It hurts my feelings when you scream at me!
A direct quote from my 3-year-old daughter on the way home from the park yesterday. Followed by tears (from her) and protests (from me) and a pacifier spit to the curb (from my 11-month-old son).
I did this. I made this family-sized temper tantrum and knowing it doesn't mean I've actually learned my lesson.
But I'm trying.
Last week, I decided for Rosh Hashanah, that I was going to make the New Year's resolution I'd been avoiding for almost a decade.
I promised my therapist I'd start eating breakfast.
I hate writing this. I hate admitting that I've been holding out for some rock-bottom revelation or thunderbolt epiphany. It's not that I've never had breakfast in ten years, but when left to my own devices, I'll wait until noon, one, two o'clock....then shove too many fistfuls of trailmix in my mouth and wonder why I'm cranky picking up my daughter from pre-school. Then I schedule a playdate and snack for the rest of the day, overeating at night and going to bed thinking ah I'll do it right tomorrow.
I'm 37 years old. I'm supposed to be teaching my kids how to eat healthfully, lovingly, honestly. I'm supposed to be present for them and their hungers. So instead of going through the list of reasons why my behavior has ludicrous and self-centered, I'll tell you how it's been in my three days of eating a protein bar by ten in the morning.
Not so pretty.
The first day I took my daughter to three birthday parties. Yes, three. If I do another hokey pokey and turn myself around, it'll be in an institution. The next day, I scooped her up from school and decided that we would have a picnic in the park, trying to fly her new kite while my son ate twigs. Which led to her announcement that I hurt her feelings when I scream. I didn't even realize that I was screaming. She has a tendency to ask the same question over and over again. I have a tendency to lose it when I'm overtired and underfed.
Just to review:
She's three years old and was in desperate need of a nap.
I'm thirty-seven and the ultimate perpetrator of repetition.
We both hadn't eaten supper.
So my third day of eating breakfast is today. And I'll be honest, I was hungry and more than eager to break my resolution.
You see, my rituals, whether it's repeating prayers or counting out almonds or even overscheduling every second of the day are really dear to me. They protect me from the uglier feelings underneath. I can't get too angry or mean or sad or depressed when all I'm thinking about is my stomach rumbling. I can't grit my teeth or bark at my kids when I'm praying for forgiveness.
At least, that's the hope.
But at some point, I have to evolve. I have manipulated my body for too long and I'm certainly not a better person or nobler or wiser when I am starving. If I want to truly show faith, it has to start with how I treat the world with kindness, especially my kids.
So, at ten o'clock this morning, my alarm went off. My phone says EAT in long, skinny letters. And I feel ugly and scared, sweaty and mean. But you know what?
I unwrap my protein bar, and eat it.
