It has gotten to the point where I cannot hear a child scream without feeling somehow responsible.

Either it is my child or the scream was the result of something my child did. I don’t even bother to guess which child may be the guilty party because I consider both to be at fault since he should have stopped his brother.

I am always anticipating the worst. It is not that I am worried that bad things may happen; I know bad things will happen. I simply fret over which bad thing will happen when.

I like to be prepared for the impending disasters but oh, where do I start? I become overwhelmed by the number of dramas. I try to weigh the importance of each so I can decide which one deserves the most energy.

In fact, all of the stressing saps my energy to the point where if any of these things I panicked over actually happened -- I would be unable to deal with it.

I can’t even appreciate when it is quiet. First, I worry that they are up to something. Plus, I know that they will return any second, guaranteeing that I will never get a chance to truly relax.

I don’t have the time I want and I don’t want the time I have.

The free time I manage to encounter is never conducive to the task at hand. I find when I have extra time I have to restrain myself from trying to cram in just one more thing. Because it will never fit the amount of time I have. Fifteen minutes until an appointment? Not quite enough time to get a coffee.

Did someone say coffee? If I can sneak away from my children long enough maybe a large mocha will allow me to de-stress and give me the strength to handle whatever happens next.

By Cathy Burke

Labels: Cathy Burke

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