Decades from now when Z and I look back at where we are right now I believe we’ll remember it as one of the happiest times of our lives. My crazy makes me a natural pessimist, so I can’t remember another time when I was so consistently happy. C is the most delightful baby I’ve ever been around. T is headstrong, clever, and mischievous as hell. Z, well I am so proud of Z. He is really doing amazing and fulfilling things at work. He’s taking advantage of all sorts of kooky opportunities that are coming his way (Hello playing music for a modern dance piece at the Kennedy Center!). And on a lot of days I think I’m doing a decent job with this stay at home mom thing.
It’s nice to realize things are going so well. It’s nice to be comfortable with our routine, and in our lovely, messy, ok…ok…lovely, messy, and filthy home. We have friends who come over almost every Sunday night and over the last year or so the friendship has deepened to the point where we know they will be in our lives 10 years from now no matter where all of us live. That kind of friendship is necessary to my happiness. Every place we’ve lived we’ve managed to find what we call “our people” and I don’t know what I’d do without them.
But. There is always a but, isn’t there? But, the old anxiety has been on the upswing lately. Things are good now, but Z has been traveling a lot. Between mid March and mid June dude has 5 work trips and 1 pleasure trip scheduled. That is a lot of time that I’m alone with the boys. And T is going through a stage, one where he is a complete pain in my ass. Z’s traveling has heightened my anxiety, along with the knowledge that I’ll be flying alone with the boys again in a few weeks. I made a choice that was hurtful to a friend, and that has been weighing on me. It’s the end of the semester, so Z is worried about stuff which makes me worry, too. I’ve realized the happiness I feel with our life has made me complacent. I still haven’t done anything about taking a class or scheduling the tattoo, so I’m pretty disapointed with myself. And the thing that has my anxiety on overdrive right this very minute is the task of making cookies for a fundraising auction at T’s school. Typing that sentence makes me feel ridiculous, but there it is. I’ve used prescription chill pills because I’m scared to make some stupid cookies.
Obviously this fundraiser isn’t about me. Duh. Obviously when the cookies are auctioned off people aren’t going to be staring at me and thinking, “Why did she think anyone would pay money for those cookies?” And yet, that is what the little voice in my head tells me is going to happen. So I procrastinate because I don’t want to deal with the embarrassment of being a failure in public, an object of pity.
Z made some cutting boards to donate. And they are lovely. What I’m really envious of is the fact that he can make something very nice and just accept that people will like it. Hell, even my mom crocheted a baby afghan to donate while she was up here visiting. Yet my week is shot to hell because I never will believe my cookies are good enough, my anything is good enough. It sucks, it makes me tired. I wish I could tell the voice in my head to take a hike and that it would actually listen. Instead it just smiles smugly and tells me it isn’t going anywhere.