This morning's dip brought to you by: children who will only eat refined white-flour-based products. Kings Hawaiian bread. Mac and Cheese. Sourdough. Naan. Pizza (with sauce and pepperoni or no sauce whatsoever), quesadillas, pancakes...
This morning's slump also sponsored by children who refuse to eat if their food of choice is not available (rejecting any alternate).
And putting my head down on the kitchen table and not having any idea what to do about this.
And raising my privileged whiny children who feel affronted at the lack of the One True Food. Stomping out of the room and refusing to eat. Making faces at unfamiliar foods. Storming that I cannot make them try new things. Crying at the thought of eating a vegetable.
And me wearing pajamas with a skirt as if that means I am dressed. Hair unwashed, uncombed, unkempt, unloved.
And emptying the lazy susan with cans all over the floor and two garbage bags waiting with their open mouths.
And the wind that pushes curtains in and out like breathing lungs.
And the desire to control every little thing. Especially the way that my children are trying to control every little thing.
And the identity crises of shifting from Depressed to Bipolar.
And a face made of clay.
And giant social events full of running children and small-talking adults. Of jungle gyms and soccer balls. Of picnic blankets, uniform sales and volunteer recruitment tables. Of guilt at not being able to do everything. Of guilt at not having done anything. Of not remembering what I have done.
And the start of new things and the end of old things and the genetic gifts I pass to the next generation.
Move forward to soaking in a bubble bath and painting fingernails purple with sparkles. And finding clothes and shoes. And going for a walk in the wind that blows the breathing curtains. Taking deep breaths of late-summer sunshine.
Or move back. To hiding in my room with the lights off. Covers pulled over my head. With no expression. A minor squall. Wait for this to blow over.
I should know better than to read Anne Sexton.
Grateful Crap: touch-typing. having enough food that my children can sneer at it.
took am meds; took pm meds last night
will take bath
will go for walk
Quaker, teacher, parent,