Cake for breakfast

I ate chocolate cake for breakfast this morning. There was leftover cake in the freezer from cutting out the Furby shape for Finleigh's cake. I'd saved it just incase of an emergency. But all went smoothly, so I was stuck with leftover cake. My kids didn't know about it. So I ate it.

It wouldn't be healthy for them, after all. And coffee and chocolate cake is so yummy, even at 8:30 am. And the cake was so damn moist. I mean, this recipe? Amazing.

And thus? My 30 pound weight gain in six months - my ability to eat 500+ calories worth of cake for breakfast is just an example of the things my body will tolerate.

The morning started with yelling. Not by me. Not by my husband, who is at work. But my beautiful daughter. It is Family Day today here in Alberta. That means a stat. Which means no school.

So, I thought, a lazy day. I'll let Finleigh go downstairs without getting dressed. A pyjama day. A rare treat for her.

But when I came downstairs 10 minutes after my kids did, pyjama day was over. It was now naked day.

I knew- as I sat up in my bed browsing through my iPhone, reading a couple articles that were quasi interesting, but had absolutely nothing to do with my immediate life - that I would regret this time. That it likely wouldn't be worth it.

An it wasn't. I walked downstairs to crumbs all over the floor, spilt juice, a naked child, and cereal that had been picked clean of all the favourite bits.

And the yelling. Did I mention the yelling?

Now, to be fair, all these things were not my daughter's fault. And so, after a quick lecture to my male offspring and a threat to cancel this afternoon's playdate (that we can't really call a play date anymore because they are too old for play dates, so get together with school friends?) if things didn't smarten up, a sweep and wipe of the floor, and clothing my naked daughter, they all settled down in front of the TV (but not their TV, because the bulb in the TV they usually watch just burnt out this morning, which will leave us with the question of replacing the bulb in the 8 year old TV, or getting a new TV, or telling the kids they can't watch TV anymore, or not doing anything and just letting them watch TV in our "good" room that they normally don't go into without a parent - I don't like any of those options) and I sat down at the table out of sight with a large slice of moist, leftover, chocolate cake.

Yum.

And yet…gah. I am not enjoying the lump in my stomach. Which I absolutely deserve. Without question.

The last two days were supposed to be dedicated to homework. I was supposed to lock myself downstairs and get caught up after taking time off for a visit from a friend and party preparations. Instead, I found excuse after excuse and got perhaps a total of 30 minutes in.

And now the point of my post. I'm just not sure I have the internal fortitude to be the person I really want to be. A good, patient, attentive, wise wife and mom. An in-shape woman who cares for her body and looks hot it a good pair of jeans - ha! A good student who then turns into a successful, intelligent career woman. And not to forget my desire to be a good sister, daughter, in-law, friend - most of which I fail at on a daily basis by basically being an absent sister, daughter, in-law, friend.

Most days I'm lucky to get through the day without loosing my ever loving mind on my children. Or myself. Everything else is half-assed, it seems. The kids' homework is often an afterthought. I'm failing at working on the homework I get from the behaviour therapist - a post for another day. I'm now two weeks behind with my own school work.

And I ate cake for breakfast.

Not that I'm writing this for a bunch of pity, or "you can do it"'s, or don't be so hard on yourself. I'm actually pretty happy with myself and relatively content on a daily basis. But I'm also frustrated that I can't do and be more.

When, after a really great birthday the other day, my seven year old daughter then reverts to two year old behaviour and pee's all over her father, a little piece of energy drains right out of me. That extra load of laundry and the cleaning of the floor isn't a big deal, but its the bigger picture that's frustrating. That slowly builds doubt into me that my own goals are worth it. My hope for the future chips away. Our pride deflates just a little bit more.

And so that's that. The reality behind my pretty, idealized birthday post from the other day. Anyone can make their life look pretty and put together. But behind the scenes… it's a much different story. Just thought you deserved to know.