Coping with coffee
One of my go-to coping mechanisms/emotional eating indulgences is a frozen coffee drink. I will slap a five spot on the Starbucks counter on any given bad day.
Despite many years of trying to prove that a Frappuccino makes everything better, my theory came crashing to an ugly halt today.
Elliot’s behavior has been less than desirable lately. I blame it on the half birthday tomorrow.
While I’ve often thought he may choose engineering as his future occupation, I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll end up as an attorney. The amount of arguing, bargaining and negotiating he attempts on a daily basis is exhausting, to say the least.
Then, there’s just the flat-out disobedience. In the few minutes it took to pick up Cecilia from her day care, he was defiant several times. Simple things too. “Please put that toy back. It stays here in the baby room.” And he just stood there and clutched it like it was Kitty, his stuffed animal lovey. I was ready for bed time before we even got back in the car.
My mind was especially fixed on a coffee drink today because my husband called me in the afternoon and told me that he had left a $10 bill on the dining room table. Tip money from work yesterday. He even said, “That money’s going toward Starbucks, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I told him. “It’s like magic.”
It’s almost as if my determination to get that darned Frappuccino was a prophecy for Elliot’s bad behavior.
After we got home, Cecilia took a brief nap, a rest she usually desperately needs because she doesn’t nap well at day care. I thought we would be good to go for a Starbucks run after dinner.
I quickly cleaned up our plates, and we ventured out. I decided on the java chip, and everything was grand until we returned to the car. Cecilia started crying because she was tired, or so I thought. The five-minute drive back home and the three red lights we endured seemed to last forever.
I had to pick up the screaming baby as soon as we arrived back home. Since it was bath time, I set aside my beloved Frappuccino. When I removed her diaper, I saw the real reason she was so upset. She had pooped, and I didn’t know it.
My selfishness won. Poor C.C. had to endure a poopy diaper for a few minutes.
Amid bath and bed time routines, my Frappuccino melted, leaving me a watered down mess of coffee, chocolate, skim milk and whipped cream. Fitting ending to my day.
I learned a very important lesson. Reserve frozen coffee outings only for nights when the hubby is home and the children are already in bed.
Originally published on ovparent.com.