The Life of a Hermit Crab

Confession time: I have this really bad habit where I lament about not doing more, surrounding myself with new friends or exploring new activities more often.Then I try those things, like, I genuinely make an effort and give it the old college try.

That's right, just keep letting her punk ass pull the ball out from in front of you. You're a dumb ass, Chuck.

The result? Never fails, I end up kicking myself in the ass for thinking there's anything better than sitting on the couch in yoga pants and watching Property Brothers reruns. How can I consistently be this dense...I mean, they're the Property Brothers, it's entertainment and eye candy in a 60 minute block. C'mon son - can't get no betta!



For the longest time, I thought I was just a weirdo. I still do, but not for this particular anxiety. Those articles about introvert moms are circulating pretty widely now - I just read one last week, as a matter of fact, that was being passed around Facebook - so I do realize that this is a an actual thing. I'm not a complete jerk for wanting to be alone mostly but it's still ridiculous how I continuously set myself up.

Full disclosure: my husband's a textbook extrovert, a people person, one of those guys that's never met a stranger. And he loves to entertain. I mean, we have people over for everything! Anniversaries, cookouts, sporting events, holidays...we once had a get together to watch the debates for a political party we don't even support. I mean, we will throw a party for no reason at all - because he loves people...and I have a short memory.

So when important stuff arises, you know shit is going down. Now, my youngest kid's birthday is coming up - that sound, that's my heart breaking into a million pieces, ignore it - and I absolutely had to put something together because...hey, that's what we suburban stay at home moms do. And man, I was all over the party details too. I was having an absolute blast coordinating this thing...right up until a week or so out and I remembered Oh shit, I'm having party...that means I'll be entertaining people. Cue the panic attacks.

Me, doing my party planning dance.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a part of a small group, I'm even pretty good at telling a few jokes and I try to put myself out there because at some point, the kids will need to tell their future therapist that mommy tried to give them a stable life and I don't want to make them into liars. So yeah this next party's on deck, meanwhile I'm sitting in the dark closet on the floor, rocking and singing the Happy Days theme song.

I'm honestly not sure what gets me most: there's the small talk, of course. This being a problem because I've somehow perfected the art of over-sharing while still being bitchily aloof. No fucking clue how I managed that, but it happens.

People I encounter at a large gatherings.

Then there's the part of playing hostess where you have to make sure you've met all the needs of your guests. This is eerily close to the daily waitress/nursemaid gig I have going on with the kids already so I think I just have flashbacks of my everyday life and freak out. Instead of presenting myself as the charming party facilitator that I envision, I come across as paranoid and pushy (have you ever shoved a pig in a blanket down someone's throat while insisting your recipe is far superior to the local grocer's...I have).

Try my pie...or I kill you.

And not in the least, there's managing my kids in front of other parents I respect. Sure they're just being kids, but are my kids kiddier than everyone else's?  I'm constantly wondering if I'm being a hard ass for simple shit or way too loose with stuff that's gonna land them in jail by the time they're 10. I can never tell if I'm being judged. It's like high school, only with stretch marks and a mortgage.

So yeah, the party is coming up. Hopefully one of my more pleasant personalities will take over. You guys wish me luck...or send me liquor, either one works.