Sorry, I know You're busy and all, but I have to check in with You about my Lenten sacrifice. I just don't think this no-sweets thing is going to pan out.
In my usual over-all-or-nothing fashion, I thought I could eliminate all refined sugar from my life for forty days as a way to thank You for all You've done for me and my family (the subsequent weight loss would merely be a bonus I would ignore of course). So instead of having a few cookies after dinner, I am now consuming almost entire boxes of Banana Nut Cheerios, causing much lamenting from my children in the morning when all they are left with is Wheat Chex for breakfast.
Speaking of the contents of the pantry, H is also upset since our supply of sweets has diminished in its usual fashion over the last four days, but very little has been replaces, specifically so I don't eat it. So while the kids are happy with a small bowl of vanilla ice cream or few Hershey's kisses as an after dinner treat, my husband is threatening to mutiny. Teddy Grahams just don't cut it for him.
So here's the deal, I will still stay of chocolate for the remaining thirty-six days of lent. You know this is going to be very difficult for me as chocolate is my first choice for any kind of dessert. I didn't even eat any chocolate at the chocolate-themed mother/daughter book club meeting last night - and the entirety of the gathering was spent around a friggin' chocolate fountain! Nothing says gratitude like eating plain graham crackers and marshmallows while seven eight year-old basically bathe in liquid chocolate right in front of you.
I think this is going to work out well for everyone. H will get his well-stocked, pantry back, and the chocolate-free aspect will not bother him (the nonchalance about chocolate is an interesting design element in that gender, by the way), the kids will have all their cereals at their disposal each morning, I will not wind up bloated, cranky and ten pounds heavier from consuming too much peanut butter and cereal try to eat around my cravings, but you will still get to see me struggle every Saturday night when all I want after three glasses of wine is a big, fat slab of chocolate cake. It's a win-win for everyone, no?
Oh, and I know I am not exactly setting the best example for my kid, but I think showing weakness and humility is quite the Christian virtue. Plus, I told her my giving up all sweets would be like her giving up her DS, TV, the Wii and the computer. To which she replied, "That's just too much to ask, Mom".
I won't be naive and assume you have time to send me a sign that this new deal is acceptable to you. Could you just maybe not smite my family. That'd be great, thanks.
Sincerely,
Mary
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Mother may I...
Picture the scenario, dear readers . It's eighty-thirty, all of the offspring have finally been locked in their rooms for the night, the dog has been walked, the dishes have been done, and H, uncharacteristically home for the evening, and I sit down on the couch to watch Survivor. Halfway through the show, I am nursing my, now cold, cup of hot chocolate*, when H asks, "When are you going to be done with that so I can stretch out?" What he means by this, is he wants me to sit at the very end of the couch so he can put his head in my lap and stretch out his bum leg. My reaction?
"CAN I HAVE ONE HOUR A DAY, JUST ONE HOUR, DURING WHICH I DO NOT HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THE NEEDS OF OTHERS AND JUST MY OWN?"
Poor guy. He didn't realize he was feeling the blunt force trauma of a day when I felt like my whole life was being run by others and their needs. It all started innocently enough, with a friend texting me," Hey, wanna go to the St. Patty's parade?" Her children are in school and her husband works from home, so for her, it was a no-brainer. For me, the mental gymnastics began the second my retinas scanned the words. It goes like this:
"OK, St. Pat's is a Thursday, so S will be with Matt, but she has to pick her daughter up at three-thirty, so I'd have to be back to get the girls from school. The parade doesn't start until eleven, and I'd have to get a one forty-five train at the very latest. That's not much time. I could ask Big T to stay with the kids from three-thirty to five, but he's already watching Little Man today so I can take the girls to get ashes at church AND he offered to take the kids over night in a few weeks, so I don't want to bug him again. I could ask my regular high school sitter, but she'd have to do homework with the kids and #1 has her Friday math test the next day, and I'm not sure how well she'd enforce studying time..."
Blah,blah, blah, blah, blah.
After trying to find the perfect solution to this logistical dilemma, I was exhausted and annoyed. At least two times a week I will get a text from H along the lines of, "Stuck in meeting will be late", or "Have to take so-and-so out for dinner, won't be home 'til late". And just like that, his bases are covered. No questions asked, whether it's a work function, or just meeting friends after work for a drink. But for me to get a weeknight out, it's like trying to align the fucking planets, because these kids are my responsibility twenty-four hours a day, Monday through Friday. Any deviation from that plan requires I pay, beg or cajole someone into watching them, since H is out of the picture and relying on "I'll try to get home in time for you to make the movie" is a recipe for disaster.
Yes, yes, I know. This is my job. But trying to take a personal day from this job is hell. My friend S put it best. After you have kids you become plural. Every decision you make revolves around the care and well- being of your family, and, yes, I could say the same for H, but his every shower, meal and bowel movement** does not need to be scheduled around three (or four) other beings. It's like I need everyone else's permission to live my life.
When I stop to think about it, it should make me feel important that I am so central to the lives of these other people that I can not easily call in a sub. And I do feel that way on occasion. I know I will mourn this level of responsibility and connectedness one day, just like I used to complain once in a while about nursing. Having people to be accountable to is part of being in a family, and while being able to walk out the door without a thought might be nice, it would also mean no one was missing me while I Was gone.
*Which, I say, narrowly escapes being on the Lenten-no-sweets list. Look, it's got sugar in it, but it's not a milkshake. You have no idea how hard this first night was. I was almost twitching with the need for sugar. Perhaps that explains the rest of this story.
**Ever wonder why it's women they show in those Activia and Fiber One commercials? H usually goes after his morning cup of coffee. At that point in my day, I'm screaming up the stairs, "DON"T FORGET YOUR SNEAKERS! YOU HAVE GYM TODAY!!!" While trying to wrestle Little Man into his jacket.
"CAN I HAVE ONE HOUR A DAY, JUST ONE HOUR, DURING WHICH I DO NOT HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THE NEEDS OF OTHERS AND JUST MY OWN?"
Poor guy. He didn't realize he was feeling the blunt force trauma of a day when I felt like my whole life was being run by others and their needs. It all started innocently enough, with a friend texting me," Hey, wanna go to the St. Patty's parade?" Her children are in school and her husband works from home, so for her, it was a no-brainer. For me, the mental gymnastics began the second my retinas scanned the words. It goes like this:
"OK, St. Pat's is a Thursday, so S will be with Matt, but she has to pick her daughter up at three-thirty, so I'd have to be back to get the girls from school. The parade doesn't start until eleven, and I'd have to get a one forty-five train at the very latest. That's not much time. I could ask Big T to stay with the kids from three-thirty to five, but he's already watching Little Man today so I can take the girls to get ashes at church AND he offered to take the kids over night in a few weeks, so I don't want to bug him again. I could ask my regular high school sitter, but she'd have to do homework with the kids and #1 has her Friday math test the next day, and I'm not sure how well she'd enforce studying time..."
Blah,blah, blah, blah, blah.
After trying to find the perfect solution to this logistical dilemma, I was exhausted and annoyed. At least two times a week I will get a text from H along the lines of, "Stuck in meeting will be late", or "Have to take so-and-so out for dinner, won't be home 'til late". And just like that, his bases are covered. No questions asked, whether it's a work function, or just meeting friends after work for a drink. But for me to get a weeknight out, it's like trying to align the fucking planets, because these kids are my responsibility twenty-four hours a day, Monday through Friday. Any deviation from that plan requires I pay, beg or cajole someone into watching them, since H is out of the picture and relying on "I'll try to get home in time for you to make the movie" is a recipe for disaster.
Yes, yes, I know. This is my job. But trying to take a personal day from this job is hell. My friend S put it best. After you have kids you become plural. Every decision you make revolves around the care and well- being of your family, and, yes, I could say the same for H, but his every shower, meal and bowel movement** does not need to be scheduled around three (or four) other beings. It's like I need everyone else's permission to live my life.
When I stop to think about it, it should make me feel important that I am so central to the lives of these other people that I can not easily call in a sub. And I do feel that way on occasion. I know I will mourn this level of responsibility and connectedness one day, just like I used to complain once in a while about nursing. Having people to be accountable to is part of being in a family, and while being able to walk out the door without a thought might be nice, it would also mean no one was missing me while I Was gone.
*Which, I say, narrowly escapes being on the Lenten-no-sweets list. Look, it's got sugar in it, but it's not a milkshake. You have no idea how hard this first night was. I was almost twitching with the need for sugar. Perhaps that explains the rest of this story.
**Ever wonder why it's women they show in those Activia and Fiber One commercials? H usually goes after his morning cup of coffee. At that point in my day, I'm screaming up the stairs, "DON"T FORGET YOUR SNEAKERS! YOU HAVE GYM TODAY!!!" While trying to wrestle Little Man into his jacket.
Day 1....
So today is Ash Wednesday. For many years, that didn't really mean a lot to me. When I was kid, that meant seeing a grayish smear on top of my mother's usual thick coating of Covergirl foundation, thinking of her sneaking off to church during her already hectic day at work, and wondering why my father, an agnostic at best, did not have one to match. Then as a teen and young adult, scoffing at the rabid believers who walked around with such hideous symbols of their blind faith. But now, having returned to the fold to some degree, Ash Wednesday has become special to me.
Ash Wednesday heralds the beginning of Lent, a period of forty days where Catholics are supposed to be doing some kind of preparation related to Easter of which I am still unclear, other than dyeing Easter eggs and buying Reese's Peanut Butter eggs for their kids baskets, eating them all, and having to go back to Target for a second batch. Part of this preparation is to "give up" something of importance to show God you understand the important sacrifice he made giving us his son. The choice is yours, as long as what you give up makes it a reasonably challenging sacrifice. I explained to the girls giving up broccoli is not an appropriate choice for a Lenten sacrifice. This year I am giving up desserts.
Stop laughing. At least I was smart enough not to think I could give up wine for forty days. I truly can not remember the last time I gave anything up for Lent. I'm not totally on board with the thanks-for-Jesus-I'm-not-going-to-eat-cupcakes-to-pay-you-back connection, but I was inspired to do it earlier this year by the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur. I love the concept of a day of repentance and atonement (what Catholic doesn't!?), so while I can't fast for the entirety of Lent, going without doughnuts might begin to feel that way. There are times when I could've been a better mother, wife, daughter and friend and I'll try to bear that in mind when H is sitting on the couch next to me wolfing down the Girl Scout cookies that were just delivered.*
I'm also doing this coming from the Irish Catholic perspective of God, first brought state-side by the Puritans, of an angry, judgmental diety, who will smite you should you fail to show enough gratitude for all He has given you. And while I do not truly believe misfortune will befall my family if I eat cake, I do occasionally engage in bartering with the Big Guy. I never told anyone, but I gave up wine in exchange for our house selling quickly two year ago. Luckily, it took two days, and they were weekdays, so we'll never know how serious I actually was. But I do think showing God I know how very lucky I am can't hurt and His seeing me cry at the chocolate-themed mother/daughter book club meeting I have to go to Friday will be pretty good evidence in my opinion.
So here's hopin', dear readers. I might not be able to write due to sugar DT's, but I'm determined to make it. I even inspired #1 to give up her Nintendo DS - which to be fair is like my giving up graham crackers, she enjoys playing it, but it's not really her first choice of screen time - so we will be keeping each other in check. Having her watch me struggle will show her how important I think this is.
It will also make her more understanding when she finds Mommy face-down in her basket come Easter morning.
*My being off sweets will definitely help our effort this year to not consume all the boxes ordered from our Girl Scout daughters by our families before we can deliver them, which is what we did last year. They were all kind enough not to ask where their Thin Mints were. To be fair, they hadn't paid for them yet, and we wound up eating, and paying for, eighty dollars worth of cookies.
Ash Wednesday heralds the beginning of Lent, a period of forty days where Catholics are supposed to be doing some kind of preparation related to Easter of which I am still unclear, other than dyeing Easter eggs and buying Reese's Peanut Butter eggs for their kids baskets, eating them all, and having to go back to Target for a second batch. Part of this preparation is to "give up" something of importance to show God you understand the important sacrifice he made giving us his son. The choice is yours, as long as what you give up makes it a reasonably challenging sacrifice. I explained to the girls giving up broccoli is not an appropriate choice for a Lenten sacrifice. This year I am giving up desserts.
Stop laughing. At least I was smart enough not to think I could give up wine for forty days. I truly can not remember the last time I gave anything up for Lent. I'm not totally on board with the thanks-for-Jesus-I'm-not-going-to-eat-cupcakes-to-pay-you-back connection, but I was inspired to do it earlier this year by the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur. I love the concept of a day of repentance and atonement (what Catholic doesn't!?), so while I can't fast for the entirety of Lent, going without doughnuts might begin to feel that way. There are times when I could've been a better mother, wife, daughter and friend and I'll try to bear that in mind when H is sitting on the couch next to me wolfing down the Girl Scout cookies that were just delivered.*
I'm also doing this coming from the Irish Catholic perspective of God, first brought state-side by the Puritans, of an angry, judgmental diety, who will smite you should you fail to show enough gratitude for all He has given you. And while I do not truly believe misfortune will befall my family if I eat cake, I do occasionally engage in bartering with the Big Guy. I never told anyone, but I gave up wine in exchange for our house selling quickly two year ago. Luckily, it took two days, and they were weekdays, so we'll never know how serious I actually was. But I do think showing God I know how very lucky I am can't hurt and His seeing me cry at the chocolate-themed mother/daughter book club meeting I have to go to Friday will be pretty good evidence in my opinion.
So here's hopin', dear readers. I might not be able to write due to sugar DT's, but I'm determined to make it. I even inspired #1 to give up her Nintendo DS - which to be fair is like my giving up graham crackers, she enjoys playing it, but it's not really her first choice of screen time - so we will be keeping each other in check. Having her watch me struggle will show her how important I think this is.
It will also make her more understanding when she finds Mommy face-down in her basket come Easter morning.
*My being off sweets will definitely help our effort this year to not consume all the boxes ordered from our Girl Scout daughters by our families before we can deliver them, which is what we did last year. They were all kind enough not to ask where their Thin Mints were. To be fair, they hadn't paid for them yet, and we wound up eating, and paying for, eighty dollars worth of cookies.
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