Anyhoo, what I'm finding myself wanting to talk about but have kept my trap shut about on this blog is the frustrations of being three. This being, at least initially, a food-focused blog, I haven't wanted to vent... er... share my experiences of parenthood of a three-year-old in regard to things away from feeding my child and sharing recipes,
FOR FUCK SAKE!!!
WHAT HAPPENED TO SWEET,
darling-of-a-child that I once had?!?
Now, please know that I'm not bragging when I say this, but I am very pleased to tell you that I did set up a good groundwork for my kiddo's dietary habits. She likes salad, beans are her favorite, she is insistent that I try new things, and she is very good about doing the same herself. My frustrations (happily) do not lie in that realm of our relationship.
What I don't get, however, is the demonic, deaf, banshee-like flopping fits that occur when you hand the child a piece of bread that is toasted as opposed to not.
What I can't grasp is the thrashing about in the carseat in protest to when I turn off the radio in order to hear the child speak. (It is important to listen and hear what your kids are saying to you from time to time, right?)
What I am learning is that when my mother growled these words to me when I was four years old, "You shall reap as you have sewn, young lady" is that what she meant to say was, "When your child is this age, I know that God in Heaven, or Karma, or whatever power is out there that governs your future, youuuuuu wiiillllll ruuuuuueee the daaaaaaayyyyy.
Even now we are having a tug of war. A war of wills. She's screaming and I'm trying to be in my quiet place. (You may be asking yourself, "Why the hell are you writing in a damn blog? THAT's you're quiet place?" Well, it's either venting through my words that someone may read or crying into a pillow, and I don't feel like crying right now. I have dinner to get on the table and I can't see all that well when my eyes are all swollen from tears.)
I feel like an ass hole most of the time, frankly. My friends tell me I'm doing it right, but I still feel bad most of the time. I have guilt that I'm too strict. I feel like I don't take enough time for her: reading, doing puzzles, helping her with you name it... But I'm doing everything else, so I just, ugh, I simply just can't.
I'm tired. I'm always tired. My mom gives me a hard time telling me to ease up on my social calendar, but the truth is, when friends come over with their kids, that's the time where I don't have to entertain the child. It's the time when I get to actually have adult conversation. It's the time where I don't have to censor myself (too much), and it's the time when I can tuck away for 5 minutes and get the laundry out of the dryer without company.
I have a confession. Today, when I left work, I stepped into the elevator and when the door closed, I cried a bit during the ten-floor descent. I knew that that time would be the only time I would have to myself all day.
That's all for now.
Expect more ''sharing of life experiences" than recipes for the time being.
For dinner tonight: Mom had Triscuits and Tillamook Cheddar cheese (an über comfort food favorite) and for Lorelei... I don't know. My dear friend Lidia just called and kicked me out of the house. Mama's going to see Mark Bittman speak in Seattle tonight.
This week's guilty pleasures:
- The afore mentioned Triscuits and Cheddar Cheese
- Trader Joe's cheapest wine (just above Gato Blanco)
- Essential Bakery's rosemary bread with tomatoes, fresh mozz, and basil
- The Voice
- David Cross' I drink for a reason