon, and I've made the first phone call home to check on the boys, I'll be able to relax and enjoy my time in the sun. I'm sure in a few days I'll be writing about how wonderful the break was and how I can't wait to go again. I know the boys will be just fine and will be excited, happy, and healthy when we return.

Now, if only I could find the OFF button on my brain.