As an adult with countless daily worries, it would be easy to look back at childhood as a carefree time. That, however, would be an over-simplification. In actuality, my days of stress-case insomniac started a long time ago. One of my earliest recurring worries was the sure knowledge that, if my feet were out of the covers at night, the characters from Frankenberry, Boo Berry, and Count Chocula cereals would come along to cut off my toes and use them for marshmallows. No joke. So, even in the hottest of summer nights, I sweltered under toe-protecting covers. But still worried myself sleepless every night. I worried about everything--that everyone I loved would die in an accident (they didn’t), that my parents wouldn’t have any mon
ey for food (they did), and, worst of all, that I’d get Bs and be a failure. Strangely, I never worried about my parents getting divorced, which is the one thing that did happen. I was so busy worrying, I never saw it coming. My kids seem to have inherited the worry-wart gene. Keilana stressed about strangers, Connor fixated on death, Addison dieted at five, and Scarlett chews her nails to the quick at less than two years old. Maybe the little boy from Maryann Macdonald’s Sam’s Worries is related to us. Sam stays awake at night worrying about everything, until his teddy bear takes one for the team and agrees to worry for him. Where can I get one (or a dozen) of those bears?!http://www.amazon.com/Sams-Worries-Maryann-MacDonald/dp/1562825224
http://www.maryannmacdonald.com/
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