Post-Semester Stress Disorder

Well, I'm back. I finished up my semester, better known in my house as the semester that Almost Killed Mommy. Okay, don't worry, I'm the only one who actually calls it that. The kids just think of it as the semester they Saw A Lot More of Daddy (Dear, sweet, awesome-at-talking-his-wife-off-of-the-proverbial-ledge-at-zero-hour, Daddy. If you listen hard enough you can probably hear me swoon). But no harm, no foul, no permanent damage done. At least, for them. There's a reason I think of it as the semester that Almost Killed Mommy.

Oh well, what's done is done. And I would love to tell you that I'll never, ever do that to myself again, but I know myself and myself will probably do it again somewhere down the road. You can all feel free to say "I told you so" when it happens. I might not even punch you in the face for saying it. But we'll see. People under loads of stress are capable of utter craziness like punching people at random or willingly listening to Justin Bieber. Believe me, I know (But we'll get to that...). And anyway, I have to admit that as hard as the semester was, I loved that nice part at the end where all my hard work paid off. 

So, the semester has ended but unfortunately the stress from it is still lingering a bit and causing what I like to think of as post-semester stress disorder. I'm still finding Josh's cheerfulness in the morning practically intolerable as I still only want to pull the covers back over my head and sleep for a month every morning. For example. The overwhelming feeling that I'm forgetting to do something really important that is due this instant every time I sit down to watch Mad Men with Josh, for another example (That one is because I had thought a paper due at the end of the semester was due at 12 AM and it turned out to be due at 12 PM. I didn't even lose any points off of the paper, but it's still haunting me...). It's bad. But don't worry, the FDA will probably make a pill for PSSD soon.

Just in case you couldn't already tell, I'm still feeling a bit rough around the edges and failing at my every attempt to wake up in the morning and vow that today will be the day that I stop stressing out about something that is already over and start acting like a civilized member of society.

Unfortunately, yesterday was not that day.


So yesterday I was at the grocery store with the kids and as we were walking through the parking lot with our cart, this woman (I can think of another word I'd like to use here, but I won't because I honestly think that women already put other women down way too much. And also, my Grandpa reads this.) peels out of her parking space. Layla was walking next to the cart, holding onto it, like the good girl she is, and I (With frankly much more coordination than I ever thought I would be capable of) put my foot on the cart so Ben wouldn't roll away, snatched Layla back with one hand, and whacked this woman's back window so hard that I now have a little bruise on my palm (I can not tell you how much I wish I had broken the glass. I would have seemed like the craziest person ever and it would have been totally worth it). That's how close she was though. Within hitting range. I literally watched her tire go over the space where Layla's foot had been about a second before. It was terrifying, to say the least. Anyway, this woman started to get out of her car and I opened Ben's door and shoved both kids inside. I had a hunch this wasn't going to be a conversation I wanted them hearing (Or repeating. They're two and four. Kids their age practically live to repeat conversations like this) and also, I would rather not claw at someone like a crazed, recently-booted Bachelor contestant in front of my children.

At this point I feel it's very necessary to tell you something about me. I am the absolute worst at confrontation of any kind. I never know what to say or do and many times in my life I have gone to confront someone who did me wrong and wound up apologizing to them. I'm the soul-sucking worst at confrontation, no joke. If that woman had nearly run over my foot, you know what I would have done? That's right. Absolutely nothing and then kicked myself later, thinking of all of the things that I should have said. So it's not exactly typical behavior for me to actually start a confrontation when I'm usually the one trying to avoid them.  I guess I can only say it's because no one has ever tried to mess with my kids before. Hello Maternal Instincts! There you are!

Anyway, this woman gets out of her car and asks if there's a problem. Some words are exchanged, which I won't repeat word-for-word because, like I said, my Grandpa reads this. The short version is that she basically flew out of her car and rather than apologize for her inept driving and near dismemberment of my daughter, tried to accuse me of not watching my kids. Let's just say, I told her what was what. For the first time, possibly ever in my life, I knew exactly what to say and I said it. By the end of the conversation, she was apologizing and scrambling to get away from me. It rocked. When she was gone and I was opening the door to buckle the kids in, I found that Layla (Who can buckle herself into her own car seat) had gone ahead and buckled Ben up too. I think she sensed that we might need a quick getaway. So I sat in the car and shook with adrenaline for a few minutes before I called Josh and told him what happened. Luckily, he was happy that I confronted the wannabe Indy 500 contestant and in no way thought that I had behaved like crazed, recently-booted Bachelor contestant (Score one for Team Prentice!). And then when I turned on the car, this song (Yes, that one down there) came on and for some reason it felt so delightfully appropriate that we played it twice.

So yes, you could say that I've been a little out of character lately. Sure, I was protecting my daughter, but I'm usually the one getting on Josh for his road rage because "someone might have a gun" or something. I'm never, ever the instigator. I don't plan on making a habit out of it, but acting and speaking on my toes really did pretty good. That in itself makes me feel like I've gone completely crazy, which I sincerely hope I haven't. If nothing else, clearly it's a fair statement to say that I have a little extra stress left to shake off.

And that's why I'm going to go play outside with my awesome, unharmed kids and my husband, whose cheerfulness, by the way, is much easier to tolerate in the afternoon.

You Can Dance If You Want To

Pardon my tangent.

Yesterday, a historical event occurred. After decades of plotting and organizing various deadly terrorist activities, including 9/11, and nearly ten years of hiding from the United States, Osama bin Laden was found and killed. Turn your TV on to any channel and you will see the same thing. Americans gathering on the streets of New York, Washington D.C., and countless other cities and towns, celebrating this achievement for America. Naturally, you all already know this because you clearly have the necessary access to the internet required to read these very words, and as far as I know, none of you currently reside under a rock. Needless to say, when the news broke everyone was feeling especially proud to be an American, myself included.

Today, the dust has begun to settle and I feel less than celebratory. I have a raw, unsettled feeling with a side of guilty conscience.

I want to make something very clear. In my mind, Osama bin Laden is the absolute definition of bad guy. The things he did during his time on Earth are unspeakable. If there is a hell, then he is there, no doubt about it.

That being said, he is (was) a human being. And we are celebrating the death of another person. And it just feels weird. Worse, it feels unresolved. Because here's the thing. If you knock a bee hive out of a tree and kill the Queen bee, the other bees aren't going to passively lay down and die, mourning the death of their leader. They're going to attack you, sting the hell out of you, try to inflict as much pain on you as humanly possible, even if it means losing their own lives. And that's just bees.

I can't stop thinking that if this were a movie, bin Laden's death would mean bye-bye Al Qaeda.The troops would all come home to their families and the Middle East would become a place of peace and democracy. We would all be walking amongst the rubble looking like Megan Fox with perfect skin and strategically placed dirt on our extra tight t-shirts, while George Clooney diffused all of North Korea's nuclear warheads. But life isn't a movie, and our actions have consequences.

In the meantime, we continue to celebrate.

For all of the families who lost a loved on on September 11, I hope this brings them some kind of closure, even if it can't bring their family or friends back. As for the rest of us... My brain and heart feel like they're engaged in a civil war. My heart says we should celebrate the fact that the world lost a bad guy. My brain stubbornly insists that we murdered this bad guy because he murdered other people. It's an eye for an eye world, and I just don't know that I can go along with that philosophy. In the meantime, I have this nagging feeling in my gut that my first reaction to murder was happiness and I can't shake it. It doesn't feel good.

I'm proud to be an American. I don't question the decision to kill bin Laden rather than capture him and put him in prison. My knowledge of prison is limited to the plot of The Shawshank Redemption, but any idiot knows that bin Laden would survive about thirty seconds before someone in prison killed him. The fact of the matter is that he was a bad man and the world now has one less bad man.

I just don't want to dance in the street because of it.