From Apr 26, 2008

I’m a terrible cook.

I mean, I can feed myself.  But I have to feed the kids.  I made chicken noodle soup, using Grammy’s chicken broth.  And I used some tapioca noodles– something we had in the cupboard.

The first go around, I boiled the noodles too long and it ended up a goopy starchy mess.  So I decided to fish all the noodles out, and threw them away.   I boiled a new round of noodles. I put some corn in the broth.  I put the freshly cooked noodles in the soup.

I tried to serve it to the kids.  It wasn’t terrible.

They proceeded to tell me how terrible it was.

I lost it.  I mean, not outwardly.  I threw away the soup.  Cleaned up the kitchen.

I couldn’t not feed them dinner.  I mean, they’re just kids and they weren’t intentionally trying to hurt my feelings.

Luckily there was a can of some gross generic raviolis.  I heated those up, and they ate.  I know they knew I was upset, but they possibly have never seen a grown up on the verge of tears over something they unintentionally did.

A whirlwind of emotions swirled up in me… I went outside and cried.

It’s ridiculous, really.  I should be able to just play along, head held high.  Maybe if I wasn’t such an emotional wreck inside…

My mom called before dinner.  “Are you holding up?”

“yeah.”

“You don’t sound like you’re doing okay.”
“I’m fine.”

I don’t have any other option to be at this point.  She reminded me that I chose all of this.  That I chose to be in this position.  I’m really trying to remember that and to stay positive.  I’m trying to appreciate the beauty, and I refuse to be unhappy this entire time… that’s not healthy.  I also recognize my limitations.  And that I have chosen this and can ask for help.

This is a significant practice in discovering who I am.