Stress Alert Level: Orange

Standard

Approximately 48 hours to go before we leave and my veneer of rational calm has cracks in it.  No, make that fissures so wide they could swallow a car.

My son’s black belt test is this evening, approximately four hours of watching my 11 year old go through hell.  His stress, hidden just barely beneath the surface, adds to mine but there’s nothing I can do for him except stay quiet.  He has to go through this alone.  In the meantime, I scurry about with at least 3 “to do” lists on the go.

My daughter, after a week of intensive soccer training in extreme heat and a game last night, is also falling apart.  She is as sick as a kitten and was up all last night with a severe sore throat and headache.  I stumbled between her room and ours for most of the night, terrified she would wake my son and furious at the fact that my husband can (and does) sleep through absolutely everything.  I was tempted to wake my son so that he could practice some of his kicking on his dad.

This morning dawned bright and beautiful; I did not.  I drove sans the benefit of caffeine (which should be illegal) to our local auto club office to obtain my international driver’s license.  I now have positive proof that driver’s license photos are bad whether local or international.  Also, I really should remember to at least comb my hair before leaving the house.  I look like that picture of Sirius Black in “Prizoner of Azkaban” in the Daily Prophet:  stressed bordering on deranged.

I resolve to take lots of deep breaths and not to start drinking until after my son’s black belt test.  I resolve to send him nothing but positive thoughts and love.  I resolve to replenish the Advil supply because surely it will be gone before the day is through…

 

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