Switching Verbs

I am something of a worrywart. 

I think it goes hand in hand with my TypeA, neatfreak organization-loving brain.  I like to plan and because my life as a mom of three offers so many possible variables, I tend to try to think through every contingency.

This means that sometimes I walk around feeling like I have a giant decision tree in my head.  If this, then that?  If yes, then what??

Of course, life doesn't always follow the neat little lines and boxes that flash their yes/no answers like neon lights in the background of my mind.

This week, for instance, completely defies the logic of my "Infectious Diseases Decision Tree." 

Logically, I assumed that after our entire family fell sick with the stomach flu about three weeks ago (one that involved some spectacular, never before seen vomiting exhibitions by two of my children) that our little family unit would forge healthily onward through the dark winter to come, watching with clucking sympathy as others fell  to the wayside with spontaneous puking and raging diarrhea.  

Would we face a few colds?  Sure.  Maybe even a strain of flu not covered by this year's shot.  But the stomach flu - and all it's dastardly messy consequences would surely leave us be for a few months.  Maybe even until early spring.  After all, we'd all weathered it together leaving no one unexposed to whatever happy virus that spent the better part of a week downhill skiing through our digestive tracts. 

My reasoning seemed so logical.  

Until I heard the tell-tale sound of the hack-hack-hacking of Huck at four in the morning on Sunday. 

And then, after a full day of seeming better on Sunday (including trick-or-treating), there was Huck's deer-in-the-headlight look as he sat at the breakfast table on Monday morning.  I grabbed him by the shoulder shouting, "The SINK!  Make it to the SINK!"

God love him, he did. 

Tuesday saw me dropping both Becky and a much-improved (24 hours, no vomit, hurray!) Huck at school and me worrying (surprise!) about how I was going to get through my Mount Everest laundry pile (surprise!  more sickday laundry!), plan a Girl Scout event I'm running next Saturday (surprise! still not planned!) and about how I was ever going caught up on my endless TO DO list (surprise!  over planned, over committed, overwhelmed!).

And that was only the tip of my worrywart iceberg. 

I made it through Tuesday, wading through laundry and catching up on the endless paperwork that threatens to reforest my home, only to get a call from school as was I driving down the road to pickup Huck and Becky. 

More puke, but this time it was Becky, not Huck, who decorated the bushes outside during gym class at the end of the day. 

My "Infections Diseases Decision Tree" was starting to look like it belonged in the chipper a la Fargo.

As of today, everyone {knockknockKNOCK on wood} is well again and this latest stomach virus seems to have skipped me, Knute, and Tom. 

But the worry virus - well, that one is still alive and well in me.

A week like this, though, makes me see how silly all of my endless contingency planning really is.  No matter how much I plan, think, predict, prepare, life comes and brings that which is unexpected.  That which is unwanted.  That which is unthinkable.

The only cure I have - a cure I struggle with because it means I need to let go* - is to switch verbs.

Instead of "I'm worried about fill-in-the-blank,"  I'm striving for, "I'm praying for fill-in-the-blank."

It's not easy for me.  I'm a work in progress.

But I'm trying not to worry about that, either.

*Did you watch the series finale of Lost last May?  So.very.good.  I'm still chewing on that one...