So while Cassidy was home for a couple months, she read a book about cleansing. Not cleansing grout joints, shower scum, or one's frontal lobe of evil thoughts. As in cleansing the body. Evidently it's a proven, successful, five-week way to detoxify
one's mind, soul and body. A life-changing, meaningful way to physiologically decontaminate one's body of all the ugly, aberrant molecules, peptides and proteins that over time inhabit our anatomical house.
I'm so glad our friends Doug and Kelli came over for dinner that fateful night. And I'm even gladder (I know that's not really a word, Grammar Nazis) that they shared with us the many virtues of The Cleanse. It's a tried-and-true thing for them, something they do three times a year. They're both active and healthy! They look terrific! They're fit and trim!
So after approximately 1.3 glasses of chardonnay, I was convinced: This is the key to life! Yes! I.am.going.to.do.this.
And I came up with a marvelous idea: Cassidy and I will do this together! Starting Thursday morning! We will bond over goji berries, chia seeds and green smoothies. Our mother-daughter link will become even stronger as we, together, reach our common goal of becoming healthier, glowier…and less cottage cheesier (Me, not her. She has no CC. Yet.). In my mind, it was a done deal.
Even after the ethereal effects of my beloved chardonnay had long since worn off, I was still on a high about doing this — for our health, for our vitality, for the sake of my maternal relationship with my first-born.
And then I started learning a little bit more about the diet part of it.
(Cue the screeching brakes.)
You see, there is no coffee allowed. Zero. Zilch. And wine? Forget about it…
As Tuesday rolled around, Cassidy said, “We're still gonna start The Cleanse on Thursday, right? Right?”
“Uhhh. Yeah. I kinda need to read more about it, though.”
She knew something was up.
I thought about it 24/7. There was a lot of internal dialogue happening: Come on, you can do anything for a few weeks. And thoughts
like: You prommmmissssed your daughter. Remember how excited you were?
Now, maybe because I am a newly-minted 55-year-old with a sense of entitlement, or perhaps because I'm too set in my ways and/or too much of a routine queen (yes, I'm a Virgo), I woke up at my usual 4:47 a.m. (always) on that Wednesday morning and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no way in h*!l I was going to do this. No way, no how.
You see, I came to own the fact that I lovelovelove and cherish my 4:56 a.m. (always) cup of joe each weekday morning, accompanied by whole wheat toast and peanut butter. Always. Every morning. For the last at least seven years. (Don't roll your eyes at me. I'm owning who I am, People.)
And I also own the fact that I live for Friday night at 5:00 when I theatrically, jubilantly, hurriedly open a bottle of chardonnay and pour myself a glass…or two. And I repeat this wonderful ritual every Saturday night as well, and most Sundays. (I don't imbibe by myself, most nights, btw.)
So there. I said it. I own it!
I eat healthily — lots of leafy greens, heavy on the whole grains, very easy on the red meat, dressing on the side, just a bite of dessert, blah-blah-blah. I exercise almost daily. I floss (not often enough, but whatever.) I drink copious amounts of water (most days).
In my enlightened, trying-to-be-as-healthy-as-possible world, though, life is just too short to deny myself of a little hit of coffee each morning, and a big hit of vino three nights a week.
Own it, I told myself. You are NOT going to do The Cleanse! Now or ever.
Dearest Cassidy: I think/hope/pray you understand and forgive me for not keeping my pinky-swear promise. You see, I'd much rather bond with you over large-sized Pinkberry yogurts, long power-walks to the American River, Level 14's on the StairClimber, or those new peanut butter Snickers bars that Grandma likes. Or, better yet, a non-fat latte or glass of chard.
Dearest Doug and Kelli: I have a new-found appreciation for your stick-to-it-tive-ness. I admire and respect your conviction and belief in The Cleanse. I'm happy that you're happy about it. Really, I am. But… just four words: Better You Than Me.
So, yeah, writing this post has helped me to clearly see other things that I own. Here goes!
- I have never been, nor ever will be, a cook. (I know, Janet, you can't relate.) In other words, eat at your own risk here.
- But I love to entertain — the having-people-over and lighting-the-candles part!
- “The Good Wife” does not apply to me as often as it should.
- I hate black pumps (on me anyway).
- It is mandatory that I get at least 7 and 1/2 hours of sleep per night.
- I'll never have thin thighs in 30 Days. Or 3 years. Or ever.
- I am as happy as my most unhappy child.
- If I constantly worry about/wonder if I said something wrong to my “friend,” she's really not a true friend.
- I am not a jewelry person.
- I am not a math/numbers person. At all.
- I am a perfume person.
- I love sweat pants.
- I always think my girlies should “pouf their crown.” (They know what I'm talking about.)
- I'd rather be one hour early than two minutes late.
- I'm extremely proud of being a (real, true) Valley Girl ~ as in the San Joaquin Valley. (Porterville, you rock!)
- I own more cardigans from Target (21.99) than from J Crew (89.99).
- I often fail as a Mom. (Like the time I lied to my girlies and told them I had baked from scratch that cherry pie. Or the time I knowingly stole Julia's cream lace blouse.)
- Don't talk to me until I've been awake for at least an hour.
- I'll never understand bunions and hot flashes.
- All seafood in my home should be double-Saran-wrapped and stored in the garage refrigerator.
- I loathe French-manicured pedicures.
- I'll never, ever be a C-cup.
There. I said it ~ the good, the bad, the ugly. I own it! And I feel much better.
Which begs the question: What do YOU own?! Do tell….
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