I am pouring my weary heart out with Shell today.
If life were school and I were being graded right now I would be failing these three "P"s. All of them. Miserably. And failing is not in my vocabulary. Imagine the dismay.
Meal planning, healthy eating, calorie counting, empty calories . . . All of it eludes me and I am an epic failure. My BFF and I talked recently about being positive role models for our kids and choosing the right times to talk with them about healthy eating and making good choices. I'm pretty sure I don't want to tell them that I washed down a box of Jr Mints with a truiple venti latte at my desk this afternoon. Not positive role model stuff, ya know?
The Princess is 6 years old, closer to 7, and she weighs a whopping 42 pounds. That is not a typo. She is teeny tiny. Always has been. My philosophy with her is that if she's willing to eat it then she can have it. That's not getting us very far right now. She is having some pretty significant digestive issues and her pediatrician has suggested that we cut out all simple carbs and sugar. Sounds easy enough until you try to feed a teeny tiny child edamame and wheat germ who only wants a bowl of pasta with butter. Salads and lean protein seems simple enough, but somehow it's really just not.
Epic failure. Again. Fat is a choice that I make for myself. She deserves someone who will make the right choices on her behalf. Failing her hurts so much more than failing myself.
It's proven that life is better around here when we're going to church all the time. "The family that prays together stays together" really speaks to me. My only excuse for not dressing my children and taking them to mass every Sunday morning at 9 AM is that I am tired. Down to my bones I am tired and tell myself that God will understand. That's lame and I know it, but it is the absolute truth.
On mornings that we don't have to rush to school or the office, or soccer, baseball or a track meet I just want to leave my pajamas on and eat scrambled eggs at the counter while the towels are in the washing machine. And I am disappointed in myself for feeling like that.
The last 30 days have added 12,000 miles to my frequent flyer account and I can't think of anything positive about that. Last week brought a diagnosis of a sinus infection for my sweet Athlete who I knew in my heart just wasn't himself. I have no perspective. The minutia constantly crowds my mind and overtakes any hope of clarity.
One morning last week I drove the Athlete and four of his classmates on a field trip to the Ocean Institute in Dana Point. On the way back to school the kids couldn't talk fast enough about how great it was. Their teacher sent home this photo of what they saw. An entire school of common dolphins were racing their boat in the Pacific Ocean.
We are good. Our home is cozy. My planes keep landing safely and my son holds his sister's hand in the parking lot. Not enough protein. Not enough prayer. But enough blessed perspective to know how good life is.