Worrying About Worrying

ear worm

A missed call only minutes ago and now he won’t answer me? Ring. Where could he have gone? Ring. Ring.  And why doesn’t he have his phone? Ring.  He ALWAYS has his phone.  Ring. No voicemail? Ring. For crying out loud! Ring. Ring.  Why isn’t he answering me?  Ring. Ring. ANSWER. ME. Ring. Ring. Maybe he’s hurt. Ring.  What if he broke his leg? Ring. Ring. Or maybe he fell and hit his head. Ring. Ring. Ring. Maybe I should go look for him. Ring.  ANSWER THE &%#$ PHONE! Ring-a-ding-ding.

Without fail, for the past 20 years, that little exchange has always been with myself. This was painfully true once the state issued driver’s licenses to The Boys.  But I come from a long line of worriers, so it’s not surprising. My foremothers are naturally inclined to a doomsday view of the world.  As their default setting, worry is as natural to my tribe as breathing.

My mother doesn’t need a mere string of worry beads. She needs something the size of bowling balls because she worries about EVERYTHING. Big stuff.  Little stuff.  It’s all worry-worthy. When she leaves the house, Mom worries that she left the iron on.  She’s concerned that the Big One will hit California even though she doesn’t live there.  In reality, Mom’s probably worried there’s a chance that impending earthquake will knock over the iron she most certainly left on, even though she lives 2000 miles away.  Of course, there’s always the possibility of a band of marauding intruders, a rogue meteor careening toward earth, and identity theft by a Russian hacker.

As Mom is quick to remind me, “Something’s gonna get you.” [Read more…]

When Baby Makes Three

holding baby

There are certain events in life that are tailor made for a contract. Buying a home? Get it in writing. Landed a new job with a big fat salary and a comprehensive dental plan? It’s only a reality after you sign your John Hancock. Have a bunch of moola before you get married? Better get a pre-nup.

So shouldn’t it follow that BEFORE your baby is even conceived, parents-to-be should sign on the dotted line to map out every little detail of the upcoming child- rearing gig? That’s exactly the arrangement, dubbed a “pre-pup,” that Rebecca Onion recently proposed in an article on Slate.com.

Ms. Onion, 36, mused about the many changes becoming a mother might bring. She wrote, “I’m willing to allow that being a mom might strip me of some of my independence.” (emphasis mine).


As a mother of two, I can’t stop laughing.

Ms. Onion, should you ever be standing in the bathroom watching those little blue lines appear on that pregnancy test stick signaling Baby’s on Board, there’s only one thing to do. Look into the bathroom mirror, gaze at your reflection, and give yourself a little smooch.

This is you kissing your independence goodbye. [Read more…]

What To Do When The Snorchestra Begins

snoring man

I took off my glasses and turned off the light.  I pulled the covers up, rolled on my side and closed my eyes.

That’s when it started.

Snick. Snick. Snick.

It was like the sound my car made when the alternator died.  But unlike the noise that stopped once I realized turning the key with greater frequency would not revive the lifeless battery, this sound continued.


The cacophony, which I feared would rattle my glasses off the nightstand, jeopardized not only my martial bliss, but my pre-menopausal ability to catch some Zzzzs without sucking on an Ambien.

The Husband was asleep on his back, which meant – he was snoring.

He denies that his supine slumber treats me to the occasionally nasal symphony.  But that night, I stared Eyes Wide Open into the dark listening to his mournful Call of the Loud that sounded like the guttural musings of a small wounded rhino.  [Read more…]

Maternal Instinct

holding babySome women are born to be mothers.  Then there’s me.  The tell-tale signs of my lack of maternal instincts started at a tender age.  While other girls fussed and cooed over their plastic baby dolls, I cut all the hair off mine and left it naked in the backyard in the rain for five days.

When it came time to enter the babysitting ranks, my mother lined me up with my very first job.

It was also my last.

I took my young charges to the park to spend a fun-filled afternoon. As far as I was concerned, we had a great time.  So imagine my surprise when I was not only fired, but forever banned from babysitting, by my very own mother.  She informed me that I exhibited less-than good judgment while taking care of her best friend’s children.

I was perplexed. [Read more…]

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