I make my bed almost every day. But, I left it disheveled today as a reminder that I needed to find my way back in there for a couple of hours. That’s because I’m coming off several nights of interrupted slumber. First it was my son, who was battling the flu and needed to reload with Motrin or Tylenol every few hours. Then I worked late the next couple of nights, and then the next kid got sick. There was actually one night between my weekend waitressing shifts and round two of the flu, but a completely healthy kid wet the bed that night. A lot of completely healthy kids probably wet the bed Sunday night, but this one was in my house, so I was drafted into changing sheets and finding clean pajamas.
In order to stay healthy myself, I need to listen to my body. It’s telling me a lot of things today. Things like “You need to nap for a few hours,” and “You won’t make it without an adequate dose of dark chocolate,” and “I need something salty. No sweet. No salty. . .” and finally, it’s saying, “Try to get a nerve blocker as soon as possible.” That’s because I had my session with the trainer yesterday and out of the 640 muscles I have, 600 are killing me today.
But while napping is a priority, it’s not the only one. There were cereal bowls to fill this morning and lunchboxes to pack. Prescriptions to pick up and phone calls to return. I had to run the vacuum over the upstairs carpet so I could check “clean the house” off my list. Clean the house usually means clean the house, but when I’m operating on a sleep deficit, I allow myself to do one thing that falls under that category and call it good. And my laziness was also interrupted by trying to get organized for the Super Bowl.
I’m not playing in it this year, or even the foreseeable future, but in honor of the men who are, it’s my job, as an American, to consume 5,000 extra calories that day. For whatever reason, this one sporting event calls for Doritos, Oreos, and a plethora of dips. There are zoning ordinances in place that call for hamburger and hotdog preparation, or, in some counties, pizza is an option. And I fear if I don’t make brownies, my citizenship could be revoked. But why is it just for this one game? I don’t remember ever breaking all FDA guidelines during the NBA Finals or The World Series. (Some maybe, but not all) And I certainly wasn’t chowing down on nachos when the American women’s gymnastics team took the gold for the all-around competition in the Beijing Olympics.
One year I actually decided we would eat healthy fare on Super Bowl Sunday. We made turkey burgers and served them on whole wheat buns with fresh tomato slices and reduced fat cheese. Instead of chips, we had carrot sticks and ranch. And I topped that off with a fruit salad. It was the worst Super Bowl EVER. I was ashamed of myself and what I had become. I don’t remember who we had over that year, but I’m pretty sure we never heard from them again.
So I spent some time today making a grocery list that would make the Pillsbury dough boy blush, and scouring the Sunday coupons for anything that would fit in that tiny triangle at the top of the suggested food pyramid. Because we’re going to enjoy the Super Bowl this year, regardless of the outcome of the game itself, and we’re doing it the old-fashioned way, through voracious eating. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a nap to take.
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