The Calm of Dawn

No panic
Just the first golden glisten
Of dawn
On the autumn leaves.

No racing heartbeat
Just the wet dew of grass
The tiny frog
Watching from the leaf pile

No fear
Just the rustle
Of bird, of breeze
In the thinning treetops

If I could bottle this
Could link myself to the trees
All day
The stress would never
Overwhelm me
Again.

Is it Time to Panic?

A few weeks ago, after I'd finished packing up the china cabinet and my husband had packed (most of) the man cave, he looked me in the eye and said, "I think we're almost done. This move isn't going to be hard at all."

And he wasn't joking.

Not to be goaded into a false sense of calm, I answered, "We aren't close, and this is going to be hard."

Guess. Go on, guess who was right. You know the answer. Since I'm the one writing this blog, and the title has the word "panic" in it, you know I'm the one who was right. I would guess we're still only 25% done with the packing, and we still have to say good-bye to all the people here, finish getting all documents ready for closing on our new house, pack the other 75%, scrub down the house from top to bottom, go to every doctor (it seems), enroll the kids in the new school, sell two vehicles, sell a bunch of furniture on Craigslist (I just posted it all yesterday), finish both courses, help the hubby recover from oral surgery this coming Thursday... should I keep going? Really?

So here it is: Panic, panic, PANIC, panic, panic, more panic, PANIC, PANIC, PANIC, panic, PANIC!!!!

And that's it. I'm done. All done panicking. It's a waste of time anyway, panicking is, and it will only get me a heart attack. Besides, it makes breathing difficult and gives me a headache.

Now it's time to get to work. I have a library, playroom, and kitchen to pack, along with other ducks to put in a row. Talk to you later!

Dreaded Bugs

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Why is my life such a train wreck?!?

I was just about to put my kids to bed for the night, just about to settle in for an evening of grading my beloved essays (from all four classes I'm teaching), when my child shocked me out of my complacent plans. Leaning over the sink, she reached behind her head and scratched. Hard. Like she was really digging. Like it was really itchy.

My stomach could not have lurched more, but I tried to remain outwardly calm. I fiddled through her head one way, then the other. Little bits of...dandruff? Sugar? Oh, but they were stuck to her hair like sugar. I had to pull them off with my fingernails. 

Knowing the truth already (and if you've had this happen, you know the truth, too), I ventured further down, towards the neck. And I cursed (inwardly), for there were the creepy little almost unseeable bugs. Dammit! 

Now, don't get me wrong, there is not a time in my life when lice will be welcome. Not on my kids. Not on me. Not on my husband. Not on a flea in the front yard. If there is a creature that does not deserve to live, it's that one. But right now? I don't have the time! I have papers to grade! Rough drafts to scribble all over! Homework to help my kids with! Reading to do! Classes to plan for! Weekly grades to submit! I am OVERWHELMED with my life already!

Richard ran off to get the pesticide (and, yes, I realize I'm poisoning my kids--they'll probably die of brain cancer someday and it will be ALL MY FAULT), and I started washing bedding in hot water. We soaked all the brushes, cleaned all the stuff we could find, collected everything that couldn't be washed and vacuumed it (spraying it with some more pesticide, too, so that my kids could get cancer somewhere else), and washed everybody. I used the little nit comb and went through everyone's hair systematically. 

Everything seemed fine. Had it worked? I checked my daughter's hair this morning--the only person I'd seen signs of lice on--and she seemed good. Hair looked clean. Didn't see a single nit.

I should have been relieved. I did actually get some grading done. But then the nurse called. It seems all the bugs were gone (though she did tell me what I'd used was a pesticide, and it was not recommended, without telling me how else I was supposed to kill the creepy bugs), but she said my daughter's hair was "filled with nits," and to get rid of them, I was going to have to "go through Crystal's hair strand by strand, physically pulling off every one to get rid of them."

Great. Now, instead of grading papers, I'm FREAKING OUT! And tonight, instead of working on my classes as I should, I'm going to spend, oh, FOUR HOURS combing through people's hair! And my husband's going to have to spend the whole evening combing through mine once the kids go to bed. 

And I get to do it all with an itchy head, because whether I have them or not, even if I dosed myself with the cancer-causing pesticide last night and killed all the crawling ones, I'm itching from the mere idea of them. 

The nurse wished me luck. I don't think that's enough to pull me through this one. 

Nightmare

Just as de-stressing can involve a massage to calm one down (and if you want the quick massage, go to my previous post, where you get to take a mini-staycation), another way to ease one's stress is to try the opposite. Systematically, take each part of your body and tense up all the muscles. Hold it for a few seconds, then release. Such a method helps to direct your attention to each area, concentrating on releasing the tension once you've gotten yourself good and balled up.

So here it is: imagine the worst possible life. Then look around you and realize how much better your real life is. It's not too hard. Just take your stressors and explode them exponentially, and add on a bunch of stuff you are fortunate enough not to have to deal with.

My worst life? It would involve a house full of children--maybe ten or so would be enough to drive me absolutely insane--and all of them would be making noise of some kind, screaming, yelling at each other, crying, calling from the bathroom that they needed to be wiped, fighting over toys, even laughing (one could be laughing, anyway). They would also be tugging at me, at my clothing, pulling pans out of the kitchen cupboards, pulling food out of the refrigerator and dumping it everywhere, dragging stuff across the floors, breaking windows and chair legs and dishes, ripping clothing, scratching and hitting each other, tearing the house apart. I couldn't walk two steps without stepping or slipping on something--including toys, pins, rotting cherries, and dried juice spills, and nothing I touched would be clean. The house would smell of diapers--lots of diapers--and diarrhea, throw up, unwashed clothing, mold, and trash. My hair would be unwashed and greasy, and I'd smell of sweat because I hadn't bathed in days, and everything would be turned over or upset. The phone would ring constantly (I hate phones!), with every call being a telemarketer (I hate telemarketers!) and I'd have seven televisions blaring in various rooms, stacks of ungraded papers for classes lying everywhere, gathering dust and food and little kid fingerprints. 

Okay, I got myself good and tense. Now I can return to the much more blissful life that is mine: My two kids and my husband are still sleeping, and the only others awake are my aunt and her son, and they are trying to be quiet until everyone else is up. My house doesn't smell at all, unless its the faint odor of Pine-Sol (one of my favorite smells), and the sink is even empty of dirty dishes. The floors are clean, the air is quiet, I am writing this blog without hurry, and we are planning a day in a cute town not an hour from here, a day of sunshine and shopping and ice cream cones and walking. I have no papers to grade--not one!--and none in the near future, since right now I am not teaching. Sunshine is pouring in through the windows, and the day promises to be beautiful--mid-70's. Tonight I look forward to an evening with a bunch of other ladies to discuss Beauty, one of my favorite books ever.

I feel better. I can feel the tension in my neck, which had been building over the last few days, dissipate slowly. Life is good. I only have two kids. My husband is fabulous (mostly). I'm a very lucky woman.

Now you try it. And if you say you don't have time, MAKE time, for you probably need it even more than I. And go back to the last blog and do that exercise, too. You deserve it, and together they shouldn't take more than ten minutes (surely you have ten minutes to spend on self-indulgence!).  

So go ahead... What's your nightmare?