Thursday, July 10, 2014

Anxiety: Camping with a Toddler

I was so stressed out by the time I got home from camping for Independence Day that I had a rash up and down my body, my heart felt like it was pulsing to the beat of a nonstop techno club song, and my mind was full of "stress boxes."

Stress boxes are what form in my mind when I take too long to relieve my anxiety.  What if she gets a mosquito bite?  What if she's allergic to mosquitos?  Oh, great.  Poison Oak is abundant?  What if we go home and she is riddled with Poison Oak?  Look at her skin!  It's red and rashy!  What could that be?  Why is her skin so sensitive?  She needs a shower.  I'll give her a shower.  Ugh!  It's way past her bedtime!  Why won't she go to sleep?  I have barely talked to my husband this whole time.  My sunscreen is clearly not working.  It's eleven o'clock and we still haven't eaten breakfast.  It's too hot in this tent for Celaya to nap.  Great.  What if she gets overheated during her nap in this heat and never wakes up?  What am I going to cook when we get home?  Why did that Hertz representative add all of this insurance coverage to my rental when we clearly said "no"?  Great.  Now I have to chase a manager down.  Do I have fruit for breakfast?  Is this guacamole bad?  Why can't I sleep now that I'm finally home in my own comfortable bed?  Why is the neighbor screaming?  It's two AM!

And those stress boxes build and build and crowd out my brain until I am gritting my teeth at every little thing that pushes my buttons.  Monday morning, Celaya wants to run barefoot from elevator to our apartment.  Sure, honey.  I take off her shoes and socks so she can run barefoot.

"Mama to run barefoot."

"Sure, honey."  I take off my flip flops.  "But you're going to have to carry Mama's sandals because I have three grocery bags from Trader Joe's and a diaper bag loaded with a gallon of milk."

"Mama to carry them."

*Grit teeth!*

Calmly:  "Celaya, if you want Mama to walk barefoot with you, you will have to carry my sandals, or I will have to put them back on.  I cannot carry them too."

Yea, of course, she shrugs, picks up the sandals, and runs happily home, singing a Winnie the Pooh song.

Meanwhile, my blood is boiling and I am desperate for her nap.

For no reason.

Nothing went wrong.  Nothing went even close to wrong.  We had a wonderful weekend.  It should have been a very relaxing, invigorating weekend for me.  I should have jogged new trails.  I should have swum with the fish in the river.  I should have let my kid stay up a bit later.  I should have had a few more glasses of wine.

But I didn't.  I was a ball of anxiety.  I convinced myself I didn't have time to jog (jogging is a huge anxiety reliever for me). I resented my husband for not reading my mind.  I merely went through the motions each day hoping that disaster would not befall us.  And in the end, I realize the only thing that kept me sane.  The only thing that kept me from falling apart completely and freaking out.  The only thing that made me realize that only solution to this irrational stress is to camp more.

My sister.

There were my niece and nephew, dirty by day, rinsed clean by the river at night.  Munching on whatever snacks were handy.  Loud, falling down, wild, crazy, smiling, giggling, whining, complaining, crying, frolicking.

Kids.

And my sister, picking up a fallen child, wiping a too dirty face, handing over a hot dog or some cheerios, sending a too-whiny kid off for some alone time in the tent.

Chill.

My sister as a mom is the picture of chill.

My sister has miraculously figured out exactly what works for her, and she does it, with no apologies, no anxiety, and no fear.

No fear.

Would I trade places with her?

No.

I'm a happy big city liberal by nature.  I will still shower my kid (because of her sensitive skin).  I will still only let her eat Doritos in a small bowl (and only one time during the weekend - hey be happy she gets Doritos!)  I will still put her down to sleep in the tent long before I go to bed (I need my adult time).

No, I do not envy my sister her life.

But I acknowledge freely that I have a few things to learn from her.  I really enjoy spending time with my sister because she is one of the few mothers out there that is so different from me that I still consider, with no exceptions, a good mom.

I also think she is a good person.  And again, we are so different that the contrast is like night and day.  But I have matured enough, I think, and we grew up close enough, that when she talks, later in the evening, around the campfire, with her Corona in her hand, my cheap plastic cup of expensive red wine in mine, just me and her, I listen.

I care what she has to say.  I try to see things from her perspective.  I learn things I may otherwise simply ignore.

Who would have thought that from a weekend of anxiety filled camping I would come away not only knowing I need to camp again (we are currently planning at least one more camping trip before the fall sets in) but also that I would learn the lessons I learn from my sister's mere state of being?

Who would have thought that after years of childhood fights, battles, pushing and pulling, kicking and screaming, after countless arguments, disagreements about politics, morality, judgment, after turning our backs, walking away, making up, fighting again, that less than a week after spending time with my little sister, the once upon a time biggest pain in the butt in the world, I would be thinking, when can we get together again?

Soon, I hope.