My name is Leslie Crawford. A long time ago I was a mime, and for a few months a clown, and while many people wouldn’t understand the distinction, the clown thing is more embarrassing although less laughable at cocktail parties. After that circus-y stretch, I’ve been a journalist, working both as an editor and as writer. I live in San Francisco with my 8-year-old daughter, 16-year-old son, and husband Steve. I haven’t touched this blog for several years, but I’m back and will post soon. (My 2 readers will be so thrilled.)
Yes, neuroticmama is negative, and kind of cutesy in a Portlandia way. But I call it as I see it and I wonder why everyone isn’t neurotic, especially parents. We have to pass something on to our kids. Guilt, worry, anxiety is a gift.Why worry? Because malls are taking over the world, planet may well be a pit by the time my children grow up, fluoride and microwaves and all those acronym-y words are working their way into our systems you should be worried about: ADHD, PBDE, BPA… Then there are the acronyms I don’t know about, but should worry about because I’ve never met an acronym that was up to any good.
I worry about the people who aren’t worrying. Shouldn’t they be? Shouldn’t they stop driving SUVs and expanding their houses with old-growth wood and beating their children (not that they are one in the same)? I worry I’ve become too insufferably self-righteous.
I worry I’m worrying about all the wrong things.
I worry I’m not enjoying this precious life enough.
I worry I’m spending too much of my time worrying.
Who me, neurotic? And you say it like it’s a bad thing.