There's This One Thing

     It's called fear.  Not just regular old fear, either.  ANXIETY.  I have it.  And I hate it.

     Anxiety usually shows itself to me in the form of fear of driving.  Namely, fear of driving really, ungodly fast on highways where there are no exits for like 10 miles straight and nowhere to pull off andOHMYGODTHERECOULDBEBRIDGESOR <quick breath>TUNNELSICAN'TDOOOOTHIS!

     Also known as, "Oh, hell no.  I am not driving."  It's actually somewhat debilitating and pretty embarrassing, but that's my brain for you.

     My brain:  Yeah, it's just, you know, I can only work with what I'm given.  *Sips her coffee*


     So, today Ever was feeling particularly cranky in the Tucson hotel and just wanted to come home.  (Turns out his fever, which is now gone, has given way to a pretty gnarly case of diarrhea.  More on that later).  I have not driven alone on a highway for a few months, and the last time I totally had a panic attack.  Started sweating, heart pounding, the whole deal.  I made it home, but I vowed to never do THAT again.

     But, there's this child who changes my plans from time to time.  I knew Ever had to come home and that I had to be the one to bring him.  Dimas has all these work-related things to attend to.  Like work, for instance.  So, I put on my big-girl pants (which today happened to be size 4 skinny jeans) and drove us home.

     I'm really not ashamed to admit that I prayed.  I prayed to get Ever home safely.  I prayed for peace, comfort and strength.  I imagined these cool, determined guardian angels surrounding the mini-van.  I even turned the radio to a christian station, for good measure.  And....I don't know how else to explain it other than to say that it friggin' WORKED.  I felt calm and happy and at peace and light as a feather and I could've driven on forever.  I drove like 65 the entire way and I'm sure everyone commented about how much I completely suuuuuck at driving and should really just stay home.  But, in the end, Ever is home safely and I managed to make it happen and I'm stupidly proud of myself.  And thankful.  Definitely that.

     But, there are gross things afoot now.  You go and get yourself a potty-trained toddler and then their intestines decide they want to expel everything, like, ASAP...NOW.  NO, I CAN NOT HOLD IT AND NO I DEFINITELY AM NOT GOING TO SIT ON THE POTTY TO DO THIS HERE THING.  ALSO, I WILL TOUCH WHATEVER HAPPENS TO COME OUT FOR GOOD MEASURE.  HAND-WASHING IS, duh, OBVIOUSLY REVOLTING AND I WILL FIGHT YOU TOOTH AND NAIL, WOMAN, TO KEEP MY HANDS AWAY FROM THE PURITY THAT IS SOAP AND WATER.  GOOD DAY TO YOU.

     He's sleeping now.  In my bed, of course.  White comforter and all.