Last night, as passion was awakening and the day was falling behind, B began to put the move on me. As we were getting down to the serious stuff and our bodies began to move to the grove, well, all of a sudden the thought popped in my head, ” I better remember to use the raspberries up in the refrigerator or they will go bad.”

WHAT THE HECK?

After a blissful and spectacular time with the honey (take that any way that you want) it occurred to me that every time we became amorous this week, an off-the-wall list of things I needed to do would suddenly fill my head bringing that “in the mood” moment to a screaming halt. Things like:

Did I lock the door?

Did I send Jackie that children’s book for the baby?

How much wood would a wood chuck chuck it a wood chuck could chuck wood? Well, really, how much?

I really need to get some new underwear since we have become busy as rabbits. I like lime green but what color does B like? You have been married 29 years and you don’t know what color B likes! How can you not know that?

Did Andre get the toilet unstopped? I think we need to add more fiber to his diet.

What time did Susie say she would be home?

And so it goes. Millions upon millions of questions begin descending on me just like one of my kids whenever there is a good probability of a great romance looming in the distance.

And after much thought on the subject I have come to a conclusion….I find it difficult to relax and just let go. After running this well oiled yet squeaky machine my ability to turn off my brain is diminished because if I let my guard down for just one minute a major calamity is bound to occur. That’s what happens when you have special needs children who never sleep, don’t understand the concept of danger or want to experiment with electricity and water in the middle of the night. That’s what happens when they use a butter knife to take apart the front door lock and slip out into the night, or decide to consume fabric softener (poison control says it’s okay in small quantities) or find a way to remove the key board from your piano.

Of course, this is all PTSD “thinking” on my part. The boys are no longer destructive, unaware or creating their own adventures 24/7. They are growing into fine young men who I can leave alone for awhile and still find the major supports to my house standing.

And so now I realize it is me who has to let go of the past…all of it… and get on with living life as it is now. I have earned the right to sit back and enjoy and danger is no longer an ever present nuance of our lives…that is unless you count the handcuffs under my bed that I borrowed from a friend…they might just be the kind of danger that is needed around here.