I Cried This Morning...

If you've been following my blog for the past few weeks, you'll remember that I'm nuts. Well, technically not 'nuts' per se, but coming off of an anti-depressant addiction I wasn't aware of has left me with emotions scattered all over the place. Like, seriously.

For example, last night 17 was looking at a video on the Book of the Faces, and when I asked her what it was, she told me it was a deaf woman hearing her husband's voice for the first time.

MUSH. <--------- That's what I turned to upon viewing the video.

This morning I had my tunes playing while I was getting ready for work, and John Denver came on, crooning his beautiful ballad "Country Roads". Shut up, I like John Denver, don't you judge me.

Anyway, I'm not sure if it's because WVU was crushed last night by Kentucky and knocked out of March Madness, or the fact that my baby will be a freshman there this fall, but my eyes welled up with tears and I cried. I told myself through my tears that I was being an idiot. I didn't argue with myself, I know better. I'll lose, every time.

But I cried this morning. I cried because it's a pretty song. I cried because my baby is leaving home in less than 6 months. I cried because my emotions are completely fucked up because of the anti-depressants. Am I depressed? No, I don't think I am. Am I an emotional train wreck? No doubt in my mind that yes, I am. I have tears in my eyes just writing this.

Last week, we went to the state capitol  for our high school's symphonic honor band performance. Both of my girls  are in that band and they overwhelm me with their talents. During their last song of the performance, Angels in the Architecture, I cried like a freaking lunatic. I cried at the beauty of the music, the difficulty of the 15 minute piece, the solos that my trumpet playing senior had. I cried knowing that this is her last year playing in this award winning band, a band that changed who she is and contributed to making her a confident young adult. The difference from who she was 4 years ago to who she's become is startling (in a good way) and I cried at how proud of her I am, proud of both my daughters.

The band director asked if anyone had taken any pictures during that performance. I didn't even try, because I was such a mess that you'd need a Dramamine to view them, they'd be so badly out of focus from my ridiculous crying ass.

When I think about her graduation in just over 2 months, I cry. I can't even begin to imagine what I'm going to be like on that day, but here's a tip: BUY STOCK IN KLEENEX. Trust me, you won't regret it. My baby will be playing alongside her big sister in the symphonic band's final performance of the year, and it will be the last time both my girls will play together in the same band. And yes, I'm crying again as I am writing that sentence. DAMN YOU EFFEXOR!

Make no mistake, I was a crying fool long before the anti-depressants and probably a crying fool while on them. But now that I'm off, Jesus, Mary and St. Joseph, I'm a thousand times more emotional than I've ever been.

I cried this morning. I will cry again soon, of that I have no doubt. It's gotta be normal, right? The emotional wreck that I've become is a side effect of leaving the meds behind, I know that. But I also know that I'm not alone. I received so many comments on my Mamalode piece letting me know that I am in good company, and for that company I am ever grateful. If you are trying to overcome an addiction, whether it's one you knew you had or you had no clue, YOU TOO are NOT ALONE. Come sit by me and we'll cry together. And we'll get through it. Together.

Mommie Dearest...

I’m not exactly sure why I don’t like white wine. I just don’t. I like white grapes. I like white bread. I like white cats. It’s just the white wine that I don’t like. I also wonder what the deal is with lima beans. I don’t like ‘em. I like baked beans, I like beans in the bean soup my mother would always make after Easter, I like black beans and kidney beans, but lima beans rank right up there with liver and brussel sprouts on my list of non-faves. Beets, now there’s another thing that I could never sink my teeth into. So to speak. I don’t know if it’s the texture, or their striking resemblance to cranberry sauce from a can, but I just hate the taste of beets. I love cranberry sauce from a can, so maybe it’s just a deep seeded sense of resentment that the beet doesn’t taste as wonderful as canned cranberry. Who knows?

Anyway, my topic today is children and their eating habits. 14 and 12 could NOT be any more opposite in their food tastes and sometimes it makes me meshuggeneh. (it’s a word). For instance, 12 will eat almost anything that I make. Does it hurt that 12 is a tremendous suck up? No, not at all. She is my pleaser. She is my Bill Clinton. She feels my pain. She’d eat a fried tennis ball if I told her it would make me so happy. She eats almost anything that she is fed.  12’s favorite food is broccoli. Now I don’t for a minute actually BELIEVE that, but it’s what she WANTS grown-ups to believe, so who am I to say otherwise? However, 14 is a totally different story. Let’s start with rice. Ew. Rice. Hates the consistency. It’s awful. It’s so, small and…..ricey. 14 wouldn’t be caught dead gagging down even a grain of rice. Why, then, can I not keep a box of Rice Krispies in the house?? Same thing!! Rice Chex? GONE faster than you can say Chex Mix Rocks. But when I make a dish that has rice, she’s always looking for an alternative. “Mom can you make mashed potatoes instead?” No. “Can you make mashed potatoes AND rice?” No. Can you get over your hatred of rice? “No”. Then it seems we are at an impasse.

Let’s move on to anything that grows out of the ground and starts with the letter V and ends in table. If it’s not corn, 14 won’t touch it. I can make a can of peas (Peas!! Who doesn’t love peas?? They’re adorable and cute and taste so sweet!!) and I’ll put 6 peas on 14’s plate. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences should be alerted the next time 14 has 6 peas on her plate, because Meryl Streep has NOTHING on 14 when it comes to best dramatic performance. She chokes, she gags, she spits. You’d think I actually fried up something that came out of our dog Cosmo’s butt and made her eat it. (To be honest, he used to eat his own poo, so if it’s good enough for Cosmo, I don’t know why it’s not good enough for 14 but that’s a blog for another day). 

How about tomatoes? They’re not really a vegetable, right? They’ve got seeds. They’re fruit. Now while I will admit that I don’t personally enjoy the tomato, I will eat it in a dish where the tomato is a key ingredient. I make a delicious Pampered Chef recipe that my friend Jen gave to me called Zesty Ravioli. The recipe calls for diced tomatoes but when I make this recipe, 14 always ends up with a pile of little diced tomatoes that she picks out. When I make this recipe and serve it with a bagged salad, she ends up with a plate of diced tomatoes and a salad bowl with all the little teeny shredded carrots she’s picked out and put to the side. I could probably feed a small African village with all the colorful, healthy veggies 14 piles to the side. Call Bob Geldolf, we can do Live Aid 3 and send tons of veggies to those less fortunate. It doesn’t bother 14 that there are starving children in Africa, she won’t eat a pea.

I’ve learned to just roll my eyes and accept it. But let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I am NOT one of those GOOD moms. You know the type. The moms who want to make sure that their children are well taken care of and will make something different for their picky child if said picky child won’t eat what they’ve made. No, quite the contrary, I keep wire hangers in my closets, and I don’t make additional meals if I don’t have to. My kids are lucky I have the time to make what I do make for them. With the sports schedules, band, scouts, extra-curricular activities, they’re lucky they eat anything at all! Now don’t go getting all defensive and calling the mom police on me. My kids don’t starve. If one of my children (14) doesn’t enjoy the delicious delicacies which I have prepared, they are free to open a can of soup, or make some scrambled eggs or eat a hot dog. I’m okay with that. I’m keeping it real. I’m like Jenny from the blog.

Ok, maybe that’s going a bit too far.