I'm Freaking Myself Out

Tom is away until Sunday. Normally, I don't mind being here alone -- the whole bed to myself! -- so although I miss him when he is gone, it's not usually a big deal. Usually.

Tuesday afternoon, we had friends over to play. Afterwards, I realized that while we were out back, the front door was open and unlocked and while we were out front, the back porch door was wide open. We back up to wooded parkland where I suspect that pedophiles, drug addicts and murderers hide in wait for a chance to snatch my babies. Now, obviously, with fears like that I am a paranoid maniac about security so I was mildly alarmed that the house had been left vulnerable but I told myself to snap out of it. Tuesday night, while I was watching TV in the lower level family room, I heard a crash in Natalie's old room like something dropped or somebody tripped. My heart was in my throat. It took all of my maternal love to force myself to go up, open the door and check it out for my children's sake. Otherwise, I would have been out the door and checked into the Doubletree in a heartbeat. When I opened the bedroom door, nothing there, nothing out of place. Same thing in the third floor bedroom above it. The kids were sleeping peacefully in their room, undisturbed by the noise and my mania. Needless to say, I've been edgy since then and sleep hasn't come easy.

I keep finding closet doors open that I know I shut. Open doors make me nuts -- so sloppy! -- so I know I didn't leave them open and the kids don't bother with the closets since their games and such aren't in them. This morning when I stumbled down to get the kids' breakfast prepared, I look at the fridge and TOM is spelled out in magnets. I swear it wasn't like that last night! I know it sounds crazy but the kids don't know how to spell Tom's name and I know I didn't do it. I miss him and all but it's unlikely that I went into a fugue state and started spelling out the name of my beloved.

Is there a psycho hiding in the house? I read a book once where a homicidal maniac lived in a family's house for an entire summer, secretly watching the family until he grew bored and decided to gut them all in their sleep. Are we being haunted? If it's some random ghost and not my dad or brother, I will be so pissed. When you have a whole battalion of your own dead people, there should be some sort of rule that strangers' spirits have to back off. Even ghosts should follow certain etiquette standards.

Maybe my preggo hormones are to blame. Supposedly they make some women angry, weepy, edgy, whatever. I guess they could be kicking my regular paranoia into overdrive. Hormones are such a cop-out though. I'm probably just plain old crazy. Whatever it is, I'll be glad when Tommy Boy is home to protect us. :-(