Category: Emily is neurotic

I have a stack of self-help books on my nightstand. I’ve read about half of each of them. I start one, but then I find something else about myself that I need to fix, scour the internet obsessively for the book that will change my life, and cast the first book aside. Over and over and over again.

I’ve got books about dieting, books about not dieting, books about listening to my kids, and books about making sure my kids don’t end up hating each other. I’ve got books about compulsive eating, books about how to get my kids to eat (but not too much!), books about living wholeheartedly, and books about managing money.

I’ve mastered none of these skills.

Yet I continue to search, to find the one thing that will fix whatever is broken inside me.

But I don’t know what that is. I continue to treat the symptoms, not the disease. I find something new to obsess about pretty much on a daily basis. My google search button is just about worn out. I’d say I don’t know where to start, but clearly starting isn’t the problem. It’s finishing that I am unable to do.

Maybe it’s my fear of failure. If I follow through with something – if I finally give up carbs or set a strict budget or take the right vitamins – what if it doesn’t work? What if my unnamed issues – whatever they are – are still there?

Then what?

So on New Year’s Day, I sent Emily an innocent text message that was meant to crack her up, but instead sent her on an expletive filled-tirade.

It was pretty awesome. And I can’t wait to share it with you. But first, some background.

I briefly mentioned a few weeks ago that at the ripe old age of 35, I have developed a wheat allergy. All of a sudden wheat makes me feel a terrible pinprick sensation all over my body, like there are things crawling all over me. It’s unpleasant to say the least, so I’ve had to go gluten-free. Not exactly convenient – but totally do-able.  With the New Year and fresh starts and all, I’ve decided that since I already had to cut out gluten, I want to try and eat a little clean-ER and healthi-ER. I’m not going cray-cray or anything, but I am cutting out pop (soooooo SAD) and trying to eliminate sugar in areas  like my coffee creamer (I’ve mixed up my own batch of “clean” creamer and it’s good!)  I’ve also been looking for healthy gluten-free snacks and I’ve been cooking “clean” meals, too.

In my heart, I am still a Mountain Dew-swilling, Hershey bar-gulping sugar fanatic. But my gall bladder and my waistline (and who knows what else?) have taken quite a hit the last few months (I have gained back most of the 8 pounds I lost in the spring) and I just want to do better. I want to find a balance between super-clean and “all things in moderation”.

Which leads me to the text I sent Emily on New Year’s Day. I did something that was very out-of-character for me. I made a snack out of broccoli. Thinking this was a weird thing for me to do, I decided to make Em’s New Year by giving her the chance to make fun of me. Because I’m generous like that. So I sent this:

I knew from a previous text that Em had been up too late the night before (as had I) and was grumpy, but I wasn’t prepared for the wrath that my text unleashed! To communicate her response, I’m going to have to substitute some harmless words for some expletives. How about I use the words fish(ing) and shark and you use your imagination? Deal? Deal! Here goes:

Emily: What the flying fish are green pancakes? And I liked you better when you lived on mt. dew and Hershey bars.  There was less pressure. You were still skinny and all that shark but at least you didn’t have good nutrition. You need to give this shark up and concentrate on golf. (A favorite Happy Gilmore quote of ours.) Please tell me your other New Years resolution is to keep your car clean. (My car is notoriously a rolling trash bin.)

Me: I love you. So much. Blame Pinterest and the 7 of 8 lbs I’ve gained back since I lost them and my uncomfortable pants.

Emily: Pinterest can fish itself. People will be back to pinning their red dye #7 marshmallow and lucky charms valentine’s day concoction before you can say no high fructose corn syrup three times fast. And yes you can quote me on that. In fact make it a pinnable fishing graphic. (Well, ok if you insist…)

Me: HA ha ha HA HA! You are on fire! But you have to agree to stop drinking meals. No green smoothies! (Seriously, drinking vegetables?? GROSS!!)

Emily: Hmm well I LIKE green smoothies. But from here on out I am going to drink them from a UDF milkshake cup to make a fishing point.

Me: Doooo it. Seriously though this shark is delicious.

Emily: That is not a fishing pancake.

Me: They’re friend and delicious though. Kind of like a hash brown made with broccoli dipped in marinara sauce.

Emily: At least you’re still dipping fried shark in marinara sauce. I still know you a little.

———-

So remember kids, unless you want to swim with the sharks and fishes, don’t text Emily about your out-of-character behavior when she needs a nap.

 And go make some green pancakes! They really are deeeeelicious. Especially if you wash them down with a cold can of Mountain Dew {weeps a little}.

Remember the 80s sitcom “Out of this World“? Evie was half-teenager and half-alien, and had some sweet super powers – not the least of which was pausing time. With one little hand gesture, she could freeze the world around her while she went about her business. I remember wishing I had that power as well – mostly for the ability to get another few hours of sleep before school in the mornings – but, man, what I could do with that ability now.

Imagine all the things that would be possible. I mean, I might finally be able to get my shit together.

There are so many things I want to do – so many books I want to read, so many things around my house I’d like to get done, so many Pinterest pins to get around to. Except with the frenzy that is life – commuting, working, homework helping, lunch packing, dinner making, dish washing, facebooking (let’s be serious) – there is just not enough time in the day.

If only I were Evie and could stop time. I could get all that done – become a better me – and then hit play.

If only.