Buggin'

So, like, I'm totally buggin'! This is a line from one of my favorite movies: Clueless. "Buggin'" means "stressed out," for those of you who don't know the lingo.

I admit it. I'm a stressed out person. Most people see the calm, collected, "Capricorn" Jieun. And it's not that I fake people out; it's just that the stress is all inside. I expect Danny to match how I'm feeling. When I'm excited about something, I need him to be as excited.

WHAT!? You found out your customer's Mary Kay foundation color is Beige 304? That's with a pink undertone, right? WOWZERS!

When I feel stressed, I need him to feel stressed as well. But it seems that my husband doesn't stress out in exactly the same way that I do in exactly the same situations. For example, when we need to get ready to go out, say to church on Sunday morning, I feel stressed. I need to pack the baby's bag with snack, lunch, diapers, a change of clothing, a favorite toy, water, and milk. I need to change, put my makeup on, and pack my own stuff. Abby needs to get fed, read to, loved, and sometimes bribed into getting into the carseat. I start by brushing my teeth, reading to Abby, packing a healthy snack, and then I look at the clock. It's 9:00am. Oh, I think. Plenty of time since we don't have to get to church until 10:10am. That's like one hour. Plenty of time!! WRONG.

Fifteen minutes later, Abby is only diaper-clad but well-fed, I'm still in my pajamas, and I'm starting to get into panic mode because I realize that if we need to get to church by 10:10am, then we have to get out of the driveway by 9:50am. That means leave the house by 9:40am. That means have everything packed and ready to go by 9:30. And it's already 9:15!! Fifteen minutes. During these next fifteen minutes, craziness ensues in my head. I'm running around frantically trying to put my contacts in so that I can start putting my makeup on, pulling a dress over Abby, who is screaming in protest, and praying that I don't forget to pack the milk.

Enter Danny. He takes literally 2 minutes to get ready, on a non-shower morning. On a shower day, it's 3 minutes. Puts on his uniform: jeans and a t-shirt, brushes his teeth, and slaps on some water on his face. I'm ready, he proclaims. Gr. He sees that I need help with Abby so he asks, what can I do? I give him two tasks: get the milk ready and make sure Abby has a change of clothing.

He goes off on his mission. I'm still freaking out, thinking why are we always late?? We have to show up early to help out at church, and everyone's going to be mad that we're late, AGAIN. And as I'm applying my mascara, I hear faint noises coming from the living room. I open our bedroom door.... it's the piano! Danny is playing Invention No. 8 by Bach - a lively and catchy tune. But I'm standing there in disbelief. Why is he playing the piano at a time like this!!! We have two minutes until we're officially on our way to being late for church. So I march out there and demand to know if he's accomplished his tasks. He has. Oh. OK then.

He just doesn't feel the stress of getting to places on time. I feel it ever so acutely, and yet I feel so powerless to change the situation. Danny just gets ready faster than I do. He helps out with what he can with Abby's stuff. Then he's done. Nuff said. Done deal. GGeut. But I spend so much time stressing out that maybe that's the reason why I'm late all the time. Plus, I procrastinate and I'm lazy sometimes. I want to be able to get to the point where I just get ready without all the stress, and then have a couple minutes left over to play a round of Invention No. 8. Teach me, O wise one.