Einstein said, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” Yeah, I’m manifesting that definition every day.
Every morning, I get up while it’s still dark to savor a few moments by myself. I usually throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs. My routine is pretty much the same: check email, check my buddies’ blogs, toss in a load of wash and empty the dishwasher. I’ve even started making lunches and prepping dinner (yeah, I’m kind of Type A). At about quarter to seven, I set out making breakfast for the girls. Once they get up, I’ve got a pretty tight routine that carries us right up to pre-school drop off.
Take yesterday morning:
6:45 – get breakfast ready
7:00 – get the girls up
7:40 – wrap up breakfast and get dressed for school
8:15 – playtime for Mo and Co/tidying up for me
8:30 – out the door, into the car, off to school
And despite all of my micromanaging, the one thing I haven’t figured out is why is it that by the time I get the girls settled down for breakfast, I realize I haven’t gotten anything for myself? I mean, they’re happily munching away and I haven’t got anything on my plate. I haven’t even got a plate!
Part of this stems from my relentless devotion to Weight Watchers. In the not too distant past, I wouldn’t let anything cross my lips that hadn’t been weighed, measured and calculated for it’s caloric impact on my body. Just grab some toast and slather on some jelly?! Not unless it’s Nature’s Own White Wheat Bread with 7 squirts of I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter and 1/2 tbs of Welch’s Sugar Free Jelly per slice (points=2). Bacon and eggs? Only if it’s two slices Jennie-O turkey bacon and a quarter cup of EggBeaters cooked in a non-stick pan that has been lightly sprayed with olive oil cooking spray (points=2). Weight Watchers can make the even the most sane turn into Sally Albright.
Another part of the problem comes from the fact that I am a notoriouly finicky eater. I eat pizza and baked ziti, but I don’t like cheese. No grilled cheese, cheese and crackers or cheeseburgers. I like shrimp, but not when it’s cooked. I like tomatoes, but on my sandwiches and salads, not in chunks in my spaghetti sauce. I drink fat-free milk, which is the equivalent of water that a cow has walked past, but only with cereal. Milk and cookies? Why desecrate the goodness of the cookie with a sub-par beverage? I like my Cream of Wheat with about a tablespoon of water in it so it’s the consistency of paste rather than soup. I can eat yogurt and bananas, but when I get down to the last bite, I start to gag (I know, I’m starting to make Sally Albright look normal).
Anywhoodle, when it dawns on me that all I have is air-pie while the girls chew on Cheerios, I get up to remedy the situation. The minute my buns break contact with the chair I’m peppered with requests:
Mommy, can I have milk?
Mommy, can I have apple juice?
Mommy, can I have more milk?
Mommy can I have more apple juice?
Mommy, can I have toast without jelly?
Mommy, can I have toast without butter?
Mommy can I have toast with jelly and with butter?
Mommy can I have waffles with bacon and side of French Fries?
I spin and whirl between the fridge and the toaster, each trip pushing my own breakfast that much farther from my grasp. No wonder my stomach to think my throat has been cut. Truth be told, I should know better than to indulge Mo and Co with every breakfast request. On the one hand, I don’t want them to be hungry at school and unable to concentrate. On the other hand, let’s face it: they’re in school from 8:50 to 11:50. 3 hours without nourishment does not a famine make.
I’m only re-inforcing bad behavior with my up and down, up and down antics. I only have myself to blame when my reminders that “I’m not a short-order cook!” bring up snorts and snickers. For Christmas, they’ll probably get me a plastic name badge and a matching hairnet.
By the time I’ve gotten them sufficiently satiated and pull together some kind of semblance of breakfast for myself, they’re done and trying to pull out puzzles, crayons, finger paints, dress-up clothes, and bicycles.
So, I’ve begun a new regime after running through a couple of options. I was tempted to just put the milk, the cereal, the bread, the butter and all les accoutrements on the table during breakfast, but who wants to schlepp it out only to schlepp it back? Besides, I’ve got this thing about milk being left out (gross!), even if it is only for a 20 minute breakfast. I thought about prepping breakfast the night before, but I kept forgetting until I was already in the bed for the night. So I’ve come up with three suggestions rules to keep our morning routine machine well oiled.
1. Breakfast is what is. There are no exceptions, no substitutions, and definitely no returns.
2. Eat what’s on your plate, not what’s on my plate, your sister’s plate, or anyone else’s plate. Quelle surprise! We all have the same thing.
3. Eat what you’ve been given before you ask for more.
4. Half a spoonful of yogurt cannot possibly constitute fullness, so don’t even try it.
5. A courtesy taste is required of all foods. This includes a small portion of the food on the tines of the fork/in the bowl of the spoon going into your mouth, being chewed and swallowed. Touching the tip of your tongue to something for 0.007 seconds and declaring, “I don’t like it” isn’t the same thing.
3. When Mommy sits down, she ain’t gettin‘ up until her plate is clean. In other words, chew slowly and take small sips on that apple juice, ya dig?
I’m thinking this little list can be modified for lunch and dinner, too. What with Thanksgiving dinner all but here, I’m about to xerox this and affix it to everyone’s water glass. Then, when I sit down to eat, I’ll sit down and stay down. And we all know thankful I’ll be for that.
