Something To Lose

(Pre-script: This post pairs nicely with the song, " The Older I Get," by Skillet, Sort of like white wine and Tilapia, or pizza and rootbeer. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

I had frosting for breakfast this morning from last night's birthday cake, which my mother and children made for my early 33rd birthday party. The cake part was dry, so I just ate the frosting off, careful not to neglect the frosting between the cake layers, as well. Who wants to waste calories on dry cake? Not me, not today. I ate the frosting while the children were not paying attention. At least they seemed too busy bumbling about, bumping into each other, and generally complaining about each other and the things they were bumping into to be paying attention. But maybe they were paying attention, did notice, and are storing it up in memory banks as one more thing to complain to their therapists about, later:

"My mother fed us cereal for breakfast while she herself ate frosting."

I imagine at this point that the therapist nods and scribbles on his or her tablet, so that the children will continue:

"Ours were the metabolisms that wouldn't quite. Our hyperactive bodies were about to be handed off to the school, to be dealt with there, and our mother would not have had to handle us again until after the sugar crash."

The therapist will continue to nod and scribble furiously.

Eventually, I imagine that the children will feel validated enough in their collective wounds to confront me, and when they do, I will say,

"Listen dear children, and I will teach you. The day will come when you will have the ability to choose for yourself the delicate balance between your waistline and your sanity. You could not properly decide that at the tender ages of 9,7,4, and 2, certainly not while you lived in my house, so I decided for you, and what I ultimately decided for you, and me, and us, was that I wanted to be able to tell the world that at least I did not feed you frosting for breakfast. At least that."
Ahem.
As far as the delicate balance between my own waistline and my own sanity, I chose to see the frosting as giving me extra energy to fuel a super kick @$$ morning workout. Judging by the boisterousness of my car singing, it was going to work.
"I don't ever want to feel, like I did that day, take me to the place I love, take me all the way, yeah ,yeah, yeah, yeah, love me I said yeah yeah..."

-Sentiments of the Red Hot Chili Peppers,

which sounded so good in my own deep and deeply reaching loud voice, full vibrato provided by the bumpy road we drove upon, my children's ears having no escape from the onslaught,
and then Gwen Stephani came on the radio, singing, "If I could escape, I would, but first of all let me say, I must apologize for acting stank and treating you this way, 'cause i've been actinglikeIwanttofallonthefloorandtakeoxygenshuttherefrigeratormaybethat'sthereasonI'vebeenactingso cold..." and don't forget the "WOO HOO"'s and the "YEE AH" parts of that song, and eventually she sings:"I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"But Michelle,"

I hear my imaginary reader saying,

"Michelle, don't you think you should listen to kid songs in the car, and don't you think those songs will traumatize your children's sensibilities?"

Gentle reader, I think that some Red Hot Chili Peppers are sometimes good for the kids, especially when what they are singing is true, and it will not harm the dear darlings in any way."

"Okay Michelle, good point, but they may still be traumatised by their mother's loud singing."

"Yes, dear reader, I concede that point, they may especially be traumatised by the times in the music when their mother has to break out the motions to go along with the words."

"Yes, Michelle, I fear that, for you, and for the sake of your children, you know, their psyches, which are so tender."

"Gentle reader, I don't know what to tell you. I did sing Gwen Stefani to them, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt," and that, I think,is the truest thing I could ever sing to them, the anthem that I hope will carry them through the rest of their lives, whenever they remember me."

"Okay, Michelle, okay. So what should I do with this 'Kid's Bop' greatest hits CD I just bought you?"

"Burn it, Gentle Reader, just burn it."

And now, it seems I've got something of my own to burn on the treadmill...and it was worth it.

-XOXO,