Tag Archives: dinner stress

The Doctors Office and Happy Meals

I wish you could have been there.

I really wish it.

It was that turning point in my day where all my defeats of parenting became funny. Let me lead you up to that moment.

The day started with the kids waking up as happy as can be that it was a no school day and they immediately immersed themselves into a very intense rainbow loom project. Jachin and I were getting ready for the day when the bliss quickly turned to sorrow. I don’t exactly know what happened but one kid hit the other kid and the other kid hit back and hubs and I had had enough. ENOUGH. The past week there has been some exchanges of unkind words between the sisters, general intolerance to each other and so on. I realize enough should have come sooner but anyways, now was our moment. I love my kids too much to let them get away with hitting. Husband made a genius move and picked up the rainbow loom and told them that was over for the day. He started to explain the consequences for their actions. Older child wailed and wailed. Perfect. That means he was doing it right. I came out to help and noticed that younger child who had hit first, seemed unphased by the the rainbow loom punishment. So I told her that it was sin to hit and hurt her sister and that her lovie and blankie would be taken away for the day. Younger child is now wailing. Hubs and I high five secretly in the hall and go about our morning. He leaves. Oh I hate when he leaves. I know he has to. But I want him with me, laughing with me, helping with me, suffering through the parenting woes with me.

Bye husband, you’re wonderful.

The morning passes by and we need to go run errands. I ask the kids to get ready and they do. It is February 17 and they all have flip flops on. I am a no-flip-flops-in-the-winter girl based on the principle that it is technically winter. Every winter I hide the flip flops and they somehow find them. Today it was sunny and 70 so I let this technicality go because today I was focusing on heart issues, and unfortunately fashion mistakes are not a heart issue. Unfortunately. Our first stop is Target to get a new pair of glasses for Kait because hers broke in half. Actually in half:


Kind Target lady helping us orders a new pair and tells me that it will be $27.30. I say “but they are under warranty”, and kind Target lady replies, “yes, every time you get them fixed under warranty it is $27.30.” Anger and frustration start to fill my body. Because I paid for the warranty and now I am paying to use the warranty. But God reminds me that we are working on heart issues today and this is mine. So I pay up. Kind Target lady informs us it will be 7-10 days until the glasses come in and I see Kait’s eyes well up with tears.

Kait hates not having her glasses because she hates not being able to see. Makes sense. But this is deep. Something else goes on here. Every time Kait is without her glasses she falls apart, all the way apart. So here is my next moment to help her heart. We walk out of Target quietly (besides the flipping and flopping) hand in hand and get in the car. I ask her if she knows why she is so upset. “No,” she mutters. “Let me help,” I quietly said. “I think when you don’t have your glasses you feel really helpless and things feel out of control and that makes you feel really uncomfortable.” “Yes, that.” She quietly cried. I held her and prayed for her and then I told her that Jesus and I both want to comfort her during this uncomfortable feeling. “Okay.” And she pulled out her packed lunch, which you should note was a lunchable. Now on to ballet class for Sadie. Should be a simple thing. Drive to ballet.

No. Half way there an argument erupts over the words to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Morgan gets real mad that her version is not being heard and so she screams a very high pitched ear-piercing scream and I almost get in a wreck.

Inches people. Inches of hitting another car.

Now I stay calm, and this is no small miracle. We call this in our household PROGRESS. And we celebrate PROGRESS because sometimes it’s all we got. I calmly explain to Morgan that I am trying to drive and it is disrespectful to scream like that at any time and that her consequence for her bad choice (see, we have a theme here) was she could not talk or sing for five minutes. Kait said, “Morgan, we are on that highway,” which means 635.

I believe the devil lives on 635 and causes wrecks, and cursing, and road rage and that is why 635 is hell.

We drop off Sadie and go to the fabric store where Morgan has to use the public restroom TWICE. I die.

Back to pick up Sadie and now back on 635 (Back away from me SATAN!) to go to from Lake Highlands to Plano to take Morgan to the pediatrician. Of course at this point they are hungry. And so am I. I also know that the only food stop at the exit to the doctor’s office is McDonald’s.

So here we are, line around the building, of course, because I have to build character today too, apparently:

Drive-thru line

So picture this. We arrive at the doctor:

Frowny Face

I missed the picture I really needed. This is why I so wish you had been there. Morgan has her happy meal spread out on the kids table in the waiting room happily eating her happy meal. Layering on top of her Lunchable in her stomach. And next to us is the newborn. This is the turning point for me. I am now amused by all of it. This was not just a newborn, but it was the first time parents with their just born baby who has never had a happy meal, never hit his sister, never screamed about the words to Twinkle Twinkle, never used a public bathroom.

Never ever.

He was precious and small. So my kids began asking if they were that small. “Yes you were.” “How much did I weigh?” “7 pounds something.” “What about me?” “6 pounds something.” I am not even caring that I don’t remember. NOT EVEN CARING. New Parents look at me. I tell them their baby is precious and that they will sleep again one day. They say thank you as I wipe the crusted-on-ketchup off Sadie’s mouth. Morgan is just sitting there coughing and eating. Cough. Dip french fry in ranch and eat. Cough. And they are now witnessing the Happy-Meal-in-the-waiting-room-I-don’t-even-care situation. New parents were thankfully so enamored with their new baby they did not seem phased by this ridiculous scene. Ketchup on faces, happy meals, flip flops, mom doesn’t remember children’s birth weight, and so on.

We are called back. Morgan has Bronchitis:

Morgan in doctors office

Yippee, she might even have pneumonia so my beloved pediatrician puts her on steroids. If you have never had a four year old on steroids you should totally try it. IF YOU WANT TO LOSE YOUR MIND. Now it is time to head home and figure out dinner, and we know how that goes. AGHH DINNER!

But after a Lunchable and a Happy Meal, dinner can only be an improvement.

Tomorrow we will eat all organic fruits and vegetables all day long. Unless we have bigger issues than food.


Things that are unhealthy for me:

Things that make me anxious:

Things that make me lose my mind:
Coming up with dinner

My doctor tells me that I need to eliminate stressors in my life in order to control my lupus. “Can I eliminate dinner?” Yes, I really asked her this. My doctors don’t think I’m nearly as funny as I do. They don’t laugh. I think it has something to do with the fact that they are seriously trying to help me. I totally get that. I am seriously trying to help me too, but with a sense of humor. So in all honesty I have given up on cooking dinner as much as it is possible with a husband and three kids.

I attempted a real dinner one night and they didn’t like it. So I asked them what they wanted to eat for dinner. They really actually told me that all the wanted for dinner was tacos.

Stop. You are thinking this was just my kids response. Nooooooo. My husband said this too. For the love of tacos. Fine. Tacos it is. Two to three nights a week we have tacos. Bless whoever invented this perfect dinner creation.


But there are still the other four nights of the week. Order Pizza. Now we are down to three nights. This should be easy. It should be. I still can’t quite figure out why I can’t pull dinner together just a few nights a week.

Maybe this is why, my text to Jachin at this afternoon:


Please don’t think that we don’t have problems in our marriage. We have conquered some rough things and I’m sure there are more to come, but isn’t he precious? He gets me. He sees the defeat in my eyes when he walks in the door and I’m trying to get dinner ready. The digression in my attempts at dinner have been so severe. It’s not even worth trying anymore. I can’t even flip a pancake when I make pancakes and scrambled eggs for dinner. And eggs end up on the floor and on the ceiling. And then I cry. My dinners are more and more ending like this:


I used to love to cook. That was when cooking was my only responsibility. Cooking had no competition in my life, it had my full attention and me and cooking had fun. Those were the days. Things change so fast, but we tend to accept the change so slow. I would have saved my family and I so much heartache if I had just given on up on cooking long ago. I should have accepted the reality that 5:45 is a very bad time if day for me and I cannot multi-task. So what used to be my domestic bliss of cooking and enjoying it now ends up looking like this:


Please do not be too concerned. We eat. Maybe not the way you do, but we do eat. Frozen lasagna, takeout, spaghetti, takeout, tuna fish, takeout. And a special shout out to grilled cheese. Whatever it is we are grateful to have it. My kids and husband do not seem to even care what we eat.  All along I was creating my own idea of what dinner should look like.

Life will move on and maybe one day I will cook again. And then maybe one day it will actually taste good and I won’t burn it. Maybe. Please, nobody hold your breath.