My best friend Jill asked me yesterday,
Do you ever have one of those days where you question everything? Your abilities? Your reason for being? And just get F@#KING pissed off about it? (paraphrased)
I gave her a very specific list of instructions on how to deal with said type of day & relieve stress:
1. Have a very stiff drink.
3. Take a very hot shower and make sure to wash your hair and shave (whatever you shave) in order to delay getting out of shower.
*I should note here that all of the above steps should be taken while your favorite music is blaring. Feel free to sing at the top of your lungs, cuss, cry or scream as needed.
4. Turn off music (and everything else that may be on); make sure that there is total silence and darkness.
5. Take a Xanax and a nap.
6. It will all be a little bit better when you wake up. And, if not, at least you will have gotten an orgasm, a shower & a nap out of the day.
She laughed. My job done. So today it's my turn.
I have yet to take my own steps as listed above, as I prefer a partner in my stress relief, not to mention, I'm working. But I'm also, really pissed off.
My daughter, oh my precious little baby girl, is going to be the slow and painful death of me. She's six and has developed the masterful habit of only eating as many foods as years in her short little life. Not kidding you. She eats potatoes, pound cake, powdered donuts, noodle soup, Land O Lakes White American Cheese, and Sprite. I can't tell you how proud I am that my daughter is a food racist; especially since she is of Puerto Rican, Mexican & Irish descent. Should you think I exaggerate, please feel free to ask the school custodian who's had the pleasure of cleaning up her vomit, because she smelled a "stinky food" in the cafeteria on several occasions.
Her fabulous little habits are encouraged by her other primary caregivers; whom, unfortunately, share many of the same issues. After six years of this crap, I've had enough. Her little brother Ian, who is now 3, is beginning to exhibit many signs of following in her footsteps and we can't even go to a normal restaurant (like Sonic or Chili's...just kidding) without there being a major emotional trauma over the menu. So, I've had to declare war on my daughter's habits, her other caregivers, and our way of life as we know it.
I've spent the morning at the Dollar Store stocking up on positive reinforcements for the battle to come (princess stickers, fake jewelry, and all the other "Hooray, you ate a carrot without puking!" items a Mom could want). I've let her Dad and her Grandma know that after tomorrow afternoon, she will be spending the last two weeks after school with me and then all summer with her Dad in the mornings and with me in the afternoons and nights. No more pound cake and donuts at Grandma's. No more hunger strikes at school just so she gets crap to eat later. No more guilt tripping down to diabetes lane. I have set the perimeters; I have done my research and have printed out the USDA's Dietary Guidelines for Americans (for Children) (www.teamnutrition.gov) We are climbing to the top of a (food) pyramid and planting a flag this summer. I am DONE!
Whew! That felt good!