After several minutes of thought, I have determined that my life, here and now, is basically composed of peaceful bliss, which is sometimes interrupted by moments of intense hyperventilation.
Sometimes the hyperventilation bouts are more frequent than others.
This is one of those weeks.
Sometimes the hyperventilation bouts are grounded in actual stress or problems in my life.
But sometimes -- and this is the case more often than not -- they are completely random and senseless.
Take this photo, for instance...
For the most part, in the moment while I was taking these photos, I was enjoying the peaceful bliss portion of my life, reveling in how cute my little girl is and how she is now getting old enough to 'help' me with little projects like this.
Then, out of nowhere...
Sheer terror and hyperventilation.
BECAUSE, people... WHAT IF SHE FALLS OUT OF THAT CHAIR SHE'S STANDING ON? What if she leans a little too far, little muffin cup in hand, and careens out of control and lands on the floor?
What if that happens?
Then I regain my composure and realize that, if indeed that did happen, she would be fine. There may be a little crying, but she would be fine. And she'd learn not to lean too far when standing on a chair.
And this is the way of most of my hyperventilation bouts... Completely unfounded and irrational.
I have more examples.
Oh yes, there are many more.
Take yesterday, for instance. I awoke with plans to take the kids to town to go grocery shopping with me. As I had several stops to make, I was already breathing a little rapidly at the thought of it all. That morning I made my grocery list, in order of a) store I was going to be at; and b) department within that store. I also had to take care of a few other things before we got going, so we didn't leave the house until 10 a.m. Since they usually nap around 1 p.m. (but sometimes I can push it a little later), that gave me roughly three hours to get to town, go to the bank, go to two grocery stores, grab lunch, and get on the road back home.
As we meandered through Wal-Mart, and I loaded my cart ever fuller around the two of them in it, I fed them a steady stream of juice boxes and goldfish to get us through. They were pretty much little angels the entire time, yet I struggled not to hyperventilate.
BECAUSE, people... WHAT IF MY LITTLE ANGELS TURNED ON ME AND GOT ALL UNRULY? There I'd be, scared, alone, crying and naked in the middle of the Wal-Mart, with two screaming children and no one to rescue me.
Okay, maybe I wouldn't be naked. But it adds to the image of how vulnerable I felt. I'm all about the imagery.
And irrational fear.
It extends into my gardening as well.
As of now, I love gardening. I love tromping around in the dirt. I love digging it up. I love hoses. I love hoes. I love the little onion and garlic shoots that are peeking up at me out of the soil. Love. Love. Love.
BUT, people... WHERE ARE THE POTATOES? Why haven't they sprouted yet? What if they never sprout? What if something has gone terribly wrong down there in the depths of the soil (3 inches) and my little seed potatoes have perished?
What's that you say?
They sell potatoes at the grocery store?
Not fifteen minutes from my house?
And they're cheap?
To peaceful bliss I shall return. Thank you.