Living with CDTs

It’s really nice to breathe. To have a few moments to spare and just be. That’s what I’m doing now. Except I’m not. Since now I’ve picked up my computer and started writing instead of breathing. I guess for me those are almost one in the same.

For the last few days I’ve been Ava. After meeting Lady Lou and TRPL TRBL out on Thursday night and talking about a child being kidnapped in Portugal, the mountain lion attack on a 7-year-old last year on a trail that we had just snowshoed, and a rattlesnake biting a 2-year-old on the Mesa trail (a regular hiking destination too – because it’s so close to my house), my mind has been racing with crazy death thoughts (or CDTs). So I woke up this morning and went straight to the mountain lion story. As if.

And yesterday, we were in Whole Foods (yes, we pretty much live there) and Miss 6 went to the bathroom while I waited just outside with the cart. First, I almost freaked when this weird man started to head for the ladies’ with Miss 6 in there. Then a second time when Miss 6 took too long washing her hands. I was RIGHT THERE and kept going in and checking on her (much to her chagrin), but Ava has overtaken me it seems. Hence the much needed time to breathe.

The thing is, I know my mom reads this. And even though I swore to myself that I wouldn’t censor my thoughts because of potential fall out, I am so tempted to just erase those last two paragraphs. Or to not post this entry. As I've mentioned, my mother is where Ava came from. She is a walking/talking CDT. And just mentioning near misses in the wilds of Colorado sends her hurtling into the one-billionth installment of, “It’s time for you to move home.” I say one-billionth as a conservative estimate. We’ve lived here almost 13 years. You do the math.

And what I left out was that this whole thing really started when I read Bubble Girl’s entry about the cat she was sitting for killing a snake. Later that same day I was driving home from a meeting and saw a dead/bloody rattlesnake in the road being eaten by magpies. So the snake bite story that evening with the gals was three in a row (with a mountain lion thrown in for good measure). And this is all surrounding a subject in which the word is not even allowed to be spoken in my house. I am TERRIFIED of them. Why just this morning I had the hubby investigating a smell under the deck. I had read somewhere that rattlesnake nests put off a sweet-ish odor and was SURE that they were living and birthing inside the dryer vent. He gave me the “Yes, you are certifiable” look and said, “No. It’s just the dryer.” “How can you be sure?” Another look. So okay. I let it drop. But still…

So maybe I am certifiable. A little nutso. But I inherited it. And I have a one-inch bruise on my arm where the West Nile lab guy took my blood. Maybe that’s where this all came from. Here I am, living the life in amazing Colorado and I’m suddenly afraid of my own shadow. Freaking myself out to the point that the hubby said “I guess hiking and camping are out this summer…again.” No. I mean NO! I can’t let a little mosquito and a couple of rare and non-fatal incidents keep me from enjoying the things I love most. Or keeping my girls from it. From the very reason we live where we do. How stupid is that?

Besides, even with my highly irrational/sometimes paralyzing fear of far too many things to count, I know that life has to be lived. Not as a spectator. But as a full-on, get-in-and-get-dirty participant. And even my mom appreciates the fact that we’re specifically trying to raise girls who aren’t Ava. Ava passes. She just visits from time-to-time. To keep things real.

I wrote it. It’s out. So now you can have it. (I feel better already.)

Thinking Happy Thoughts:
For the last couple of days, Miss 6 has been performance queen. Friday it was the kindergarten Spring Sing. The songs we have been hearing for months were finally presented on stage. (Maybe she’ll give it a rest now. Ha.) The best part was seeing her play the bongos. Who knew? Never one to miss a chance for a good cry, I let loose. That whole little-baby-all-grown-up thing never fails me.

Friday afternoon was ballet recital rehearsal which was followed up on Saturday by the actual performance. Beanie got her first real taste of second fiddle. And she was a little rock star. She waited until the grand finale to lose it. (Miss 6 was done and safely in my lap. The hubby happily exited stage left with Bean.)

When we got home, we celebrated with appetizers and cottontails on the front porch. (More breathing.)

NOTE: Cottontails are the Miss 6 version of cocktails. We have ours, she has hers. (And relax. Hers is Pellegrino with whatever juice we happen to have on hand.)

Tonight the hubby gets to meet his idol, Hugo Matheson. For the hubby, a well-known chef is a rock star. So that's Hugo. Chef-Owner of the most favorite restaurant in the world, The Kitchen. We are going to a benefit for our local performing arts venue, The Dairy, (Boulder passed a new ordinance that all businesses are only allowed to have one word in them plus 'the'☺) and it is billed as an intimate evening with this dude. Intimate meaning us plus the other 100 or so people who ponied up the cash. (The hubby gets an early dad's day present and will be grinning from ear-to-ear...he hasn't been this happy since I downloaded all of his favorite recipes from their website.) And can you say SIX WEEKS SINCE WE HAD A DATE NIGHT?!

TODAY’S THEME SONG: The Way I Live. Baby Boy Da Prince. Another song now on endless loop repeat in my brain. Because sometimes handing it over helps. ☺