Mommy’s Time Out

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.

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It’s a Chocolate Day

It’s a chocolate day.

Evan is in the why phase, which is another post.

It’s a chocolate day.

Sean threw five temper tantrums.

It’s a chocolate day.

It was a 5:30 am wake-up call.  AGAIN.

It’s a chocolate day.

It’s a no-breakfast day, but I’m soooooo HUNGRY at 9:00 am day.  Really?  Because I just threw out your pancakes.

It’s a chocolate day.

It’s a boycott of lunch as well.  Because who wants peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when they can whine for something else with the hope Mommy just might give in to the torture and pull out better food because it can happen one day.

I want chocolate.

It’s an early naptime because everyone is whiney, tantrumy, and sleepy, especially Mommy.  But no, the I’m-almost-four boy decided to boycott naps, even though he’s been up since 5:30.

It’s a chocolate caffeine day.

Although we have an arsenal that includes half a dozen swords and four light sabers, they must have the same damn sword.

It’s a chocolate day.

All the kid DVDs are strewn across the family room; all the pirate treasure is strewn across the family room.  All the cars are out, so is every toy from the random-too-big-to-be-in-the-bucket-shelves-and-can’t-fit-under-the-train-table box.  Now they want Legos.

I want some chocolate.

They want candy.  They want fruit snacks.  They want fruit roll ups.  They want candy.  They want cookies.  They want candy.  They want fruit snacks.  But the sandwiches are still on their plates.

I want chocolate.

It took almost forty-five minutes to clean the pirate treasure with the nag, “pick it up now!” over and over.

It’s a chocolate day.

I sounded like my mom as I demanded to know “how many times I had to say . . . .”

Oh, God, I need chocolate. 

Thank God that I don’t have a smart mouth teenager that answered fifty. 

I think my mom deserves chocolate too.

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Chocolate Dinosaur

A naked three-year-old hurtles himself into the room.

 

Evan: I’m a chocolate dinosaur!  ROAR!

 

The problem is we’re white, northern Europe white.  I’m a shade away from being an albino, and I don’t tan.  I become a darker shade of white, and Evan, he’s got my coloring.

 

Me: Only if you’re a white chocolate dinosaur.

 
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Sharing is Caring

Evan: Can I have some coal?

 

I looked where he was pointing.  It was the Hershey Kisses that were in his and Sean’s shoes two mornings before, but I had to confiscate them because Sean was eating them foil and all and Evan decided to have them after bedtime, ruining his plan by showing me the unwrapped Kisses when he came downstairs, instead of sleeping in his bed.

 

Me: They’re not coal, baby.  You were a good boy.  They’re chocolate.

 

Evan: Ok.  Can I please have chocolate?

 

Me: Yes.

 

As I unwrapped a Kiss for Evan, Sean’s spidey senses go off, and he ran into the kitchen with a “pleeeease!”  I unwrapped one for Sean.

 

Evan: Mommy, you’re a good sharer!

 

Thank you.

 

 

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