My Love Affair with Chocolate

If you really, truly care about me, then you know that I really, truly care about chocolate. I really consider it one of the greatest things on the planet. It’s my best friend, my lover, my confidant. I go to it when I’m happy, when I’m sad…ok, pretty much any time at all when I’m feeling any way at all. Chocolate never lets me down. It solves all my problems (temporarily).

When I was pregnant, I craved chocolate even more than normal (if that’s possible). I went to sleep thinking about chocolate, dreamed about chocolate, and then woke up still salivating. I’m pretty sure there have been studies done that show it boosts our endorphins or something like that. Haven’t taken the time to go and look those up, but all that’s really important to me, personally, is that it’s delicious and it makes me feel GREAT.

I have shared more than a few choice statuses on Facebook – things to the effect of “How much chocolate is too much chocolate? *Feeling crazy*” and “Have you ever forced yourself to go to sleep early so as to prevent yourself from eating even more CHOCOLATE?” I may have a problem.

Speaking of chocolate, I friggin LOVE Entenmann’s Rich Frosted Doughnuts (I refuse to surrender to the madness and spell it “donuts”). I have found myself sitting in my kitchen on many occasions in utter awe wondering how in the heck they make those things SO INCREDIBLY DELICIOUS. I finally decided to check the ingredients….and I have something very sad to report.

THE MAIN INGREDIENT IS OIL. (Pro tip: the ingredients listed on a food product are listed in order from greatest to least amount contained). Even more than the bleached enriched flour (now that sh*t’s in everything)! Makes sense. That’s how they get that perfect gentle crunch on the outside. Cooking it in such a way with all that oil so as to make the outer shell just slightly crunchy – like chicken nuggets, but less crunch.

Unsurprisingly, discovering this sad reality has not deterred me from consuming an unhealthy amount of them every chance I get. My best bet is to just stop buying the things. That way, I don’t have to worry about my lack of self control. I can’t eat them if they’re not around!

Any other chocolate lovers out there? What chocolate dessert can YOU not resist?

A Day at the Deli

I’m working at my in laws’ deli today. They took a little road trip to South Carolina (my husband and 3 year old in tow!) to attend their younger son’s graduation from basic training (Whoo!!! Congrats, Soldier! We are so proud of you!)

So, I started working yesterday evening, then closed up shop at 12:30 am (ending my adventurous day by ushering out a homeless lady), lay in bed for what felt like an hour (but I was too scared to actually check the time), only to wake again less than 3 hours later to open up shop again at 4:30 am. I don’t know about you guys, but I am proud of myself for killing it (but not killing myself) the past couple days. Pretty impressive, I say.

I am typing this out on my iPhone (because why not? I’ve got nothing better to do in between tapping on my cash register). Also, I figure once in a while, I should write spontaneous posts and impress my (again, hundreds and thousands of) readers with my ability to be hilarious on demand.

Anyway, the lack of sleep is starting to get to me. My “You’re welcome”s have turned into “Y’wuhcums”. I also just this moment was caught staring, mouth open, at a customer for 3 seconds before snapping back to reality and handing him his change. 

I thought I was immune to sleepiness at this point because of all the sleep deprivation that comes with motherhood (and worsens with mother-of-twohood). But I guess this is another level of tiredness. I’ve been carrying boxes around and rearranging drinks all day in order to avoid dying of boredom during the lulls. Thankfully, I’m off soon! 45 more minutes, Diane! You can do it!

As I mentioned, my son is on a little trip with his daddy and grandparents and I am just so proud of him because as far as I’ve heard, he is being cooperative and well mannered (and to my greatest relief, not crying inconsolably for me). He was so good when we said good-bye! (The new robot I bought him helped) My little boy is growing up! I miss him!!! 

Also, I need a nap. 

Mommy

When I was little, I called my mom Mommy. At some point, I decided Mommy didn’t sound cool enough and I needed to graduate to calling her Mom. I don’t think I was the only one out there that thought this was a rite of passage. With my newfound coolness came an aloofness. I was uncomfortable being seen with my mom too much, I shuddered when she called me her “baby”, and I quite disrespectfully pushed her away (physically and emotionally) when she told me to put more clothes on.

Thankfully, this phase didn’t last long and I came back around. And, of course, there she was, patiently waiting with open arms (both figuratively and literally). A mother’s love is so unconditional; no matter how cruelly her children may treat her at times, she retains nothing but love. (I dread the day my own daughter will yell at me from across the room, “I hate you!”, but I know the day will come. I remember doing this impulsively out of desperation, of course not really meaning it and instantly regretting it every time, but too proud to retract anything.)

One of many little memories.

I’ve been playing memories on repeat recently. Just random ones, whichever ones I can gather. The saddest part of grief, for me, is the feeling that my mother is slipping away. Obviously, her physical body has already slipped away, but I so wish that I could hold onto her memory completely and absolutely. When she died, I wanted to freeze for eternity everything I remembered and everything I felt about her. The way I knew her then, I wanted to know her forever. But that’s just not how brains work, is it? It’s been 15 months and my memories are already fading. I feel like I’m squinting at the blackboard at the front of a huge classroom. Maybe I’m just being dramatic (That happens from time to time). It’s not that I’m forgetting everything. I remember almost everything…vaguely. Some memories are clearer than others. Bits and pieces are crystal clear.

I have found myself on occasion straining to remember what her voice sounds like. Then desperately clicking through old videos to remind myself.

One night, in particular, I remember. Someone had asked me that day what my favorite flower was. It used to be irises; now it’s roses. I’m fickle. And then my thoughts wandered to my mother, as they often do, and it dawned on me that I didn’t know what her favorite flower was. It stabbed me in the heart like a knife that I couldn’t ask her.

I suppose I’ll have to write that one down on my list of questions to ask her in a hundred years.

Interesting Turn of Events

So, remember how T had a scratching incident at daycare and I went in to have a little “Let’s talk about how we can work together to teach T to keep his hands to himself” meeting? The meeting went well and we decided to start using a chart to reinforce his good behavior. When he refrained from hitting, pushing, etc all day, he got a sticker which he then cashed in for a prize from me (sometimes it was a toy car and sometimes it was a trip to the ice cream shop). I have since been a lot more actively involved and consistent in guiding the interaction between him and his sister at home (The dishes can wait! I’m molding my son into a decent human being!). I’ve also borrowed this great book recommended to me by a friend called Hands are Not For Hitting and I enjoy reading this to him because it clearly, simply explains proper ways to use our hands versus improper ways to use our hands (E.g. Hands are not for hitting. Hands are for eating and drinking.). I’ve developed a mantra that I repeat to him several times a day: “Hands are for helping, not hurting.” I read somewhere (If I had a nickel for every time I said that…) that it’s good to emphasize the positive action whenever possible, so I’m always looking for a way to remind him what he SHOULD do instead of just what he should NOT do.

ANYWAY. Enough back story. At some point during the meeting, the topic of my profession (kindergarten teacher) came up and they stopped dead in their tracks and completely switched gears to tell me about their search for a part time Reading (in English) teacher. I was surprised, yet flattered, and I thanked them for the info and told them I’d give it a think. Talked to my husband and in laws, thought about transportation, babysitting, time requirement, and all the other little obligations, and eventually decided that it wasn’t the right time (or fit. Or both.). Little did I know, this place does not like taking no for an answer!

Several weeks, modified propositions (from both of the directors) and inquiries later, I have myself a job (albeit a teeny tiny one)! I don’t know why they wanted me on their staff so badly, but they pretty much bent over backwards to make it possible for me to work there. Must be my infectious personality and heart stopping good looks. I’ve decided there must be a reason the issue just kept resurfacing and never going away. Maybe it was the universe telling me this is what I’m meant to do right now. I’ll let you know how it goes!