My husband did well. He bought me a box of Godiva chocolate. He knows my love of chocolate runs deep.
I had to put them in the fridge to keep them from melting. I’m cheaply green, keeping the house at a cool 80.
Yesterday I needed chocolate.
I NEEDED chocolate.
With the temper tantrums, the fighting, the hitting, the refusing to eat the pancakes that were asked for, the dumping of Legos, train tracks, and poles, I needed to run away as far and as fast as I could.
Today the box of chocolates remains unopened, sealed in the plastic wrapping, waiting.
Yesterday I needed my own time out. A few stolen minutes to center, to be me, to let my guard down.
My husband laughed when I stormed out of the kitchen mumbling, “Kiss you’re eldest goodbye. This is his last minute on earth.”
I wasn’t kidding.
Before I did something rash, I demanded he pick up the toys. I grabbed one of the king size Hershey bar with Almonds and raced to my room, slamming the door, throwing myself on the bed.
Godiva is for savoring, enjoying, escaping. It is an experience. It begs to be taken slowly, covering your mouth with rich flavors. Your eyes have to shut as you celebrate the chocolate. You just can’t wash out the aftertaste right away; you have to relish even that. It is heaven.
But I needed my first love. Someone who understands me, who won’t mind a secretive quicky in the back, not needing to cuddle. Someone who knows just how I like it, so the deed is done pleasantly fast; while I still have time to wash up and leave, entering the world like nothing happened.
I reveled in the cheap chocolaty goodness.
I centered myself. I washed my face and hands, disposing of the wrapped in the bathroom garbage with a lid. I re-entered the world.
Once I was calm and happy. It was a lot easier to get everyone to clean the mess, eat their lunch and to their naps.