Yesterday was exhausting. Emotionally draining. Making all those calls, all that neurotic goo leaking out everywhere, on everyone, seeping through the phone wires....the end result was what I wanted in that nearly every response was an unqualified "yes" (there were two "qualified" yesses...based on the unknown time of a highly competitive regional soccer tournament in which two of the girls are starters). But getting there....oh, boy...was it worth it?
I mean, basically, I excised the anxiety about whether enough kids were coming to the party to make it a "party". But I essentially mooooved the anxiety over to "oh my god, what must these people think of me?" Kind of like the Cat in the Hat book, where they clean up the pink mess off the wall, but it ends up in the tub, and then they clean it with the shoes, but it ends up ON the shoes, etc. etc. etc. until it ends up EVERYWHERE.
Who knew that Dr. Seuss was really writing about a mother's neuroses?
Anyway, no yoga yesterday, but a long long (over an hour) brisk walk with the dog around a nearby neighborhood. Quite therapeutic. And today, I will take a yoga class in Norwalk again, a hot class, so hot that afterwards I will have to wring out my clothes before putting them in the laundry.
And finally, on the "Well, it could be worse" front, today, I spoke to another B-Mitz mom who discovered too late in the game that she had failed to order enough invitations. So, some had to go out later than the others, and not quite the same as the others. Chaos ensued, including phone calls to her that went like this, "This is an embarassing question, but since your son is coming to our son's B-Mitzvah, we kind of figured that when we didn't get your son's invitation, that it most likely got lost in the mail....(voice trailing off....)"
Oy. So, it could be worse. Yes.
And the happy reality in the midst of my emotional hangover - feels like a tequila-based hangover, but without the urge to chase bacon and eggs with copious amounts of Coca Cola and espresso. Still, it's all the "what did I do exactly?" and "who did I offend exactly" and "why do my muscles feel like they've been replaced with sponges soaked in dishwater and my joints filled with sand?". This too shall pass.
And it's 12:26 p.m., and I haven't even checked the mailbox. Could be a brighter day for this giant, scary zilla monster.