I arrived home from Vegas a few hours ago and have been in a death grip by the 2.5 year old.

When Mom goes away, death grips are administered for a good week upon her return. They tend to pant me when their little hands grip my sweats…but other than that, they are usually harmless.

So basically I was pulled from the almost surreal whirlwind that was BlogWorld Expo and total concentration on Photrade.com and the social media community ( feeling like I can’t even say my “bloggy” friends anymore) and given no transition time to even unpack before I was laying my daughter down in her bed and pulling her hands from her pull-up because she fell asleep grabbing her crotch.

Some women have a hard time shutting off the Madonna and turning into the whore, not me. I have a hard time shutting off the Hillary and turning into Mrs. Cleaver. One minute I’m conquering the world, and the next I’m under a bunk bed frantically trying to retrieve a lost Elmo.

I wonder if my decision to stay at home with the kids wasn’t only for the benefits, but because I have a hard time focusing and concentrating on them and ANYTHING else…be it work or otherwise. They scatter my head. They scatter just about everything…but also my head…and I also wonder if I’m capable of doing anything SMALL. For those who know me…it’s balls out all the time, and I go big or go home. Queen goes big. I’m not content with a little gig here or there, I launch companies, found virtual conferences, host “firsts” and create waves. Waves that leave little ones grabbing for the side of the boat from the wake.

As they get older and I work more, I find myself throwing myself into projects and neglecting my Mom role and then throwing myself into MOM and neglecting my projects. It’s a constant battle that results in death grips on a crazy, laptop carrying lady, pants to her ankles, towing kids.

Balancing work and home sucks. Balancing with pants around your ankles sucks. Of course my mind automatically wanders to more family friendly companies, conferences (thanks for the babysitting BlogHer) and a good kick in the ass of the attitudes of some professionals and colleagues I know…god knows I love me a good Queen smack down…but all of that sounds like another project for another time.

Right now I’m tired. I really need to pull up my pants, release the death grip on these sweats, and get us all some sleep. Maybe tomorrow I’ll activate my world domination plan while I knit and read blogs.

I want another baby.

I’m sure this feeling will go away in about 10 seconds when someone is crying, or whining, or reminding me why I’m 30lbs heavier than I used to be and 300 times grumpier. But right now, at this very second, looking at these very photos…my womb aches.

There are days when it’s painfully obvious to me I no longer take Paxil. You may not notice. My family may not notice. The UPS guy I flirt with may not notice, but in my head there is really good cage match going on between happy fun thoughts and utterly ridiculous anxiety.

I’d like to think I just have a very active imagination. I tell my kids all day long to use theirs-I am simply a shining example of how to really, really imagine fun scenarios like husband dies in car wreck on way home from work, and the classic home invasion/kidnapping of kids party in my head.

Before the medication these thoughts were rampant and kept me awake at night and dictated if and when I went anywhere. While on the medication these thoughts were few and far between. Now, off the medication, the little scenarios play out in my head from time to time, but I can usually recognize them, shake them off, and move on to happier thoughts like sex with my UPS guy.

Its important to note I’ve also been diagnosed with some mild post traumatic stress. Before I gave birth, I was a news reporter. Unfortunately, I was a really good news reporter and had a knack for arriving on horrific scenes before emergency responders. That means I saw parents trying to pull burning children from homes on fire. I saw hostage situations unfold before my eyes, before I was pushed away by yellow tape. I heard gunshots, saw little figures come out in body bags, and generally spent my days flitting from interviews with Tom Hanks to murder suicides.

There was a period of time after I had the kids in which I tried to NOT pay attention to the news. I found it unacceptable. I MUST be informed on what’s going on in the world, even if its horrific. I’ve learned to temper my news obsession with mindless fun. I’ve learned to tune out certain stories, or only read the headline and then walk away. However its much more difficult when you’re PART of that story.

Two earthquakes here in SoCal lately. One yesterday. One massive earthquake in Peru. 1-foot tsunami. Tomorrow we will pack up the kids and head to the beach-to sleep. Why does all this matter?

Welcome back my old friend anxiety.

The odds of a large earthquake off the coast of central California causing a major tsunami that wipes out my family tent and all its occupants may be small-but the hell if I haven’t thought about it for the past 48 hours.

With images of the horrible 2004 Christmas disaster spawned by a quake in the Indian Ocean fresh in my head, I’m playing out ridiculous and horrifying scenes in my active imagination.

We’re peacefully sleeping when we hear screaming, waves engulf us as I try and grab the kids…I’m holding onto both for dear life as we try and tread the salty ocean water.

We’re warned a tsunami is coming and we rush to our car, throwing things in as we flee. Its California and people are in a panic, so naturally we’re stuck in traffic. Which way to we go? Are we far enough east? Can we climb that nearby mountain with those waves on our heels?

We’ve in our tent when the water comes rushing in. The tent is closed, we can’t reach the zipper. The kids are screaming and crying, I can’t reach my daughter. I can’t reach my son.

I don’t know why I feel the need to play out these little vignettes in my head. Part of me thinks I need a plan. If this situation occurs, I want to know what to do. I want to be prepared. I need a dry run. Part of me wonders if I just half expect something like this to occur in my lifetime. I’m simply aware of each situation and what could occur. Better that then to be caught off guard.

I’m packing for our little trip as I type this. My 4-year old really wants to sleep in a tent under the stars. I really want him to sleep in a tent under the stars. While I’m certainly no camper, the beach sounds like fun. Spending my wedding anniversary in a tent with my husband and kids while I imagine terrifying tragedies-not my ideal way to spend a weekend, but its that or stay indoors. Do nothing, go nowhere and pretend all is safe and well.

I know better. I know I need to get out there and bat away mosquitoes while I roast marshmallows. I know I need to push my fears aside and NOT freak out when I hear waves crash on the shore.

So I will continue to pack. I will NOT visit the earthquake monitoring homepage today and I will NOT pay too much attention to CNN. I’m going take a deep breathe and pitch a tent. Of course I won’t really know how to make it sturdy, but I’ll watch Kaiser use his fine Boy Scout skills. I’ll build sandcastles and make a big deal out of sleeping bags and flashlights.

I might even quiet my mind long enough to enjoy myself and have a nice UPS guy fantasy.
See you Monday campers.