No, we’re not talking Little Shop of Horrors. Not yet anyway.
My kidlings—even when newly sprouted—sensed when mom needed a break. Especially from the game of seeing who could get me to go ballistic first. Sadistic? Maybe. I sure thought so at the time.
WARNING: Homeschool horrors will trickle out on this writer’s blog.
And yet my offspring’s mood-meter helps me to no end. (Could be the kids just want the brownie dinners that result from such episodes. All that chocolate gooey-goodness, spiked with walnuts and a frosty glass of moo. Oldest daughter Melanie is a self-care guru for good reason. Being reared in the trenches does that ;^)
Yesterday, that instinctive savvy helped me tackle driving anxiety and head to the Smithsonian Art Museum. (Nick, my youngest, needs to prove he was “at” the museum for a college survey in art history. Oh, the blessings of needs must.)
I’ve been there before–needing to go where I’d rather not. I’ve navigated roadway pretzels from California, Oregon, Colorado, Louisiana, Florida, Virginia, New York and everywhere in between. Driving on the wrong side of the road in Ireland nearly got me creamed long before midlife. And yet, without fail, the D.C. beltway hits me like a night terror—zooming off unfinished bridges, traffic jams that morph into Black Hawk terrorist extractions in broad daylight, etc. But I digress.
I did it! We did it!
I told the goddess–and our somber clad predecessor–to buy their own lunch. I’ll feed myself by facing fears and doing something fun. With people who still love me despite all that togetherness. Yeah!
The traffic wasn’t too bad either. (Easy to say now when I’m not in it.)
The kiddos had fun.
Middle child is still engaged in covert ops which precludes her from being featured in any of my blog posts. Go figure. There was no aversion to hopping in my back seat, though. (It’s all about stages, people.)
Anyway, it was fun. I’m glad I went. I want to do it again. I NEED to do this again. Maybe take the Metro. That’d be blog-worthy…or just my way of sharing the journey of getting past what bugs you so you can do what you feel like.
4 thoughts on “Feed me, Seymour!”
Yes, the adventures in mommy land definitely trickle over into writing.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, Jade. Thank goodness!!
The Beltway is a circle of shenanigans. But taking the Metro would definitely be worthy of its own post.
It’s settled then. Thanks for stopping by ;^)