Among the many things I'm paranoid about and obsess over, my car is at the top of the list. I always think it's on its last leg, even though it hasn't even reached 70,000 miles yet. It's a VW Jetta, so theoretically it should get at least another 70,000 + miles. Thankfully, I have the most honest car mechanic imaginable. I need more than one hand to count the times he's sent me away without a bill, telling me that there's just nothing wrong with it. But don't you hear that squeaking, rumbly rattle? No, that's just the sound that cars make when they're running. Ah, I see.

Now, my mechanic - as honest and reasonable as he is - is also slightly unorthodox. I really don't care where he gets the parts for my car so long as everything works properly. That being said, since he first started doing my brakes he hasn't been able to figure out the "code" needed to reset my brake light. So.... my brake light on my dash is ALWAYS on. I hate it and it totally stresses me out. How I am supposed to know when my brakes are really bad? Just recently, my temperature gauge light has also been going on periodically. My washer fluid is low, so that light is on. My trunk which needs to really be slammed to close, has been slightly open for days so that light was lit up as well. When my gas light went on today, I thought my head was going to explode!

Now that I've all but beat the crazy germ phobia, I feel another type of irrational fear sneaking up on me! Hmmm, what will cost me less? A monthly car payment for a new ride, or weekly therapy sessions? A new car would certainly be more fun...

I am feeling sorry for myself today. I did my coworkers a favor and used a "mental health day". What a stupid name. Why not "head case day" or "leap from a bridge day"? Everyone talks about that seasonal affective disorder. Maybe that's what I'm suffering from. Or maybe I just feel like today my life sucks a little bit. If I'm on my usual emotional roller-coaster ride, I should be doing cartwheels in the front lawn or singing show tunes within the next half hour. Maybe that will help to offset the half gallon of Moose Track ice cream that I just ate straight from the carton.

I'm going to take my therapist's advice and LIST things to get it off my chest. We'll see how that works for me. Here are my reasons for being in a bad mood:

1. I have to do all the yard work myself this year. I have about 30 tall, LEAFY trees in my yard. That equates to about 80 refuse bags full of debris and the City of Cleveland SUCKS at leaf pickup. Last year they waited until after the first big snowstorm. Thanks. It may sound like no big deal, but it's just overwhelming.

2. In addition to the yardwork, and "girl" stuff like laundry, dishes and general cleaning, I also have to do all the "boy" stuff around the house now like taking out the garbage, relighting the furnace pilot and nailing things into the wall. Yes, I know - Gloria Steinem would be highly disappointed in my sexist division of duties.

3. I have no clothes for fall. I should take comfort in the fact that it's because I'm skinny this year, but still. I just about had an anxiety attack yesterday when I had to deviate from my usual jeans and t-shirt work uniform for business casual because of a lunch meeting.

4. I have paperwork. Lots of paperwork. Paperwork I would like someone else to take care of. Ugh.

4. I want a new car just because I'm bored with mine and I can't afford one. Now I'm just grasping at straws...

5. Um, my spray tan is fading and I'm back to pasty...

Yeah, pretty pathetic reasons for being in a bad mood and feeling sorry for myself. I probably just need to snap out of it. Now, if I could only find my Oklahoma! CD...

I get it when people mistake a 3-month-old bald baby dressed in yellow for the wrong sex, but a 17-month old in blue pajamas and a crew cut? I don't get it! On my way through the drive thru at BK this morning, the girl at the window says to me, "Ohhh, she's adorable!" I thanked her and then corrected her. She did a double take and said, "You're right. He is a boy." Um, yeah, I'm right! Now, I've heard from a handful of people that Thing Two looks Asian, but never that he looks like a girl! And no, I don't have an Asian milk man, thank you very much.

I didn't wait with either of my pregnancies to be "surprised" by whether it was a girl or a boy. Really, what's the surprise? It's one or the other. Now, if I gave birth to a cat - that would be surprising. Seriously though, I really do give kudos to those parents who have the patience to wait. I've heard that at the first ultrasound, they give you the sex of the baby written on a piece of paper in a sealed envelope. How long must that 6 months be?!

For me, it wasn't the need to paint the room pink or blue or to buy gender-appropriate adorable outfits, it was the desire to be able to picture the little person they are going to be at 6 months, 2 years, 5 years, 18 years old. Looking, back though, I pictured them both all wrong! Thing One looks nothing like I pictured she would. I always imagined her with curly hair (don't know where that would have come from). It's poker straight. I pictured blue eyes and they're brown. Figured tall and she's short! They're both more amazing than I ever could have imagined...

Remember that old game show, "Bumper Stumpers" where contestants were given a license plate and had to decipher it? If I had one, it would be GRM FOB. Yep, germ phobe. I've gotten a lot better about it over the past few months (thank you, therapy), so I'm now finding the humor in it.

I remember when it hit me how nuts I really was. It wasn't when I holed myself up in the house for a full week between Christmas and New Year's last year when that god-awful stomach bug was going around or when my girlfriend teased me for sanitizing my newborn's hands. It was when Thing One came up to me with a picture she drew that had a bunch of different colored specks covering an entire 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper. I complimented her on such a pretty, colorful design. "They're germs, mom." she said to me. Oh, god. There. I've done it! I've projected my ridiculous fears onto my child! Don't get me wrong, I love it that she comes up to me and says, "I touched a worm and now I want to eat some chips. Can I have some Purell?", but it's not something I want her obsessing about.

As careful as I am about protecting myself and the kids from all things disgusting, I had the *worst* thing happen this summer that could ever happen to a germ phobe. We were at Lakewood Park for a girls night picnic and we spread out our blankets on the grass. I kicked away every bit of goose poop I could find. Obviously, I didn't get it all, because Thing Two found an escapee turd and popped it RIGHT IN HIS MOUTH! Ugh. I barely slept that night as I waited for him to get violently ill. Thankfully, it didn't happen. The immune system is one amazing thing!

It was an expensive season of therapy, but I'm as good as I'm going to get on the germ front. I had some crappy things happen to me this summer that kind of put it all in perspective.

...I would seriously lose my head. These past couple of weeks alone I've lost my keys countless times, locked them in the garage, misplaced my debit card twice, my business credit card once, and left the house with a candle burning on the (wooden) kitchen table. I had a cart full of groceries on the conveyor at Rego's only to realize that I left my wallet in my car. I ruined another set of towels by leaving them in the washer for three days. Gross. I'm sure after I post this, I'll remember about a dozen other scatterbrained acts I've left out. I get so irritated with myself that it's exhausting! Truly, I don't know how other people put up with me. My friend tried to make me feel better the other day by saying, "you're just practicing being human". Yes, but do I need to practice being a stupid human? Geez, as I re-read this I realize it must be a self-deprecating kind of day!

I sometimes daydream about being one of those polished, Coach-Purse carrying kind of girls who never leave the house without fresh makeup, smooth hair and perfectly pressed clothes. Ugh. I'm sure those kind of girls are never caught wild-eyed without wallets at the grocery store or trying desperately to crawl through the window of their homes. Though I can't help but wonder if they go home and plug themselves in at night.

The picture above is a Shel Silverstein drawing that is fitting to this post. Hmmm, the poem it's from is aptly titled "Loser". By the way, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Shel Silverstein. If you haven't visited his website, it's really great. Check it out. He's not just for kids!! I loved him when I was little, but I think I get a lot more out of him now.

I'm going to go and blow out all of my candles and go to bed...

I thought I was safe when I let my 5-year-old listen to Q.104 on the radio with me in the mornings. That is until Thing One started singing along with Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" from the backseat on the way to Kindergarten. The sound of her innocent little voice singing about "the taste of her cherry chapstick" just about made me blow my coffee all over the dashboard! It didn't bother me in itself, but I was concerned about her going into school and singing it to her teachers during sharing time. So, I try to think of the best way to go about talking to her about it without making a big deal.

Me: You know, some people don't think that a song about kissing girls is very nice, so maybe you don't want to sing that out in public. In the car is fine, but don't sing it at school.

Thing One: Mooooooom (exasperated eye-roll). Sometimes girls marry girls and boys marry boys. People like different things and that's ok.

Crack up. I don't want to say that I've never been prouder, but it did make me feel warm to know that I'm raising a tolerant little soul who will hopefully carry that acceptance of people over into her adult life. I'm sure that many parents would have my one-way ticket to mom hell printed up in a heartbeat, but the direct simplicity of her comment made me smile and feel like I'm doing something right. Rock on, Thing One!

This weekend, I managed once again to find the balance between mom and regular human being. On Saturday, I went out to an anti-shower for my girlfriend who is getting married in two weeks. She's already done the deed before and didn't want the typical bingo-playing, bride-and-groom-oven-mitt-gift shower that we all tolerate, so the girls went out to 87 West Wine Bar in Chagrin Falls. It was one of those situations where 3 different cliques collided. It could have been dangerous. There were the high school pals, the new family, and the friends of the soon-to-be hubby. Our outfits ranged from mom jeans and a floral top (NOT me) to a skin-tight dress and hooker heels (think Peg Bundy with blonde cotton candy-textured hair, complete with cigarette between the teeth). By the way - also NOT me! For all of our outward appearance differences, we ended up having a lot in common and had a great time. We must have looked like such a mismatched group, but after a drink or two we were all laughing and joking like old friends.

On the way home, I got pulled over for speeding. Thankfully, the universe realized my recent plethora of terrible luck and decided not to push me over the edge. I got off with just a warning to slow down. I didn't even have to cry! Things are definitely looking up.

On Sunday, we took the kids and their cousins to Patterson's Fruit Farm in Chesterland. I had never been there and believe me, it will definitely be an annual trip! There was so much to do! They had pony rides, hayrides, a big slide through the woods, a hay pit to jump in and push cart rides. And the food? Mmmmmm. I love fall food. I gorged myself on apple fritters, cider, kettle corn and a funnel cake. I need to put on a few lbs anyways, and there's no yummier way to do it.

By the time I got home in the evening and wound down, the kids were ready for bed and I had a wonderfully relaxing night.

Balance is good.