Julie’s recent blog about motherhood got me thinking about my mom. Lots of people who knew Homerun Clara will tell you she had a great sense of humor. If you knew her well, you also know she had an overdeveloped sense of worry—and maybe to prove her sense of humor, she generously passed her worry gene along.
Among my inherited worries are my obsession to repeatedly recheck the gas burner, iron, coffee pot, and toaster-oven so I don’t “burn down the house,” and my compulsion to call my neighbor or drive back around the block to confirm I really did close the garage door.
The full list of worries she passed along to me is too extensive to name, but if I had a buck for every time she worried out loud about me “cracking my head open,” it’s safe to say I’d have a healthier 401K.
And, speaking of cracking things open, my mom taught me never, ever, to crack an egg right into the cake or cookie batter, to always crack it into a separate bowl in case the egg was rotten. So, all these years later, I still dirty a separate bowl every time I bake, in spite of the fact that I’ve never once in all my egg-cracking years, cracked open a rotten egg.
They say worry lives mostly in our head, and the best way to shake it is to walk smack into it.
So here goes. Today I officially ditch my egg-cracking worry. From now on, if you eat a cookie I baked, be forewarned. Those eggs were cracked right into the cookie dough.
But, don’t panic. I’m not going completely off the worry grid.
I’ll still wear my bike helmet EVERY time I ride.
Cracking eggs is one thing, but I don’t need to worry about cracking my head open!