Fear Of Commitment

This week hasn't turned out the way I planned. The plan was, with the boys home from school because of Sukkot, this week would be our last mother-child hurrah before I officially join the workforce on Monday. I'd spend the days calmly catering to them, and the nights relaxing in front of the TV with Y. I'd wear old t-shirts and ugly Crocs and no makeup or contacts - just because I could. Because it'd be my last real chance to do so. Somehow, I don't think the crew at my new office wear Crocs.

Anyway, come Monday I suddenly realized that this week would be my last chance to do a LOT of things, as I'll soon have much less free time on my hands. And, being kind of Type A - okay, very much so - I wanted to be uber-organized and on top of things on the domestic front during my initial foray into the 9-5 machine.

I started making lists. To-do lists, daily agendas, and perhaps the most comprehensive, itemized-by-store grocery list anyone has ever devised. It's truly a work of art, and I'm considering entering it into Word and printing out copies on a weekly basis. Except I'd be mortified should anyone IN the grocery store catch me checking things off of a typed and printed list. I'm the only one truly privy to the extent of my uptightedness. Right. Besides for you.

The lists were so long, some of the tasks so complicated (Research, purchase, deliver, and build bunkbeds for the boys! And get a new car!), my time so limited, and my arms so bogged down with small bodies, that I began each morning by sitting at my desk, staring into my coffee, and attempting to breathe through my self-prescribed panic over where to begin. How to get it all done. WHILE STILL CATCHING UP ON THIS WEEK'S GILMORE GIRLS.

Then, I'd attempt to calm myself down by wasting a good two hours browsing wholesale bunkbed dealers online. Something that, naturally, could wait weeks, probably months. Yes, Ariel decided on his own accord that he'd prefer to start sleeping in a twin bed and never look at his crib again. But he's on the trundle for now. It's fine. It can wait.

The two most emotionally exhausting aspects of the week involved deciding which car to buy, and, surprisingly, a trip to Costco.

You can probably understand car-buying anxiety. It's a big decision, and a pricey one, and even though I'm excited about getting my first (new) car ever, I agonized over every bit of it. Do I get a larger car, like the Nissan Murano or Chrysler Pacifica, which would be nice with the kids and looks cool, but which also costs a lot more and guzzles gas? Or do I get another (bo-ring) sedan, save the money, worry about getting something bigger when the need presents itself? I went with the latter, and am getting an Accord. An '07 EX. On my own accord. Hee hee.

It's been a long week.

It's just a car, a thing, and despite living in LA I've never been a car fanatic, so I didn't expect this to be such a draining decision. After all, I figured, anything is a step up from the Taurus. And I'm leasing, so it's not like I'm stuck with whatever I choose forever.

But no matter. The devil on my shoulder kept reminding me that if I didn't get something stylish and fun like an SUV I might NEVER have fun again, EVER. And the angel kept politely hollering about throwing money in the toilet and how if I didn't get the sensible sedan I would feel guilty for THE REST OF MY LIFE.

Damned peanut gallery.

I get the car tonight, but the amount of phone calls that took place this week between me and my lease broker, who happens to be a friend, can probably only be compared to the quantity on 9/11. Or so it seemed.


Then, last night, just as I'd chosen my car and felt I could rest easy for the first time in days, I threw myself into another decision-making nightmare: I went to Costco. You know, so that I could rest easy knowing that not only did I decide on a car but that I also may never run out of paper plates again. I needed - wanted - that security, and so I know I brought the ensuing trauma upon myself. But 'emotionally exhausting?' Doesn't seem to cover it.

I'm not fragile, really, and I tend to cope with stress pretty well. With action. But Costco humbles me, reduces me to a terrified bridegroom afraid of commitment with a wedding date rapidly approaching. I stand in front of the boxes of stuff, the ten bottles of shampoo bundled into one crazy-low price and think, I like Herbal Essences just fine. But will I like it for the NEXT THREE YEARS? I mean, I didn't really plan on having to think about that tonight but here the hell I am: it's crunch-time! Yeah, the boys eat Cheez-Its, but 12 lbs.?! They'll eat it, I'm sure, by their bar mitzvahs. And I'll have saved so much money, like at least twenty dollars. But what if they wake up one day and hate Cheez-Its??

And while I'm here...I might as well grab a baby grand piano and a plasma flat screen TV. I mean, they're right here, next to the smoked salmon. And they'll probably never be this cheap again!

I reasoned through the TV and piano (other cash-register rejects included 6 lbs of Bartlett pears and about 18 of batteries), but do have enough paper plates to last a lifetime. I left with cardboard boxes, a migraine, cognitive dissonance, and a serious deficit in our checking account. Nice.

I think I got it all done. It's Thursday afternoon, and I plan to spend what's left of my week enjoying the kids and watching TV.


As it should be.