Mother's Day, Expertise and Doubt

For the now traditional Mother's Day breakfast in bed, my two remaining baby birds made blackened omelet with a side of tortured green apple smothered in peanut butter and maple syrup. And day-old, reheated coffee. Then they flew off to church with grandma, leaving dear mom to clean the mess they left.

Ah. The joys of motherhood.

I've got a big class coming up. Big. I'm plagued by thoughts of my lack of expertise, though people tell me that once I get started on the subject of natural perfumes, I cannot be stopped, and the thoughts and range of ideas that spew forth -- well, 'they' say I should teach classes. I also suffer from stage fright. Terribly. It's the getting started that terrifies me. The follow-up takes care of itself, reference the subject of 'once I get started on natural perfumes, I cannot be stopped'. And the esprit de l'escalier, those things I should have said but couldn't think clearly enough to do so at the time. I know. This takes practice. The trick with imagining my audience in their underwear doesn't work for me. I don't know what will. I'm going to have to just get over it. In the meantime, I deal with near obsessive doubt.