Tag Archives: self-medicate

Over the River and through the Wood

22 Feb

To grandmother’s house we go.  Why?  Because my husband and I think it’s important for our son to maintain a relationship with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.  And it is.  It’s so vital, in fact, my husband says he will think all about it while the boy and I actually drive it- 500 miles in two days.  He’s a real trouper, that spouse.

In some ways it’s good that the spouse stayed home.  Like when I stress ate, for example.  With my family around, not only is stress eating a given, it is fully supported and encouraged via a cornucopia of day-old baked goods sitting on the counter waiting to sustain a person until dinner at 3:45PM.

So when I stress ate the cheese Danish, the apple pie and the sprinkles- no ice cream- just sprinkles, the last thing I needed was my husband “supporting” me with words like: “you don’t even eat candy on Halloween and now you’re in the corner scarfing down Skittles like they’re a bowl of flax seeds,” or “I’m certain that your folks have pictures of our kid somewhere in the house- did you check the closet?  That’s a pretty big closet, maybe they decided to decorate it.  With pictures.  Of our son.  Now let’s put those cream puffs away, shall we?”

His support can be so cloying, I just want a milkshake.

Also without the spouse, traveling was pleasant for most of the trip.  Almost the entire ride went well until late yesterday when, with 15 miles to go, the boy turned on me.  Tired, hungry, stiff and bored, he declared that: he was tired of being in the car, our entire iTunes playlist needed to be chucked, school was a waste of time, I was a mouth breather and he missed Dad.

Well, I missed the spouse too.  Not because I needed someone to turn down the music, defend my large adenoids, note which artists were inappropriate (Beastie Boys, Eminem) or tell me that I drive too fast, too slow, too crazily or too vengefully.  Nor because I missed having someone slam on a brake pedal that doesn’t exist, or claw at the air like the brother who lives in Verdi’s “Il Trovatore.”

I missed the spouse because, in an attempt to make me feel better about my family, I know that he would say that the three pounds I gained (in two days) ended up in all the right places.  And I needed to hear it.  He’s a real trouper, that spouse.

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Socks=Death

30 Oct

October 30, 2011: I have begun wearing socks regularly.  While that may seem hardly worth mentioning, I assure you that the donning of socks is huge.  Going barefoot is how I defy winter.  Going barefoot is my feet saying “hell no” to dampness and cold and a mild case of frostbite- just one and it involved Teva sandals, Jack Daniels and poor judgement.

I have also readied the house for winter ice cream consumption: Redi-Whip whipped cream, sprinkles, maraschino cherries and stretchy pants.

During the months of December, January and February, I eat more ice cream than my entire family does in June, July and August; eating ice cream in the dead of winter is my gustatory machismo saying “hell yeah” to my stomach.

To me, having a hot fudge sundae when it’s really cold out says: “I’m one badass, winter-loving mother.”  (With lots of body fat.)  That, and “I’m too scared to get a tattoo.”

To my husband, eating ice cream when it’s cold out says that I am emotionally eating (again) and that the approaching holidays are fraught with way too much extended family time and expenses and that, maybe, he should not listen when, come December, I will tell him that the only things I want for Christmas are some high quality chocolate-sea salt-caramels.

Instead, his brain will lead him to think that if he gets the caramels, he will inevitably face a Spring filled with radical dieting and “I can’t wear a bathing suit” lamentations and so, he will consider that what I truly need this Christmas are some high quality chocolate-colored wool socks.  He should not think.

Men can be so practical.  (Really?)  And wool socks are certainly great.  But my husband knows.

He knows that no matter how frequently I wore the socks, or how lavishly I praised the chill-repelling qualities of the socks, he knows that from the moment he gave me the socks on, I would, on occasion, contemplate using the socks to suffocate him while he slept because he failed to get the chocolate-sea salt-caramels.

He knows that given the right circumstances- full moon, hormonal imbalance, because it’s Tuesday (or Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday, etc.), he knows that I would kill him and then motor into town for a scoop or two.

And so I am expecting some fabulous candy this holiday season.

October 30, 2011: it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Not So Real Simple

9 Oct

Despite popular magazine philosophy, I know that life cannot be improved by shopping.  Tidying a junk drawer by purchasing an “organizational system” from The Container Store defeats the whole notion of having one place for odd bits.  Besides, Container Stores are for people with way too much money and not enough empty shoe boxes.

Buy more shoes and tell your husband that you needed containers.

So how is it that I, a master at discerning want from need, (which works out well when you happen to need the shoes you want) own nine lipsticks- from “Cherries in the Snow” to “Hint of Brick” which are eight more lipsticks than a person needs and each one is horribly, horribly named.  Except for Chap Stick- it does what it says and makes no promises.

As someone who appreciates make up, especially black eyeliner- how can you not love Joan Jett’s or Chrissie Hynde’s raccoon eyes?- I find my lipstick accumulation strange since my lips are one of my best features in that they do not require Spanx to minimize their bulges.

Perhaps if the colors were aptly named so that they represented the arc of my life like “Look At My Lips So You Won’t Notice That I’m Wearing The Same Clothes I Wore to Work Yesterday” (circa 1988) or “That’s Not Lipstain That’s Last Night’s Merlot” (circa this morning), I might remember what I was hoping to improve  and will therefore continue to cheat ad agencies out of making me feel dissatisfied while still allowing for the occasional shoe binge.

I know my lips were with me when I bought every one of those lipsticks.  I’m just surprised that they weren’t able to talk me out of it.

Summer Vocabulary List

30 Aug

The best souvenirs are free and timeless.

I came home from last week’s trip to the Jersey shore with the following:

“creamify”: to pour heavy cream over fresh peach slices and then freeze.  Useful for those who are no longer able to have sugary ice cream due to recently diagnosed type 2 diabetes, Dad.

“appeasiate”: between appease and abate.  A useful reply to husband yelling “what the hell are you doing?!”  Used when one is driving in Rt. 17 traffic with a crazed BMW on her rear and a kid in the backseat insisting that the only acceptable lunch is Panera Bread which isn’t even good and will later make his stomach queasy, so driver cuts off the BMW with a sharp right turn in an attempt to make everyone happy, thereby “appeasiating” the entire family.  For a folksy, down- home twist, substitute “appeasiatin’.”

“hain’t?”: classic Mom.  Used at the end of sentences when one is attempting to garner support or jog Dad’s memory.  Often combined with “hain’t no?” when an extra syllable is required.

“pownie”: a one pound brownie.  See also: self-medicate, the way the food pyramid ought to look, bliss and guilt.

P.S. We had an earthquake on Tuesday and a mandatory evacuation due to hurricane Irene on Friday- also free and the stories are timeless.

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