Step away from the Cadbury Mini Eggs and nobody gets hurt. I swear, I gain about 10 pounds during lent. I can take or leave the food at any other holiday but there is something about Easter candy that leaves me wanting more and more.
My mom says that it’s because I was born during Holy Week (Tuesday so nothing too special) and that my dad brought her a bag of Brach’s Fiesta Eggs when she was in the hospital so it was in my first milk. Yeah. That’s got to be it.
When I’m in an low-level emotional crisis, I eat. I cage around until I find something maybe suitable and then move on to the next thing if it’s not just right. Tonight it started with nutty bars (my staple and usually scratches the itch) and moved on to homemade chocolate chip cookies. Then a fruit by the foot (changing tactics, wondering if that was it). And then I found the bag of Easter candy that I have been hoarding, I was hoping, until my drive back to Omaha scheduled for this weekend. Half a bag later (because one or two is never enough, oh no) and I might have met my match. I’m going to have to make a cup of tea or drink a ton of water to stave off what will probably be a chocolate hangover in the morning.
It’s not like anything truely awful happened today. I quit eating all together when that happens. I think I’m coming down off of what was a really great week. And now we’re home. And looking forward to company and looking forward to our trip next weekend. I’m not looking forward to the work or being separated from my kids for 10 days (other than the 10 minutes that it will take us to get to daycare). I’m not looking forward to, essentially, weaning. Even though she’s just down to nap time, bedtime and crisis times which aren’t often. (I’m weaning her directly to chocolate milk…any port in the storm)
There is just so much to do this week and I’ve all but wasted today and yesterday, pacing around, not wanting to do any of it. I wanted to do what I wanted to do and couldn’t do it because my tiny tornados get in between me and what I’m doing.
I’ve been attempting to mop my kitchen for 2 days. I manage to sweep it and then something happens.
These two think the fridge has a revolving door. They claim to be hungry, I get what they want and then they eat 2 or 3 bits and claim to be done. Until 30 minutes later. Repeat. All. Day. It’s really frustrating and I feel like I’ve thrown out more food today than they have actually consumed. And it’s both of them. Usually Ella is the culprit. They snack and graze. They ignore actual meals. And it annoys me.
I need to clean the toy room. I need to clean the bathroom. I need to de-clutter my counters and the buffet (have I mentioned that I should not be allowed flat surfaces?) and the top of the entertainment center and the top of the fridge. All are repositories for all things taken away from little fingers. The messy, the expensive, the broken and nearly broken, the pretty, the forbidden, the potentially deadly and the irreplacable. Oh, and the mail. Oy, the mail! I still don’t have a good place for that.
All of this? Requires little hands and feet far, far away from me for more than 6.5 minutes which is all the time I’ve had alone today (a shower). Amelia is needy. It’s like she knows that I’m almost done with the na-na. And she wants to do all the Ella is doing and she can’t. I don’t trust her with markers or play-doh and it makes her mad. Ella loves to make her sister laugh which is cute. But she is often breaking house rules when she does it. And the laughter eggs her on even more. Or, worse, Amelia does something that Ella knows is wrong ( like spitting…only for the bathtub around here) or dropping food on the floor and Ella laughs hysterically. It’s a terrible cycle.
And then there are the errands. The chasing down of the child. The random things in the cart. The whining. The feet in my seat back. The Elmo (or Tom and Jerry or Curious George) DVD on constant play mode because, heaven forbid, we go 8 blocks without being entertained.
I don’t know how I do it. I really don’t. I’m tired of it. The worst part is that I don’t have anyone to really commiserate with me. I’m pretty sure my friends are sick of it and, honestly, every one else has their own family things to deal with and they want somebody to listen to them. Why, for one minute, can it just not be about me? Why can’t I have the energy to cry and feel sorry for myself. Why do I feel the need to cater to my children when it clearly is wearing on my spirit?
It was all I could do not to check myself into a hotel today and call someone to check on my kids. But I wasn’t willing to commit a felony to do it. That, and then we’re back to “what if something happens to one of them.” I don’t even like to go downstairs and switch out the laundry when they are running around. My luck, one of them would choke in the 4 minutes I was away or be bleeding out their eyeballs from running with a contraband pencil or something equally traumatic. Good thing they can’t get into the knives or the laxitives or the bleach. Yet. Something else to worry about now.
Things aren’t a world of suck. There isn’t even anything specific except that I have heavy heart at the moment. I miss the company. I miss the chilly Sunday afternoon non-routines. I miss having someone make me laugh. I miss the “babies are napping” boom-boom on the couch. That totally would have happened today too. I just know it. I’m tired of eating kid food all day, every day. They don’t like what I like and won’t eat what I make so why bother.
I guess that’s the general feeling today. Why bother. How very Eeyore of me.