For a number of reasons, yesterday wasn't a great day. First, I had to
o much to do, but all I really wanted to do was sit on the porch swing and read. Second, I walked into the corner store to get my post-power-walk coffee just as freshly baked [the aroma was to die for] bagels were being delivered. Third, there was an entry in my date book that read, Brunch-11:00. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out if this was a mistake or if I/we really had a brunch. Since I am a very organized person, I figured I wrote this in as a "maybe", but never confirmed it. Just in case, though, I c
alled a few people, asked my husband and kids, and even called my neighbor on her cell when I saw her speeding out of her driveway at 10:45 to ask her if I was supposed to be where she was heading. Laughing, she said no. Alas, I just couldn't remember, ate one of those blasted bagels, and got on with my day.
I w
as heading back home after chauffeuring my son to his tennis lesson, my dog to the vet for a bath, and my daughter to her rehearsal when I started fantasizing about installing a port-a-potty and kitchenette in the car. I was really getting into the design when my cell phone 
rang. Hello, I said. On the other end was my friend Pam who asked, "Are you lost?". I stared out at the road thinking lost?, when I suddenly remembered what that 11:00 brunch entry was. Horrified at this faux pas, I pulled onto a side street, apologized profusely, and tried not to sound like the idiot I felt. It was Pam's 50th birthday brunch being hosted by her daughter, and I was supposed to be there with heels on and gift in hand. My bad! I'm bad! Just plain bad!
Those two paragraphs above lead up to this: We are neither alone nor original in how we deal with our small universe. Hear me out.
I'm upset about Pam, frustrated about all the driving hither and yon, and numb from standing in forever lines at 3 different supermarkets [Whole
Foods, Trader Joes and Acme]. To me, this back and forth, in and out of the car is the most exhausting thing in the world. On my way to pick up my daughter, I decide that I would feel a whole lot better if I had a Dairy Queen vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles. Yep. That's what would make me feel better. It's 5:00 PM, but what the hell -- I buy the cone -- I didn't really enjoy it.
I picked up my daughter and headed home. When we got home, I was truly in no mood
to make dinner, but I had defrosted chicken and it needed to be cooked. While the chicken was doing its thing, I decide to do mine - improve my mood by munching on some mini chocolate donuts [PMS stash - although a bit old and stale, I still ate them]. After dinner, I answered emails and in response to a friend's question of how I'm doing, I write back about my day and the food I used to boost my spirits. This is what my friend [with the PhD in Psychology] wrote back:
I had Dairy Queen this week too - a chocolate cone with chocolate sprinkles. I found it very unsatisfying because I wanted a strong chocolate taste - so I immediately drove to 7 - 11. They have a chocolate brownie there that understands what chocolate means. I felt guilty about eating such bad food and thought perhaps I was PMSing, but I was wrong. The job of parenting is about endless giving, which becomes depleting, which is why we sometimes try to fill up again - with something, anything, that is for us - a private joy if you will.
Wow, two educated, healthy-eating, caring about our bodies, exercise freak
s eating dairy queen and then some. It struck me that if she and I were doing this, there must have been hundreds [thousands?] of other men and women eating their "Dairy Queen" and then some. See what I mean? We're not alone...
o much to do, but all I really wanted to do was sit on the porch swing and read. Second, I walked into the corner store to get my post-power-walk coffee just as freshly baked [the aroma was to die for] bagels were being delivered. Third, there was an entry in my date book that read, Brunch-11:00. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out if this was a mistake or if I/we really had a brunch. Since I am a very organized person, I figured I wrote this in as a "maybe", but never confirmed it. Just in case, though, I c
alled a few people, asked my husband and kids, and even called my neighbor on her cell when I saw her speeding out of her driveway at 10:45 to ask her if I was supposed to be where she was heading. Laughing, she said no. Alas, I just couldn't remember, ate one of those blasted bagels, and got on with my day.I w
as heading back home after chauffeuring my son to his tennis lesson, my dog to the vet for a bath, and my daughter to her rehearsal when I started fantasizing about installing a port-a-potty and kitchenette in the car. I was really getting into the design when my cell phone 
rang. Hello, I said. On the other end was my friend Pam who asked, "Are you lost?". I stared out at the road thinking lost?, when I suddenly remembered what that 11:00 brunch entry was. Horrified at this faux pas, I pulled onto a side street, apologized profusely, and tried not to sound like the idiot I felt. It was Pam's 50th birthday brunch being hosted by her daughter, and I was supposed to be there with heels on and gift in hand. My bad! I'm bad! Just plain bad!Those two paragraphs above lead up to this: We are neither alone nor original in how we deal with our small universe. Hear me out.
I'm upset about Pam, frustrated about all the driving hither and yon, and numb from standing in forever lines at 3 different supermarkets [Whole
Foods, Trader Joes and Acme]. To me, this back and forth, in and out of the car is the most exhausting thing in the world. On my way to pick up my daughter, I decide that I would feel a whole lot better if I had a Dairy Queen vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles. Yep. That's what would make me feel better. It's 5:00 PM, but what the hell -- I buy the cone -- I didn't really enjoy it.I picked up my daughter and headed home. When we got home, I was truly in no mood
to make dinner, but I had defrosted chicken and it needed to be cooked. While the chicken was doing its thing, I decide to do mine - improve my mood by munching on some mini chocolate donuts [PMS stash - although a bit old and stale, I still ate them]. After dinner, I answered emails and in response to a friend's question of how I'm doing, I write back about my day and the food I used to boost my spirits. This is what my friend [with the PhD in Psychology] wrote back:I had Dairy Queen this week too - a chocolate cone with chocolate sprinkles. I found it very unsatisfying because I wanted a strong chocolate taste - so I immediately drove to 7 - 11. They have a chocolate brownie there that understands what chocolate means. I felt guilty about eating such bad food and thought perhaps I was PMSing, but I was wrong. The job of parenting is about endless giving, which becomes depleting, which is why we sometimes try to fill up again - with something, anything, that is for us - a private joy if you will.
Wow, two educated, healthy-eating, caring about our bodies, exercise freak
s eating dairy queen and then some. It struck me that if she and I were doing this, there must have been hundreds [thousands?] of other men and women eating their "Dairy Queen" and then some. See what I mean? We're not alone... Quote of the Day: "Do or do not. There is no try" Yoda
5 comments:
i didn't hear about this bad day mommmyy! shame shame....:P <3love you
You deserve Dairy Queen Bobbie!
Hundreds? Thousands? TRY MILLIONS babe! There are millions of mothers out there comfort eating... me too!
I understand you better than you think. I made a batch of brownies with a homemade whipped cream topping as dessert for our friend's one year anniversary. The six people at last week's anniversary dinner did not finish the dish ... so I ate the brownies all week long. No matter where I went or what I did, I had to finish off that pan of leftover brownies. It culminated on Saturday after class. Jaime asked me to get him a latte at DDonuts, so I got him a latte and me a decaf coffee and powdered donut. The donut was stale but I ate it anyway and then when I got home, I savored the last brownie in the pan. I turned to Jaime (whose been training for an iron man) and said, "Thank G-d I won't have to come home to that batch of brownies anymore and you'll have to beg me to make them in the future."
I think most people who have the means to do so do some stress eating. I see it as inevitable enough that I don't worry about it, I just try to do a bit more exercise and have other coping mechanisms so that it doesn't get out of hand.
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