Monday, February 24, 2014

Hail to the Queen...

I'm in love with all things Nonnie, but being the grandmother to my son's children has a unique flavor due to the hand that rocks him - his wife. Even though I am a strong, accomplished woman, I'm finding that there's a definitive learning-curve to this new role. I must relinquish power, and relax. After all, my job is done. Santa has passed the proverbial torch, and a new woman has arrived with a smile on her face, art projects in tow, and a glass of wine in her hand.

After thirty-six years of being Mommy, I know too many things, but need to keep them all to myself. This takes practice and perseverance.

Yikes.

I've learned to take it in stride, enjoy the babies, and put my own insecurities where they belong... buried under my tongue instead of having a weak moment and spitting out my opinions all over their kitchen. It is a delicate balance in order to keep the real mommy happy.

Mommy is the Queen after all. I know this because I, too, sat perched on my throne for many years. Frankly? I've never been happier. I get all the adoration and none of the stickiness on my floor.

Ah... the balance makes me want to do the happy.



Tuesday, February 11, 2014

I'm hungry, dammit...

I'm beginning to go to the grocery and remain befuddled as to what I should eat. I'm also afraid to drink the water, eat processed food, and have sex with the wrong cancer-causing lubricant. 

I know vegetables are the way to anti-oxidize myself but (crap) all the time? And if the source of my vegetables is questionable, then I've just eaten an apple sprayed down with Raid. That will surely mess up my cells and mutate my blood supply. It's a quandary of marketing decisions when it comes to Sally's daily palate. 

I'm afraid to touch meat that isn't from a decent source knowing that grain-fed is as bad as the ticking apple time-bomb. Supermarket dairy causes inflammation, phlegm, and is nasty elixir of antibiotics. Soy milk is a phytoestrogen that fuels acne and (most probably) breast cancer. Yum. Mind you, processed soy is NOT fermented soy from Japan so don't let Monsanto fool you with their little tap dance. There goes my beloved aged Gouda cheese, my daily lattes and my egg salad on toast. 

And then there are the highly processed gluten-laden products that clog Mr. Colon and drag down Mrs. Regular giving you the gift of that dreaded Ms. Heartbreaking Hemorrhoid with the bad manners and the itchy personality. It's downright exhausting.

Sorry.

That leaves me with nothing from Dairy Queen, Panera, most grocery stores and anything cooked by my husband, Bruce:  the carnivore devil who pushes a plethora of evil animal flesh with a chaser of Butter Pecan hell-on-Earth. I can't hide. 

Bugger.  My goal in life is just balance, which at this point doesn't seem possible with my Sybil personality around every corner. Frankly, I'm in a sushi mood today but with the latest Tsunami from Japan, God knows how nuclear my fish has become. I could be strung out like a black light by the dinner hour tomorrow, but may eat the little rolls anyway. 

For my weekly food dilemma, that leaves me with nothing more to consume than an aged Zinfandel. Alrighty then. 

Sayonara.