Great Chocolate. Bad Advice. Part 1
I’ve learned not to listen to my chocolate.
I don’t know if your chocolate presumes to advise you on daily matters, but mine does so with the dogged intensity of a foil-wrapped yenta.
Admonitions and exhortations, bagged and available for purchase in your local supermarket. Or at least, in mine.
Some of these gems put me in mind of the suspect guidance provided by the chintzy gypsy machine in our local arcade back in the late 80’s. “Esmerelda” bullied all the pre-teens into feeding quarters into her slots on our way to the PacMan and Centipede consoles.
She never delivered on her promises, unless her “tall dark stranger will bring money to your universe” prediction referred to the leering, greasy-haired arcade attendant. He replaced quarters eaten by Galaga, so…I guess that counts.
Dove, I appreciate your attempt to bring moments of peace and happiness to my existence. (And with that new Salted Caramel line, you may claim absolute triumph.) However, it’s time to either
- find new writers or
- stop presuming what’s best for my life.
Because, let’s be serious. If I followed most of the wrappers’ advice, my life would be in shambles. (Also, if I followed most rappers’ advice…but that’s a homonym for another day.)
Let’s pause to consider a few of these nuggets.
Keep the promises you make to yourself.
Right. On the surface, sounds like a great plan. This, of course, depends upon the flavor of your declaration.
During a recent conversation with myself regarding a child who shall remain nameless, I didst covenant with mineself that if such shenanigans as were occurring should perdure, said urchin’s nether regions would soon benefit from the application of velocity plus acceleration plus mass (also known as The Swatter).
Before you string me up and send me to Child Protective Services, please note that The Swatter is a plastic toy paddle that bends in half. It is a noisemaker.
AND, getting back to the point, although I promised myself that a swat was in order if crazypants did not cease and desist singing opera past bedtime, no paddle made appearance.
BECAUSE I DID NOT LISTEN TO MY CHOCOLATE.
If I listened to my chocolate, all manner of horrible promises might be kept. “If that kid doesn’t quiet down, I’ll…” “If they don’t stop throwing spaghetti at each other, I’ll…” “If my child trips the principal one…more…time…I’ll…”
Okay, that last one never happened. Thank goodness.
The assistant principal did tackle the five-year-old hyena to prevent yet another school-building escape, but he did not trip her.
A plethora of threatening parental promises stream from our consciousness all day.
Don’t give me that look; I know I’m not the only one. We don’t mean to keep them; it’s almost a habit. A tactic to manage the stress.
I like this better:
No one should keep all their promises.
Especially when you work with hyenas.
Indulge in dark.
Yes, the intent is convincing me to buy more chocolate. I get that. But let’s think about this one for a moment.
My kiddos love night-lights.
When I’m ready to sleep, I much prefer darkness. Even as a child, the only time I wanted light at night was to read Little House on the Prairie and Narnia under the covers.
Books are the reason I spent four years in braces; all that time spent reading with a flashlight between my teeth so I could use both hands to hold the book. These new-fangled headlamps available in the DIY store…my eight-year-old self would have cut off a big toe to get one of those. Probably even my own big toe.
For sleeping, I love dark. Flashing lights from a computer or cell phone drive me nuts; I have to cover them with a sweatshirt or other article of clothing dropped bedside (because yes, I do that).
Sometimes even a light outside my room is too much. At my aunt’s house, we leave the bathroom light shining in case of mid-night emergencies. The glossy wood floor reflects the light under the door and casts more light than you’d expect. I sleep with a pillow over my face to block the glow.
Following choc-advice, I could flip the light switch and sleep in blessed pitch.
And then, after sunup, I’d have to clean a bedside puddle because one of the kids couldn’t navigate through the blackness.
Keep your light shining.
How about this one?
Do what feels right.
Parent or not, I’m sure you’ve experienced that moment in which you think, “I really can’t live through another moment of _______________.”
Of course, we can and do live through it, but we don’t feel that we can.
Think of the last time you experienced the end of your wits. The frayed rope of nerves unwinding just a bit more…
- you lose your job
- he/she/they cheat (on a game, on a test, on you)
- that child sasses you ONE. MORE. TIME.
- he pushes
- she yells
- baby’s still wailing and you’ve changed and fed and burped and rocked
- they scream and bicker and fight
- your eye begins to twitch
In that moment, be honest—what do you FEEL like doing? Scream, yell, slap, hit, walk away, self-medicate, drown (yourself…others…all of the above) in alcohol or bad behaviors or the bathtub.
This advice, excuse my French, is CRAP.
We must not do what feels right.
We must do what we know to be right.
And especially when our nerves are jangled and unraveled.
The last one is my favorite.
Posted on January 17, 2016, in Adoption, advice, Chocolate, Food, parenting and tagged adopt, adopted, adopting, adoption, advice, blogging101, chocolate, Dove, writing101. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.