Tag Archives: anxiety

There Goes the Villa

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Monday morning traffic isn’t so bad if you leave at the right time.  Even better if you have a reverse commute from the city to the suburbs.  I like to start the ride with some Deepak Chopra wisdom, before switching quickly to the Erasure station on Pandora. Because in pursuing your own pure joy, you trigger a chain of events that will eventually create happiness for the whole world – I think the Dalai Lama said that.  Or maybe my friend after too much wine.  Anyway, what says joy better than a reverbing synthesizer?

On that particular day I even have time to sit at the red light and pull down the mirror to check my hair.  Gee, my hair looks terrific!  And I hadn’t even noticed.  I got my hair done two days ago.  I am suddenly sick to my stomach at the realization that I have wasted a solid forty-eight hours of good hair time.  All because ninety percent of my attention has been sucked up by a kid.  That leaves ten percent for everything else, including husband, pudgy cat and the redhead basset.

Yes, I now have a kid.  But I am not going to be writing about parenting.  Or the joys of children.  Or the maternal instinct swooping in to save the day.  First and foremost, this is a blog about fretting.  I hope I’ll still have the wherewithal to do it gracefully, but one never knows how these things turn out.

There are plastic toys in my living room.  Every morning my dining table seems to have a light film of last night’s dinner on it.  I am holding slimy wet rags all day long.  Humans I have just met ask me if I love mothering.  I forget things constantly, except my grudges.

So there will clearly be plenty to challenge my anxiety in new and exciting ways.  Just ahead we have the “I don’t eat red food” years, followed by the awkward light acne years.  Then the blissful teenage years, right before the college tuition scramble where I give up my Portuguese villa fund, sort of willingly.  Nerves, get ready to enjoy this journey of self-discovery.  And try to look poised, please.

 

Halloween is here

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It is a beautiful fall morning.  Even through the frosted glass panes on the door I can see a leaf or two landing gently onto the back deck.  My orange and yellow walking shoes are laced tightly, and my jeans are cuffed just so to avoid skirting the ground. I have been ready to go for some time.

But for the past four and a half minutes, I’ve been sitting cross-legged on the kitchen tiles, leash wrapped around my thumb, pondering the great outdoors, from indoors.  At the end of the leash is a redhead who rolls onto his back and cavorts for a few seconds on the floor.  He suddenly rises, shakes the dust off, and plants a nice wet one on my cheek.  He’s quite the scamp, now that he knows he has won the battle: no venturing outside today.

For outside, there are leaves.  And they come in big waves sometimes, one after the other, landing in front of you, behind you, and occasionally on your shoulder. Cheeky little things!  And then there are flags. The kind that stand on front porches and in front of French cafés, and are sometimes just a little too big.  But the real terror is on a windy day, when they decide to start fluttering angrily and swish so loudly.   Why won’t someone put these things away in a box in the attic?

But what one should really dread are the bus people, in their honking metal boxes that grunt at every step, winding slowly down the road in their enormity.  That awful squawk when the boxes come to a stop.  Then crowds of humans rushing out, and just as many rushing in.  No one stops or slows down, to create space on the sidewalk for a four-legged redhead who sits close to the ground.

Sometimes the bus people make their way to our own house.  And they talk to each other, and move about, and oh, there are so many of them.  And the more the redhead tries to get away, the more they seem to want to pet his head.  But they do have cheese in their hands, so it’s a slight dilemma whether to stay or to go.

The redhead looks into my eyes; he knows the leaves and flags don’t cause me anxiety.  He snuggles up to my neck in a soothing gesture.  But bus people can be scary for anyone.