Why bother?

I think Christmas gift giving after a certain age should stop. I mean, why bother? My children pick what they want and I buy it. Where is the anticipation in that? Most of my friends are too busy to put any thought into a gift so I get something I have or don't need. Another "thing" to stuff on the shelf of my closet. I don't want to receive a gift just because a person feels obligated to give one. If you don't have time to think about it, don't bother. If you don't know what I would appreciate here is a clue, give me a piece of you: a handwritten note, a hand-me-down copy of a book you love, a favorite recipe. Last year I received the most creative gift from a dear friend. It was a box of all of her favorite things: the dish soap she uses, her favorite lip gloss, a little piece of her. After I opened that gift I felt closer to her. Another friend makes home baked goodies to create her gifts. She loves to cook, a piece of her passion. So please, spare me the "I didn't have time but here is something" gift this year. I don't want it. All I want is something that is growing more precious by the day: a reminder of you, some time with you, the tiniest piece of you.

The Real Reason Munch's The Scream Came About

Moving day...

Pack Out - Day 2

With 8 days and a wake up to go things are finally moving. We are on day 2 of the pack out. Poor Crash is utterly traumatized. All of this noise (tape screeching as it is ripped from itself, thumping, bumping, Italian men talking loudly to each other) is making me crazy. I can only imagine how he is feeling right now. I had to physically drag him from under our bed this morning and tuck him safely into the basement bathroom where he will be at least a little protected from the grating noise.

This pack out is not nearly as traumatic as was the trip over here. They packed up our kitchen, living room, and dining room yesterday. We had "Flintstone furniture" already delivered (a love seat, coffee table, and kitchenette), a TV we are not taking with us, a DVD player that is going in the express shipment, and the end tables we are getting rid of. With the blink of an eye we had a cozy living area set up last night. And we have all of the necessities for our kitchen. It is just like a home, with a little (OK, A LOT) less stuff.

I will be sad to see our king sized marshmallow bed go. We lose it today. From tonight until the 17th we will be sleeping in a DOUBLE bed, no box spring, only a spring to support us. Well, I am so grateful to have that actually. It still beats the bother of staying in a hotel. Another good thing we discovered is we have a pizzeria around the corner within walking distance that serves lunch! I KNOW! Yeah, I know after four years of living here we should know that already. Actually, in hindsight, it is probably better that we didn't!

I just talked to Tony, the head mover who also speaks English, and he says they will be finished today. SSAAAALLLUUUUUTTTTTEEEEEE! Once our movers are gone we can attend to cleaning up tornado alley.

23 Days and a Wake Up

So many things to do. So many things to think about. Should we move into a hotel for our last two weeks? Should we remain in the house? What should we include in our express shipment? Should we mail a coffee pot, coffee, filters, and mugs to our new home? Should we mail our pillows? Should we buy a new car or used? Should I leave only seven outfits? Should I ever return to work? Should we sell the VW or scrap it? Should we attend our hail and farewell? Will our orders ever get drawn up? Are we really leaving? Twenty three days and a wake up and nothing is happening. All's standing still.

31 Days!

How do you know when it is time to go? When the most magical things have become ordinary.

Count Down!

Thirty two more days until my return and our Norfolk HRO still has not produced a line of accounting so my orders can be written. Without these orders I cannot ship my car; I cannot have my household goods packed and shipped. What exactly do the lovelies at HRO think happens? Our stuff magically makes the trip across the Atlantic? POOF! We're here! I am trying not to get stressed and not to think about it because when I do I start getting so angry. I will be so glad come November 20th when I NEVER have to deal with those people again. They SCREWED UP my husband's pay beyond comprehension, leaving us owing the government over $6,000. They gave us rat travel (a free round trip because we extended) but because they did not know the rules and did it wrong, we now have to pay back over $4,000. I finally understand the jokes made about civil service employees. One cannot be fired without an "act of congress' so they are just moved from position to position that they are not qualified for leaving death and destruction in their wake. How do I know? I would happen to be one of them!

Bumbling Along Toward...

Let me start this blog with a couple of facts:

1. I am a pescatarian (eating only fish, and some animal protein like milk, eggs, and cheese) who has the caveat in my "don't eat meat contract" that while I live abroad and we are traveling I will sample the local cuisine, meat included. This is a sampling, a tasting, just to know. I stopped eating meat for my health, not for humanitarian reasons.

2. Jenny is a complete vegetarian (nothing with eyes shall be consumed) who does eat some animal protein (eggs, cheese). She became vegetarian for humanitarian reasons. Larry is a vegetarian for health reasons.

Now begins the story of my bumbling.

Saturday was paella night at our house. We invited over a couple of friends, Tom and Christ. «Yes, his name is Christ. That is not a typo. The "i" is pronounced like the "i" in is not like the "i" in I.» My husband and I made homemade fiery chicken chorizo paella and homemade Sangria. Christ brought Proseco, a champagne. I am sad to say we never popped the bottle open. There was ample, or should I say TOO MUCH, scotch, sangria, and fino flowing. Tom brought over two wonderful delicacies: tortilla de patatas and pata negra, also known as jamón ibérico. A little background about both, the ham and tortilla not Tom and Christ. (1) Tom is Puerto-Rican so his tortilla de patatas (which he can say really fast and rolling his r's) was authentic and full of flavor. It was cooked to perfection with just the right amount of onion and garlic. Mmmm. My mouth waters just thinking about it. (2) What makes pata negra, pata negra? Well, I will only tell you about what I read on Wikipedia that was sort of confirmed by Tom. It is black Iberian pig that is fed only acorns. Italian prosciutto would be an equivalent of the way the ham looks BUT has nothing of the smooth, buttery flavor that I experienced when I took a bite. It was divine!

So Sunday, the 10th of October, we meet Jenny and Larry in Rome for lunch and to give them a mini tour of the Pantheon, some fountains, and the Spanish Steps. I was animatedly telling them about Paella night and start describing this melt in your mouth buttery ham. It was such a strange feeling at first when I looked Jenny in the face and there was nothing there. It was flat. I could almost see her biting her tongue, and the strained tolerance. At first I couldn't understand her lack of enthusiasm for something so delicious, then it struck me...humanitarian vegetarian. Oh. Oops. Quickly I changed the subject.

Renee foot in mouth smacking herself in the forehead: 1,000,001.
Tact, good grace, suave: 0

Thinking About Home

I have been thinking about home. In the four years and two months that I have been gone my vision of what American life should be has really become crystal clear. Now that I am returning in just two short months I have the following American comforts to look forward to:
*Neighborhoods
*A library in those neighborhoods, within walking distance preferably.
*Places to take a walk where it is not necessary to dodge dog poop at nearly every step, or used condoms, or trash.
*Birds chirping in the trees.
*Trees.
*Birds.
*Insects (besides mosquitos) like butterflies and ladybugs.
*A strip mall near every neighborhood.
*Walmart and Target close at hand.
*Barnes & Noble (or Border's) just a small drive away.
*A mug of steaming coffee.
*Carpet.
*Hallmark.
*Christmas music played everywhere from Thanksgiving up until January 1st.
*Santa Claus.
*Christmas Trees.
*Sidewalks.
*Thanksgiving. It is a strange sensation to celebrate a holiday and it is only your house celebrating. The whole world outside is doing its day to day thing. I never knew how comforting having just about everyone doing the same thing could feel. It makes me all warm inside.
*Little ones running around all dressed up on Halloween night.
*School buses.
*Shoulders and pullovers on the road.

Not A Critic

Normally, and I do mean this in the most general sense, I am not a critic of art, literature, music, etc. I do have my likes and dislikes, as most people do. Those certain things that draw us and others that repulse us, but I do not think that puts me on the level to be able to judge. Really, who can say what creative impulse is good? Having said that, I just have to say something here regarding a classic I just finished reading, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. Really, what is all the hubub, Bub? I read this book and for the most part felt a general disgust for the main characters Catherine and Heathcliff. A great love story? Perhaps his love for her was great. Her love is questionable, I think. And really, if a love is so great, would it turn you into such a bitter and hateful person as he turned out in the end. I don't know. Anyway, I always got the general idea that this book spoke of one of the greatest loves in literature and it left me wanting. ~shrugs~ Maybe I am just a cynic?

I thought, "The ant can't."

Today, as I awaited the arrival of my caffè macchiato while sitting outside in the warm sunshine and the breezy breeze, I watched an ant. It seems the small ants called in the big guns because this black ant was larger than the rest. He was dragging what looked like a flake from the crust of a coronetto. This "flake" as I call it for lack of a better word was 1 cm. X 1cm. He actually walked backwards, dragging his burden (or was it a treat?) behind him. At one point, he stopped, let go of the flake, and stomped away. I thought perhaps he grew fatigued, frustrated, and had given up. I think he thought twice about it and after about six inches, which I think would be the equivalent of an eighth of a mile in people terms, he returned to the tidbit. It must have been too sumptuous to leave behind. I watched for a few seconds as he tried first to push it and then tried to lift it over his head. He could not, so he resigned himself to the dragging and the walking backwards. Why at that moment did I want to help? Why did I want to relieve him of his burden by doing it for him? As this fleeting thought passed, my husband, burdened with our coffee drinks, sugar packets, and stir sticks, arrived and diverted my attention just long enough to lose the ant. I wonder if he ever made it to his hole, the one he calls home.

Offended

I sit ready, pen in hand hovering above the lightly lined page. Any second now. Any moment it will come. The muse will shine upon me and I will write! But no, it is not to be. I have offended her, I believe. Perhaps it was because I tore up so many pages of poetry (it was horrible stuff really) and threw it in the trash when I was a young tike in my very early teens. MUSE! I am sorry. Please give me another chance!

Procrastination

There is not a soul in the office. I should be gone too, except for the teeny tiny fact that I need every hour of my leave for my "vacations" in May and August. So, here I sit waiting for 2:30 to roll around so I can take advantage of the fify-nine minutes we can leave early if we don't utilize liberal leave. What I should be doing right now, instead of blogging, is completing a letter to my in-laws for my DH to take with him.

***It is now September 28th and I never finished this post. This bit of information absolutely cracks me up.**

How I know

I felt wonderful this morning, upbeat, happy, uplifted, healthy. I got into work and it was all sucked from me. I feel heavy, down, depressed. I absolutely have to find something else to do with my life. It is so obvious this is the wrong place for me.

A Day Just For Me

Friday I felt under the weather, thought I had caught a tad bit of the hubband's ick. It seemed like a very good idea (even though I was symptom free) to take this quiet and unassuming Monday off. I need my rest. I need some me time to fully recuperate. As my alarm went off, and even though I was wide awake, I decided to stay in bed and have a day to myself. Ah, the thought of it! No cooking for anyone but me and only when I get hungry. No answering questions, no commitments, no obligations. No one hogging the television.

Then, approximately twenty minutes after my grand decision, the hubband's alarm goes off. I tell him my plan and he agrees. "That's a wonderful idea!" he chortles. I sigh and continue my quiet and pleasant reverie. I know I have about an hour before Mr. Crash wants his breakfast and I plan to not move an inch until he makes me. At approximately six Crash wants breakfast. I get out of bed, stretch, scratch my belly, scratch Crash's back and head downstairs to make coffee and feed him. The hubband approaches me with, "Look at my eye." EGAD MAN! His eye was a puffy, swollen mess that was completely blood read. It looked painful. It looked hot. It kept tearing, big wet rivulets of water running down his right cheek. Ugh.

My first thought took me to a couple of situations that occurred yesterday. First, he gets a wee bit of sawdust in his eye. No biggie, right? He washes it out and no problem. Secondly, he is eating Kettle brand Jalapeño chips and proceeds to wipe the very same eye with a finger covered in the salt from the bottom of the bag. OK, still no biggie, it burns but he flushes his eye and he is good as gold. And now, this. I cannot help think the worst; he has scratched his cornea. We cannot get him an appointment with family practice, it's full. They suggest an appointment tomorrow OR the emergency room. He opts for waiting it out. After all, he flushed his eye, took two aspirin and was feeling better. I pat him on the back and tell him I am going to start "my" day and head for the bed where I stay until eleven.

I prepare my lunch and sit with him while he plays Assassin's Creed (see what I mean about hogging the television?). At this point, his eye is irritated. He is uncomfortable but tolerating it. In fact, I would even go so far as to say he was ignoring it. I start prompting him that even though he seems to be tolerating his eye well we cannot be sure that it is not scratched. I insisted he eat and get himself to the E.R. to have it checked. I WAS truly concerned about his eye, his vision, infection, scarring. I certainly was not trying to get rid of him so I could watch a couple episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. C'mon, you absolutely know I would be pacing the floor until his return.

Then he ate lunch and with his three sonic sneezes the whole situation tumbled straight down hill. He could no longer tolerate light. He could not see. His right eye felt like he had been punched. It was up to me to get him to the E.R. ~sighs~ Buffy can wait. He NEEDS me. I showered as fast as humanly possible (for me), got myself dressed and ready. He takes my sunglasses, pulls a baseball cap low over his eyes and we head to Gricignano to the hospital. The sunlight caused him agonizing pain. He absolutely looked like a thug trying to be inconspicuous.

Fast forward four hours later: We are home. Bill has conjunctivitis in his right eye and it has started infecting the left. He now knows what it is like to be a vampire bat because he, like the bat, is most comfortable in the dark. He is in front of the TV now and I am up here wondering when I will have the chance at another ME day that will really be only for me.

Google yourself

Well, I have googled myself, Renee Ross. Why is it when I google my name only porn stars come up???

What? A Klingon?

I awoke this morning to discover my face had a new shape. Yep. A new shape. I had four distinct, and rather deep, ridges across the bridge of my nose. Just call me Mrs. Klingon. I am interested to know how I was sleeping to make that happen: face smooshed in the pillow...pillow smooshed on the face (BILL!)...sheets balled up and face smooshed in? It is a conundrum.

Just whining OR do I have a point?

Know what really bugs me, gets my goat, messes with my sense and sensibilities? When a person has a beautiful blog that is frequented by a lot of traffic but doesn't take the time to proofread what he/she is putting out there so it is filled with the wrong word in key phrases (using all where old should have been -I blew a whistle at five months all), misspellings, poor grammar, sentences that make no sense. Now, I know I have made mistakes on my blog, using site for sight and other such things, but I don't have thirty errors in one blog. I try to be as correct as I know how to be. Heck, spell check corrects a lot of my errors! And the really sad thing is I have noticed that this sloppy blogging is the norm, not the exception. What's going on?

Strang, yet very cool, sensation

It was a very frigid 1ºC (33ºF) when I drove in this morning. There was ice on the edges of a puddles I passed. Even bundled in my dusty rose bouclé sweater, my Northface winter parka, complete with fleece liner, and with the heat on I was shivering in my car. Brrr. As I approached the second overpass before my exit I noticed the air was a shimmery black from a fire burning on the side of the road. The smoke covered the road, both directions, but there was still ample visibility. I entered the cloud and suddenly I felt warm, like someone had wrapped a big thick down blanket around me. It was comforting. I was warm. The feeling only stuck with me for about one quarter of a mile. Then I was chilled again.

Busy

"We’re all pros now at hailing a cab/pushing a grocery cart/operating a forklift with a to-go cup in hand. We’re skittering about like hyperactive gerbils, high not just on caffeine but on caffeine’s luscious by-product, productivity. Ah, the joy of doing, accomplishing, crossing off." ~Encyclopedia of an Ordinary life (Amy Krouse Rosenthal)

I just really like how she describes our culture. Having lived in Italy, I can see clearly how different we are from Italians. The things that drive us definitely do not drive them.

Annalisa

I know I have promised time and again to write about Annalisa, my Neapolitan friend that I have affectionately dubbed "Italian little sister." I have started the story over and over but I find it to be an impossibility for me to capture her essence in words. She is so complex and multi-tiered I cannot find words to describe her! Today I received an e-mail from her and normally I would not share but this e-mail says in a small paragraph everything that I couldn't say in a volume! Read on and enjoy her humor, her playful side, her lack of discipline, if you will.

“Reading throgh the lines, it seems to me that working-out is not a pleasure to you but rather a work ( OF course, it's called WORKING_OUT! What else could it be?) So, my conclusion is: if it's a work for you that adds up to the daily ordeal....why do you do it? Or better say, You know I am not a disciplined person, that' s why I don't like rules and even though I am locked in them I always try to elbow out in order to push the fences a little bit further. That is due to the volume I occupy that makes me need more and more space and my mental desire for "openess". At the same time I need these rules as point of reference in order not to lose my precarious balance. Still if doing gymnastic is a huge effort , well I am indulgent to myself and I don't do it.
The only thing I try to do well is working, but only because it gives me an income and possibly provides dignity to my self. But if I don't want to work out I don't work out. Or, due to the above mentioned volume, I do it every now and then, just to give myself a little mental leg-pull and pretend I have lost five pounds in five minutes, while It really takes 7 hours to lose 5 grams!”

I read this note and couldn’t help but chuckle, a lot. Because I know her personally I can see her hand movements and the way she moves her head. It is such a pleasure to be in her company!

Why the Written Letter Is Better

To be honest, I am the e-mailinist fool you will ever meet. Do you like that word, emailinist? I made it up just now. I love to e-mail short notes, hellos, a juicy morsel of gossip, recipes, pictures, anything really, and I love to do it every day. If there were a job out there for such a person I would be the perfect fit, and if you know of such a job, please refer me to the employer. HA HA! No really.

As the e-mailinist person around, I can attest that there is truth in the idea that written correspondence is much better. An e-mail seems so ordinary, so flat on the page and, well, cold. A handwritten letter received in the mail really brightens my day. And to write a note, or a letter, well, anyone who receives a written letter from me should know how really special they are because it took a lot of effort to put pen to paper, to keep my hand from cramping, to put my ideas together coherently on the page. It is an effort and a great act of love on my part.

FACTS:
*175% more text messages are sent each month compared to phone calls.
* 73% of cell phone users say that the cell phone is the most important device in their social life.
* 66% of U.S. Internet users said email was their preferred channel for written communications between friends.
*Every week, the average person receives 1.5 personal letters. (I am severly below this average by the way.)
*Feeling appreciated is one of the strongest human desires. (Alas, tis true!)
*There is warmth in a handwritten note—it instantly makes the message more personal, creates a more intimate feeling, and makes the recipient feel more valued.
*With e-mail, text messaging and instant messaging, a handwritten note is getting rarer and therefore more special.
*A handwritten note costs less than a dollar to write and mail, and the relational value is priceless.
*The recipient can keep and reread it forever.
(Oprah.com, Write a Note of Gratitude)

So, what are you waiting for? Grab your pen and any ol’ paper and make someone’s day by writing them a note!

Carmex

I just glanced over at my Carmex Lip Moisturizer. The only words I saw were Click Stick and then below that in tiny black letters it says "Movement Control Technology." Why? And who cares?

Finally

Two wonderful, beautiful days back to back and I have been able to take a walk during both. It helps clear my head of all the torment churning around up there. Today my backdrop was Vesuvius, green up her sides and capped with snow. In my mind I journeyed up there and it was very, very cold. I got lost there for a bit, allowing myself to be free from all that burdens me down here. Free to be cold, free to smell the air, free to feel the wind. I am back now and am feeling much better.

Addicted to Blogging

I did not put the widget on my blog because I don't want it looking too messy but apparently I am 64% addicted to blogging. That score is a combination of blogging & reading blogs which I do just about all the time now. I found a website called Cats With Blogs and you guessed it, now I am thinking of letting Crash blog. My goodness, why not? He has a lot to say besides his meanderings on food and cat litter. He has some very strong political views. "MEOW!" says he. See?

Question for all Bloggers?

Do any of you know how to search for a specific blog on here; meaning I want to know if a name is taken by searching for the name I want to use. Any ideas?

The Road to Hell is Paved with Food

I am living in my own little hell today. Dear hubband had a stomach virus starting Monday, ending last night. Guess who has it today? Despite my best efforts to keep a distance between us, I am ill. Ugh. And do I listen to the very good common sense advice, "put nothing in your gullet and nothing will escape your exhaust pipe?" Of course not. What? "Why not?" you ask. Duh. I like food. I like to feel full. I like having energy. But right now lunch; lunch being two Italian shake-n-bake encrusted chicken tenderloins, one half cup Uncle Ben's Long Grain & Wild ready rice, one third cup of peas, two small pieces of garlic bread (made from a French loaf), and a small cup of green tea; is roiling around in my guts and I am completely regretting every last bite, especially the tea which tends to upset my stomach if I drink too much. Lesson learned? Probably not. Tonight's planned dinner is Smoky Black Bean, Cheddar and Spinach Burritos. I may not cook it (dear hubband can be persuaded, I am sure), but I will have to have at least one. I believe I could be mortally wounded with my innards lying about and I would not pass up the chance for a bite of Mexican food. There would be no sweeter last meal.

January Skyline

I just wish you all could have been there to see the most magnificent skyline tonight. Brett and I were heading home from the support site, heading toward the Mediterranean. The sun had already set but there was residual light. The entire length of the sky was a rainbow. I don't mean the curving kind of rainbow with a pot of gold at each end. I mean the entire length of the sky from left to right, as far as the eye can see was a rainbow. Starting at the ground the sky was red, above it orange, next yellow, then green, a soft blue and indigo blending into the night sky above. It was gorgeous! I was so engulfed in the view (and trying to keep my car on the road while I gawked) that I completely forgot to stop to take a picture.

Face Eating Mosquitoes?

Hmmm, is there such a thing really? Well, perhaps "face eating" is an overstatement but I am here to attest that these Italian mosquitoes like my face. Over the course of two nights, because these heinous, flying, buzzing, nuisances only attack at night, I have received 5 bites on my face alone. My left cheekbone is swollen, my very own hideous carbuncle (well, thank goodness it is not oozing at least). I look like a pubescent adolescent. I need a plan because I am sitting here as I type and two of those nasty, vile face eating mosquitoes have swooped at me. I'll bet they are planning their next offensive! Where's my DEET?!?

CHAOS!

The joke is on me. For the past two years I have worked on my spiritual side. I have questioned mightily my actions and reactions. I have watched. I have felt my breath, my inner body. I have asked, "Can I know with absolute certainty that it is true?" I have started the practice of meditation, actually felt myself growing calmer. I have affirmed. I have visualized. I have had glimpses of presence. I thought I saw a glimmer of enlightenment. Then BLAMMO! One situation out of my control happens and I revert back to brooding, pacing, stressing, thinking, thinking, THINKING until I want to rip my hair out. Have I learned nothing? Have I gained nothing from all of this work except maybe a delusion? I long so to be free of myself.

It is true that answers come when you take a step back and let go. I didn't do that exactly. In fact, I did something I don't normally do and that was think about the situation logically and then try to look at all possible solutions. It came to me today, after I let anger go and accepted the situation. There is more than one answer. The answer is win win (in my humble opinion) for all parties involved. I cannot talk with any person about it because of this damnable time difference. I am short of breath with thinking about it. I am impatient to tell. CAN SOMEBODY HEAR ME? PLEASE WAKE UP! What can I do to divert my attention for the next five hours? I might drive myself mad.

WTH

It really irks me when I want to write something & blogspot.com does not cooperate. WTH? (That's What The Heck cuz I am trying to stop the cussing habit).

New Year's Resolution

I am not into making resolutions for the new year. I never keep them. So instead I think I will list some "intentions" and "would like tos" for the year:
¤It is my intention to continue my focus on health and wellness.
¤I intend to continue on my path of spiritual growth.
¤I intend to continue with my weight loss/maintenance and physical fitness regimen.
¤I intend to continue to practice writing.
¤I intend to continue on the path of cleaner eating.
¤I intend to continue on my cooking journey (we try at least three new recipes a week).
There are a few new things I would like to do this year:
*I would like to start adding fish to our diet two times per week; not bottom feeder fish, my husband says they don't count.
*I would like to learn to build and manage a website and then do it.
*I would like to cut diet soda out of my diet. The stuff (all soda) is poison.
*I would like to stop using cooking spray.
*I would like to meditate 20 minutes every day.
*I would like to blog every day.
This all seems like a very doable list and so long as I do not dub them resolutions I should succeed!

Invisible

I know, it is crazy but I cannot help but feel invisible a lot of the time. I e-mail volumes and hear nothing. I post on Facebook. No response. I blog to silence. I write letters, ask questions, initiate communication, talk. My words seem to evaporate in the air. Am I hidden? Has everyone blocked me? Have I been cut off? Am I really that dull, unimportant, invisible? (Is everyone so self absorbed?) I am sure a lot of it is something I carry with me from a turbulent past; those pre-existing, deep seeded doubts and insecurities. They must ooze from my pores and surround me in an invisibility cloak, my very own self-fulfilling prophecy. The question is, how do I undo it?

New Sensation

I suppose it is a normal sensation but it is quite new to me, only discovered after my first born moved out of the house and three thousand miles away from my protection, care, guidance, and help. When he calls with an issue, which is not very often, I feel panicky almost. My chest tightens ever so slightly and my breathing becomes the tiniest bit more labored. I think it is good that he is so far away so he can work on solving his problems himself. He does just fine with it. So why am I having such a hard time? This is one of the few situations in my life that actually cause me stress. Why am I even thinking about this? And what can I do about it? Is it normal motherly instinct that is making me feel this way? Do I think he is going to fail, or fall, or give up? On every level that answer is NO but I cannot shake this damnable sensation. It feels like…deep down to my core like…helplessness. Why?