Yesterday I woke up with a head cold that I am fairly certain is trying to kill me. In fact, even though I had a quasi-job interview (that's a sort-of interview for a sort-of job) and ran a zillion errands in town, the only thing I really remember was the 15 minute nap I took in my car when I was waiting for a lady to buy some of my too-many pairs of shoes.
Being in a perpetual, possibly fever-induced fog like this has given me time to think about some of the things that I am (perhaps) doing wrong these days. The first one that stuck out to me like an arrow point right between my eyes was sending Aspen and the other girls to school mercilessly with this same head cold that has rendered me Absolutely Dysfunctional. What kind of a cruel person, lacking all empathy and understanding, would do that. Where were the Episodes of Five Mile Creek and the popsicles and hot tea and chicken soup? I am a jerk mother. That's just all there is to it. So I am sorry, kids. That I made you suffer through math and PE and even running hills in volleyball, feeling like a Yeti swallowed your entire head. I was wrong.
Also, my sister pointed out to me that I should probably quit writing blogs and write a book, after I pointed out to her that people keep thinking I am writing about them when I am not. If I write something negative or remotely connotative thereof, I know of at least Three People within my inner circle who will automatically assume it is about them and tell their henchmen so. Conversely, if it is shining praise and uber-niceties, an overlapping circle of three or four will assume that it is about them and that it is reverse-flattery, written with a stinging slap of self righteous judgment, which isn't usually true. I will say, to these 5-7 individuals, whom I May or May not be writing to/about, that when I am having a particularly hard time Processing Certain Things, I will write an oppositional view for myself. One about All of The Good Things that perhaps I am not feeling at the moment. I will write gratitude and appreciation to displace my frustration sometimes. Which I believe is a healthy way to deal with a bad attitude in myself. So to my fellow ego-centric readers out there: Sure, I am writing about you: IF THE SHOE FITS. If not, maybe I am ranting delusions on a fever ridden couch. But long story short, my intent is never to hurt or wound or insult or defame. I love you all. Even ex husbands. Mostly.
Another thing that I am sorry for is overcooking. Not in the sense of burning food. But in the sense of Way Too Many Leftovers and How Have I Still Not Figured Out That Three Little Girls Eat Nothing. I have thrown away so. much. food. lately. And it kills me. Every noodle and every leave of lettuce. I have to learn to cook for three people, because on average, that's what I am feeding. Or less. These teenage girls eat like birds and I am not sure that I have ever learned how to cook for less than 10 people. It's awful. The waste. Not to mention that anything I make industriously from scratch they turn their nose up at. If I kept a box of Lucky Charms on the counter continuously, I wouldn't ever have to worry about cooking again. So much for all of those Pinterest crock pot recipes. If there is enough food to cover the bottom of my enormous crock pot, I know I have cooked too much. It's sad really. I have all these lofty aspirations for fall recipes and deliciousness, dashed to bits by picky under eaters. Fine then... after our fourth "leftover night" of the week tonight, I will quit with the bulk healthy cooking and revert to boxed dinners and two portion meals. Because the only thing worse than wasting food is wasting Good Food.
And now I am going to take another nap, my third for the morning, and see if I can pull my head out of the Yeti's mouth. Maybe when I am lucid again I will write another blog, apologizing for this one. Probably.
