My Face isn’t the only Scary Thing About this Post

Well friends, we made it. It’s 2017. We’re a little worse for the wear – our roots a little grayer, our under-eye circles slightly more pronounced, but somehow we’ve managed to drag our collective derrières across the finish line of 2016 and birth ourselves into this new year.

Some of us (me) didn’t think we’d make it. Some of us (again, me) thought that the hogwash and tomfoolery 2016 dished out was just too much to come back from – that we were dead in the water.

But here we are. Wrapped in the warm embrace of a fresh, new year, brimming with optimism and promise of better days ahead. And it’s funny because, from this particular perch of positivity, I have this fun, little vantage point I didn’t have last week. Because from here, I can see the error of my ways. I can see all the times I tossed my faith aside to focus on the doom that was waiting just outside my doorstep.

I have a propensity to do this, you see. I’m a seeker-of-scary-things. But for the life of me I cannot figure out why. I’m sure it has something to do with serotonin and other fancy-sounding neurotransmitters, but from a practical standpoint, pretty much every time I brace myself for the worst, I am saved. Again and again. Now of course, bad things happen. They happen every day, but I’ll be damned if the degree to which I fret about something, has shaped the outcome of a single event, ever in the history of the world. For example:

Friday December 16th

Seeker-of-scary-things reality: Oliver gets pink eye. It will undoubtedly become an uncontrollable, antibiotic-resistant infection that reaches his brain. Archie will then contract said uncontrollable, antibiotic-resistant infection. Life over.

Actual reality: Oliver got pink eye. Archie did not. It’s a medical miracle.

Sunday December 18th

Seeker-of-scary-things reality: Our big adoption fundraiser is tonight and nobody is going to show up. How humiliating! Not to mention, we need like a bazillion dollars, so, now we’re basically financially screwed. Let’s just cancel the adoption. There’s no way we can handle this. Never mind!

Actual reality: Maybe one of the best nights of my life (besides the time right at the end when I thought I was going to pass out from starvation and then ate Taco Bell and then felt like I might die from grossness). People came out. We raised the money. Unparalleled amazingness.

Monday December 19th

Seeker-of-scary-things reality: Oliver has a fever. It’s that infection again. I know it. It’s coming for us. We’re going to be in the hospital for Christmas. We’re not going to be able to go to Boston to see my family. Everything is going to be so sad from now on.

Actual reality: Oliver has a fever. He gets antibiotics. He feels like crap, then he feels better. Archie also gets a fever. He gets steroids and antibiotics. He feels like crap, then he feels better.

There are many, many more examples, but I feel like you probably get the idea. It’s not that nothing bad is ever going to happen, its just that if for the life of me I could remember how to use correlation coefficients to generate a graph plotting the relationship between the height of my “scary thing” anxiety and positive outcomes, we would all laugh great big, giant, math nerd laughs about how there is absolutely no relationship and I should pop a Zoloft.


  1. Ih Kelly! You are so funny and spot on wirh motherhood. And life in general.

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