The fine art of panic

I don't think it's hit me that my mom is going to be gone for a month yet. She leaves on Tuesday for a trip to Detroit to see family and friends, and of course, to be there at my father's yearly memorial service the day after Thanksgiving. It's bittersweet. And I'm trying not to focus on the fact that I'm going to go utterly insane while she is gone.

She moved to Arizona with us for a fresh start after Dad died, and it's a full house with her and my youngest sister all under one roof. But with the craziness c0mes extra hands, extra support, and someone else to do the laundry or take care of Buttercup when I have 65 million errands to do in one day.

I'm hyperventilating at the mere thought of getting ready for the holidays while trying to balance the everyday crap that creeps up. And writing? Blogging? My new workout routine? The Dishes? Cooking dinner?Remembering to shower?

Fuck.

Seriously, I know I''m a pansy when it comes to multi-tasking with kids since I'm not even in the plural in this category. I am fully aware that there are plenty of moms out there that do more with a smile with multiple kids in tow and somehow remain sane. I, however, was born into a family that thrives on that philosophy about it taking a village to raise a child, and my village is about to go AWOL on me.

Four weeks. I'm spazzing about four weeks on my own. And I wanna have more kids?