My Life as a Shelf

I am noticing lately how my routine is preparing for being forty while my brain solidly resists, firmly believing I am still only twenty-five.

For example, my shelf in the bathroom now contains a product that promises to lift, smooth and plump parts of my facial landscape I never previously thought about.  It sits there in its squat, solid glory in a glass container that quietly announces a long-term relationship.  It isn't flashy.  it doesn't smell like a tropical fruit.  It isn't tinted or fancy by any stretch.   It doesn't have a fancy pump or sparkly letters.  It doesn't promise overnight success.   And it has sunscreen.   A lot of sunscreen. 
 
(If that doesn't scream long-term commitment I don't know what does, especially when I think about my routine of younger years which included trying to have as much sun-color as possible. )
 
And this seems like a statement about my life in general.  This year I have started to allow that life doesn't last forever.  I am fallible.  My packaging is weak and needs care.  I am not immune to breaks, serious illness, etc.  Perhaps this is because I have lost two souls dear to me and am in the agonizing process of yet another.  Perhaps it is simply that some part of my primitive brain is telling me to slow up and make long-range plans.  There isn't endless time for frittering and waste.  Take care or you may be sorry later.  Maybe it was the stark realization when my grandfather passed that everyone in my family moved into a new slot.   The new oldest generation was my parents.  Which meant....I was now taking my parents spot.  Life was marching on and we all had new roles.
 
Whatever it is, I find myself thinking about things in long-range perspective.  Will I still want this five, ten, more years from now?  Do I need it?  What is it teaching my children when they see me doing X?  How do I want to spend my fifties?  My seventies? 

My mother and Oprah swear that forty is when you find yourself.  Know who you are.  Find the inner strength to accept who you are and ignore those who don't.   Maybe this is the first tinge of this awakening.  I don't know.  And I don't know what to think of it. It's foreign.   It's one of those things that I find myself only vaguely aware of unless I stop and question.  Kind of like this first time you feel your baby move and you question "Wait?  Was that it?  What was that?"  It's not unpleasant, it's just kind of "not me" or at least not the "me" I'm used to being.

And so if the bathroom shelf is a euphemism for this stage, it seems that my life is moving toward quality not quantity, solidity not flash and sparkle, and investment in the future and not a focus on passing fad.    It will be different.  But I kind of like this girl I'm getting to know.  I hope she sticks around a while.

W(h)ine with my Cheese, (depending on what kind it is and whether or not I like it today).

In trying to convince myself to go grocery shopping today, I started looking at recipes .  Looking at recipes made me realize I don't enjoy cooking anymore.  Realizing that I began to wonder why, because I used to be a bit of a foodie.  After pondering  few moments I came to the conclusion that it was related to the fact that everything I place on the table becomes a point of contention.  

Little One is in a fairly typical toddler pattern of loving something one day and abhorring it the next the next.    We recently went through a phase where pasta in sauce had to be taken noodle by noodle to the sink and washed before being consumed, like a little raccoon.  I can grit my teeth and try to outlast this phase, but it's the hardcore "I'm not trying it.  I don't like it {based on the way it looks} and I never will." refusal that wear me down.  And what makes this harder for me is that I can't just take a break from the battle and offer them quick and easy offerings once in a while, like frozen pizza, mac in the blue box, etc. because they won't eat those either.   

To this end I made a list today of the foods that my children will eat at least 50% of the times they are offered. It was not very long.   It was not particularly balanced.  It was a little shameful honestly. 

So, hot dogs yes but hamburgers no.  Peanut butter yes but not on a piece of bread, rice cake or celery.  On a spoon in isolation.   Apples occasionally, but only if peeled, sliced and cored.   Deli meat no.  Cold meat of any persuasion no.  Anything served on bread, no.   Carrots raw with hummus for one , and only cooked for the other.  Broccoli as long as it doesn't have a stem of unusual length.  Eggs, never.  Grains, (barley, oats, quinoa, wheat berries….), nothing doing.  Cheese for one, but only if it's cheddar.  No bagels, English muffins, or muffins that contain berries.  The list goes on and on. 

What I can count on day after day is a glass of milk.  A tablespoon or two of peanut butter.  Rice.  Beets.  These are the only four constants.  Can a child live on this?  Thrive?  For how long? 

The advice I receive from other parents is all fabulous and sensible.  It just hasn't made a difference yet almost 18 months in.  I keep waiting for the light to come on and the choir of angels to reward waiting them out, but it ….Just. Isn't. Happening.