My nerves are shot to hell.
First, I’ve got a Facebook feed full of people looking for their birth mothers and cancer patients who want me to “like” their page. And I want to “like” anyone who is sick or missing his/her Mommy, especially children. But sometimes I am just scrolling through and have no intention of leaving a mark, especially because I only have one hand free on public transportation. How can I possibly not “like” someone whose free time is spent in chemotherapy? It stresses me out.
Then, I’ve got a kid who choked on a wad of cereal this weekend. It was real, Heimlich maneuver choking. I pumped his little diaphragm and smacked his back so hard that the wad flew across the kitchen, and then my little guy puked all over me. You never really appreciate the life-affirming presence of puke until your choking kid hurls the breakfast you spent 37 seconds thinking would be his last comes back up.
I’ve also given up ice cream and pudding. I know, I know. It’s as bad as it sounds. Gone are those luscious bowls of sweet escape I used to eat once my children are in bed. They have been replaced by Greek yogurt and roasted unsalted pecans. (Excuse me, but what the hell kind of yogurt did we eat before that Greek stuff came along? Can’t go two feet in the grocery store without hitting a Greek yogurt display.)
Anyway, I got the idea that I was going to eradicate artificial sweeteners from my life and only eat “real food.” All of my sweet treat consumption was full of artificial crap because I didn’t want to get fat eating it. But I want to be a real person who eats real food so until I am willing to eat full fat and full sugar pudding and ice cream (all 16 grams of fat), then I am off the sauce. And it’s making me very grumpy at night.
I didn’t think anyone in my family noticed how grumpy I’ve been during my confectionary detox. I was pretty sure that my burning white-hot rage was well contained. An internal fire, if you will. However, I’m getting some external feedback that maybe a wee bit of my ill temper is seeping out.
The other day Jeff took over my regular duties as Parent Who Does The Library Thing With the Kids. He and Sadie returned with some real f*cking gems. Like that classic
Goodnight Moon When Mommy Was Mad.
“Interesting choice,” I commented neutrally.
“I thought it might be interesting,” Jeff responded.
“They didn’t have a Daddy one?” I inquired pleasantly.
“We didn’t need it.”
And that’s how I ended up searching on-line for the following books to add to our permanent collection:
- When Daddy Hurt Mommy’s Feelings
- When Daddy Bought Mommy A Kate Spade Briefcase For Mother’s Day
- When Mommy Had A Spa Weekend And Daddy Turned Into the Angry One
- Mommy’s Angry Because She’s Committed to A Diet That Is Friendly To Our Planet and Good For Her Health Even if Daddy Doesn’t Support Her.