Conversations with Eiley: Worry

"Take a picture, Mama! Booyaaaaaah!"

Eiley and I walked home from the park in our neighborhood one evening last week. The sun dipped just below the horizon, and a light breeze finally cut through the intense heat of the day. We had run around, played tag, slid down slides, raced horses on giant springs that I'm much too heavy to ride. There had been no issue with leaving when the time came to depart. Spirits were high, and life was beautiful.

We passed a boy on the street. He looked like a young Wilmer Valderrama, and he smelled like an entire bottle of Axe Body Spray. Eiley glanced up at him, and he gave us a little smile of greeting as he passed.

We continued toward home, and Eiley's walk transitioned from a bouncy gait to your basic trudge. She looked down and started crossing her arms, a foreboding gesture in our world. I prepared myself for her to whine about leaving the park even though she'd been fine with it minutes earlier. I braced myself for her complaints about what we were having for dinner even though I hadn't even decided what that would be yet. I paused, then asked what was wrong.

"I'm just worried, Mama," she said, with the most matter-of-fact tone a four-year-old can muster.

"About what, Goose?"

"I'm worried I won't find a husband."

I want to tell you about the eloquent speech I gave that instantly stopped her concerns. I won't pretend that happened though. I've recently read a lot of blogs written by apparently super human moms who consistently dispense astoundingly articulate and thoughtful wisdom to their children. I, on the other hand, tend toward the bumbling. My genuine response went approximately thus:

"You'll find a husband, sweetheart!" Long pause. "Or maybe you won't, but you don't need to have a husband. Some people are single, and that's cool too! I mean, look at Paul, he...wait, too complicated, never mind. But if you want to be married, God will probably lead you to a nice man at the right time. Or maybe He won't, if that's not what's best for you."

Her inquisitive eyes bore into me, so I gave up and said, "You don't need to worry about that for a long time, baby. I love you! Ooh, look at the Halloween decorations over there!" I really should have started with the distraction technique.

I give myself three points for not laughing at her serious face. I give myself no points for delivery of comfort. What would you have said? 

moving. or: an exercise in not freaking out.

So, we're moving to California soon (just thought I'd throw that out there in case someone somehow missed it, as unlikely as that seems), and I am trying hard to trust that God is going to help us get everything together smoothly. I have some moments of lovely, peaceful trust. But other moments, my brain does this:

Figure out how to ship Buster.

Make reservation to ship cars.

Get a new job. 

Work out child care. (Hey, any California Lobsters want to be severely underpaid to watch an adorable Eiley full time? Part time? Hello?) 

Find a place to live that is somehow central to where I work, where Eiley is cared for, and where Jeff works - wherever any of that may be.

Sell any unnecessary stuff here in Virginia.

Determine which moving company to use, making sure they provide storage as well.

Repaint walls of apartment while trying to remember how much we enjoyed having not white walls the whole time we lived here.

Move.

Remain calm.

It's funny that I am capable of freaking out so much. It's ridiculous even. God has proven himself faithful over and over to me and Jeff, so why do I think things will be any different this time? Silly human me, stop worrying! I wish, instead, that my mind would Pollyanna up and do this:

We're going to California, where most of my family is, where we have a lot of great friends, where we love our church, and where the weather is beautiful a vast majority of the time. How exciting that I'll get to learn a new job, whatever it might be, and I wonder what great opportunities Jeff will encounter now that he has his degree and is somehow an even better actor than he used to be. Life is sunshine and happiness and unicorns and jelly beans and Lisa Frank stickers!

Okay, maybe some of that was overkill. And maybe you people should pray for me.