So, I’m sitting here eating an apple.
I’m also loving this book by Brene Brown I’m reading that might actually create a self revolution since it makes so much sense. I want to grab B.B. by the shoulders, look her in the eye, and be all gushy and show off a little since her words are changing my life.
But about that apple.
It’s not eight oatmeal cookies. (I only had two) It’s this big realization I had in the kitchen about fifteen minutes ago:
I have no idea what to do with myself.
Before, when I drank like a fish in denial, I knew what to do. Hang out for a bit. Figure out an excuse to get the kiddos into the car and off to the store. (“Hey you guys, do you want to have a coke with dinner? Let’s go get one.”) Then home with my supplies, plant kiddos in front of TV and sneak out for a smoke with my first big ass glass of wine. What else to do? Nothing else. Get drunk. Ta da! The night is taken care of.
I was talking to Belle and she asked me if I’d figured out my passion. Does flailing around on the computer between email and Facebook fourteen times a night count as a passion? Can eating too much be a passion?
Dang. I didn’t think so.
She did say “passion” not “time suck”.
One of the things I loved the most about drinking was that time just sort of…..disappeared. Voila! Five o’clock to bedtime and I didn’t even notice! Then after the kiddos went to bed the wine and time floated right away. Then at the end I would just black out and then who knows what the fuck time it is.
Now, some days, I watch the seconds crawl. 4:37. 4:38. 4:42. What to do what to do what to do.
Today is the first day of our after five tech blackout. Which means that I’ll post this and then not be able to see if anyone read it until tomorrow morning. I might go crazy!
Today is the first day we will hang out together before dinner. We’ll eat on time. People will have baths, and stories on time. I won’t be hurriedly slapping something on the table and skipping bath and rushing through stories. We can play Crazy 8’s after bath time like we did this spring. The children can hit the sack clean and loved, not rushed and covered in sunscreen.
Boundaries and rules. Changing what makes me annoyed with me, and then reminding myself that I can do it. Eating two cookies, thinking, and then grabbing an apple. Giving myself an atta girl for that little victory.