How to Manage Your Candy Consumption
Another Halloween in the books.
The Dino Wrangler.
The Candy Doctor.
The dinosaur really wanted the doctor’s stethoscope, resulting in many minutes of tears. Then the doctor lost his scrub cap and was deeply disturbed. (Perhaps he will not be allowed to scrub in on today’s cool surgery because he can’t keep up with his personal belongings?) Then we waved a Reese’s pumpkin in front of him and the memory of his scrub cap was permanently erased.
Crises mitigated, and we can call Halloween 2011 a reasonably successful venture. Now we face the aftermath: the candy. It’s hard to resist all that high fructose corn syrupy deliciousness, so here are a few thoughts on candy consumption management.
In An Ideal World
My favorite Skinnygirl recommends keeping a few pieces of your favorites in the freezer. They take longer to eat, so you enjoy each piece more and eat less.
In My World
Favorite candy is nestled in the freezer, resting ironically on bags of organic vegetables. Twelve hours later, a dentist is necessary after breaking a tooth on frozen candy. Frozen candy is hard; thawing is tedious. Note to self: this is not a reasonable option for simpletons who need instant gratification.
Caution: Thaw Before Eating.
Ideal World
Take all the leftover candy, put it in a Target bag and tie it shut. Put the bag in the garage with a note on it, asking your husband to take it to the office. (What the hell, neighborhood kids? Did the school night throw you off your game? Even with those three boys who charged the door, pushed me backward, and lurched at the candy like wee crack heads looking at a bowl full of free pipes, we had a lot of leftover candy.)
My World
Husband forgets to take the candy with him, citing important meetings and a lot of work-related stuff on his mind. Whatever. Spend the rest of the day making up reasons to go to the garage. Discover that the Target bag is “defective” and has “hole” in it. Look at that, a fun-sized Snickers bar just “fell” out of the bag. Weird.
The Mysterious Case of the Hole in the Bag. A Scooby-Doo episode in the making.
Ideal World
Realize that you are a grown ass woman, in charge of your decisions and in complete control of your cravings.
My World
Sure, that’ll happen.
I wonder…
:: If you have control over the candy, rather than vice versa, I don’t want to hear about it. You are freakishly strong and mature. Move along. (Nope, not a question. I’m aware.)
:: What do you do with all the candy? We let the kids have a piece or two a day for a couple days, and then they begin to forget all about it. Eventually I throw it all out. It helps that I managed to convince H that candy goes bad after a few days. Just wait until he finds out the stuff is packed with preservatives and contains not one bit of actual food, allowing it to last through the apocalypse. Boy am I going to be in trouble.
read moreRevisiting The Plank in My Eye
Another one from the vault. I’ll be back next week with my usual sparkling, original content {when is somebody going to invent the sarcasm font?}.
Until then, here’s the story of the time I walked around with a toenail in my eye. For an entire day.
*****
Not a plank. A toenail.
There was a toenail in my eye.
Just typing it completely grosses me out. My guess is you’re both disgusted and curious. I can’t help you with the disgust, but I can solve your curiosity.
As I was clipping my toddler’s toenails, one of his little nails flew out of the clippers and right up into my eye. I blinked a few times, didn’t feel it anymore and went on with my day.
Ten hours later, my eye started to hurt. There was kind of a dull, throbbing pain in the back of my eye, and a sharper, more irritating pain around the front, specifically in area of my lower eyelid.
My husband and I were having a glass of wine and reviewing the endless to-do list (I mean, how is that for romance, baby? Ugh. We are old, married people.). I was so distracted by this eye irritant that I finally asked him to take a look.
Me: One of P’s toenails flew in my eye today and I think it must have left a scratch or something. Can you look?
[Imagine befuddled husband here.]
Mark: A what flew in your where?
Me: A toenail. In my eye. What’s so hard to understand?
[I pull my lower lid down a bit so he can look for the scratch.]
[Imagine horrified, creeped out husband here.]
Mark: I can see it. Hold still.
Me: Is it a big scratch?
Mark: No, I don’t see a scratch… I see a toenail!
[Imagine totally mortified me.]
Let’s just consider this for a second. There was a toenail, albeit a tiny, baby toenail, in my eye for ten hours. In my eye. For ten hours.
What, exactly, is the craziest part of this story? I have no idea. Is it that a toenail flew out of the clippers and into my eye in the first place? Or the fact that said toenail remained in my eye (in. my. eye.) for ten hours? Ten!
I knew that motherhood would entail sacrifices, pain, suffering and giving up some parts of me for the betterment of my children. I prepared myself for years of wiping (bottoms, noses, sticky counters and floors…). I prepared myself for lack of sleep. I prepared myself for trips to the ER and broken hearts and the eventual empty nest when the boys grow up. I prepared myself for baby giggles, family dinners, trips to the zoo. I prepared myself for amazing firsts. And days filled with hope. Nights filled with dreams.
I did not, in any way, prepare myself to one day remove my child’s toenail from my eye socket.
I kind of like the symmetry here, to be honest. I carried the child for ten months. I carried his toenail for ten hours. That’s nice, isn’t it?
I wonder, what’s your weirdest parenting-related injury?
*********************************************************************************
Two notes:
1. My eye is fine. Thank you for asking. It’s a bit watery and I still have a dull ache, but I am fairly certain there’s no permanent damage. At least not to my eye. I’m not sure Mark or I will ever look at a toenail the same way again.
2. What’s up with eyes this week? And P, for that matter? First he gets a shiner, and then his toenail is the culprit in this mishap. Not sure what to make of that…
read moreGuest Post at The Wheelchair Mommy
H, watching salmon go through the ladders at the Ballard Locks in Seattle.
Do you know the difference between a trip and a vacation? Have you met their lovechild, the TriCation? I’m at The Wheelchair Mommy today, talking about all of it.
The Wheelchair Mommy is written by Priscilla, who just had her third baby boy, and after meeting Baby Nathan I had to seek a cure for Baby Fever. I immediately went to one of those horrific jumpy places and watched germ-riddled children yell, scream and push each other. Cured. At least until the next time Nathan joins us for our Austin Bloggers Girls Night Out.
I’m honored to guest post over at Priscilla’s place today. So go on now. Click away… I’ll see you back here on Thursday.
read moreCrazyville, Population: Me
If you’re seeing weird formatting below, as I am, I apologize. Something technical is going on here, and I don’t excel at technical. Will work on fixing this before the next post… Thanks!
***
The other day was perfect. The children were in full-on adorable mode, and even I held myself together quite nicely. We laughed and played and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. And yes, I’m writing this here partly to have a permanent record of the fact that we all behaved for one entire day.
I’m also writing it because at the end of the day I didn’t think, “This day was a smashing success and I am so blessed!”
I ended the day thinking, “Oh, Lord, don’t let this day be our last one together.”
What? What is wrong with me and why did I go there?
When she spoke at Blissdom, Brene Brown told a fictional story about a family out for a drive at Christmas, having one of those picture-perfect family moments. I’m paraphrasing in the extreme here, but she painted a picture of peace and joy. Of near-Norman Rockwellian bliss.
As she spoke, I was thinking, “Oh, please don’t end this story by telling me a tractor trailer ran over their car, killing them all instantly.”
Turns out, I am a good student, because that is exactly what she knew I would think. No, the family didn’t die. They had a fantastic Christmas, visions of sugar plums and all. Ms. Brown’s point was that most of us do exactly what I did. We ruin all joy, refusing to revel in it, by assuming the worst.
We do it for a number of reasons, including my favorite – and the one at the top of my personal Crazyville list – we think if we imagine the worst, it won’t happen. Like we can control the world with our minds. My own self doesn’t listen to me half the time, making it absurd to think my mind has power over anything else on the planet.
In the process of dwelling on worst-case scenarios and imagining fiery crashes, we eliminate our joy. We effectively tell ourselves we don’t deserve to dwell in joy, because then something terrible is going to happen. And boy won’t we feel stupid when it happens. I was so happy, and now look, we’re all dead. If I had prepared for this death by walking through life like Eeyore, this never would have happened.
Bullshit.
Of course it’s bullshit. We deserve to experience every ounce of joy we can squeeze from our lives. And we should hold tight to it, because – as we’ve discussed – we have no control over where things are going.
I heard Brene Brown speak in January, and since then I’ve done a good job of holding it all together. I’ve worked hard to be present, to let my emotions do their thing. Happy, sad, excited, scared. I’ve felt it all and then some. I’m not sure how successful I’ve been, but I have worked at being more open, accessible. If that means it hurts sometimes when things don’t go how I hoped, that’s okay. At least I was there; at least I tried.
In the last few weeks, however, I feel a backslide. Maybe it’s kindergarten looming. Maybe it’s attempting to reclaim my professional self and try my hand at some new writing endeavors. Maybe I’m just nuts.
This morning I had a babysitter scheduled so I could steal away and work for a couple hours. Before I left, my two year old asked me to read I Love You Through and Through four times. And he said I yuv ewe, mommy, while clinging to my neck. The five year old wept when I left, begging to go with me so he could spend time with me.
Did I think, What beautiful, sweet children? Yes, I did. But I also thought, Oh, God, what do they know that I don’t? Are their sensitive, intuitive souls picking up on impending doom?
The insanity, it’s rampant. I can see the city limit sign from here and it says: Crazyville, Population: You, crazy lady! Get it together.
I know the answer is to consciously choose joy. To work at it. And to not accept anything less. But I’m really doing a terrible job with that right now.
I wonder…
:: How do you reign in the crazy when you feel yourself going there?
:: Any tried and true exercises for staying in the present and enjoying your life, rather than worrying it away? (Me, I know how well I do when I am prayerful, so why don’t I do that?)
read moreToday
There are PJ’s. There is snack in the play room. There is extra TV time while eating snacks. In the play room. There are piles of bean bags, blankets and pillows. There just might be cookies after lunch.
Today.
There is no guilt. There is no we really should do… There is no manic wiping of tiny hands and sweeping of crumbs. There is no not right now, I’m busy.
Today.
There is yes. There is a lot of sure, why not? There are hugs, kisses. There is joy, the kind that only comes from watching small brothers make a tent fort, and decree their own fort rules.
Today.
There is the ease of home. The comfort of knowing love. The safety of place, our place.
Because?
Tomorrow.
Soon.
Too soon.
The floors will be clean, the windows free of hand and face prints. The laundry will be for two. The bean bags and blanket forts put away for good. The small boy in a dress-up apron, carrying a pad for taking orders and a tray filled with play food, will be gone. The small boy ordering a slice of plastic pizza, saying “Yummy! Dat’s good!” when he finally tastes his make-believe meal, will be gone.
Tomorrow.
There will be new joys. New laughter. Surprising, amazing adults who drive and shave and roll their eyes at embarrassing, old Mom.
Tomorrow.
It won’t be bad, or sad. It will be different.
So.
Today.
I lay my cheek against baby-fine hair and breathe in warm sleepiness. I say yes. I watch them play and talk and rest. I listen. I laugh. A lot. I cry a little and hope nobody notices. I choose not to worry about brain-rotting TV and teeth-rotting cookies. We can worry about that tomorrow. Forever. But not
Today.
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