Baking up a batch of cope

I've decided to screw the idea of baking less. I'm sure it has a lot to do with my current funk related to my son moving out, but in the spirit of addiction, I am riding with it. I had a good solid run of one week without baking. I was proud of myself for a split second when I realized I could do it if I wanted to. Then I got out the mixer and baked up a batch of coping. Briefly felt like a failure, then didn't care again. I've come to realize the failure part stays. No matter what. Baking won't help, eating won't help. Life is like that. We all have our vices. But vices don't really do anything in the long run for your sanity. They are extremely temporary fixes for perceived weaknesses. The perceived part is the killer. I can beat myself up 'til I'm black and blue in the brain, but no one, and I mean, no one can convince me I am okay. From what I can tell, most of us struggle with personal frustrations. Whenever I meet someone who I think may "have it all together", something always changes that. I can see it in people's eyes. The words may sound rational, but the face gives it away. Everyone struggles. Some more than others. But the calm comes in knowing none of us are even remotely perfect, maybe to someone else if you are lucky, but never to ourselves. And sometimes that has to be good enough. We have to let it be.

cruel summer

Six days into my summer vacation and so far it's been an adventure. Not like a "I went to Hawaii and hiked a volcano" adventure or "I bungee jumped" adventure. More of a rollercoaster adventure. High highs and low lows. An emotional exhausting up and down ride into the hellish places I hate to go and the kind of change I don't cope with well. As I've said before, my son moved out. He's in San Diego. Beautiful, sunny San Diego. One of the truest grins I've ever seen on his face since his teenage years is when he held up his new key and smiled. The second grin was when we'd dumped all his boxes into his new room and he walked me to my car. That was the grin of adulthood, the grin of joy, the grin of new adventure. That made me happy. He was happy and I really, really loved that.

After I got into my car, he started to walk away, and I could feel that weird burning sensation in my face, that pre-hysteria that was brewing. I started up my car and turned the corner toward the freeway. Then it happened. Whole, deep, gut wrenching sobs came out of me. I tried to squelch them so I could focus on my driving. I was embarrassed that someone might look into my car window and see me losing it. But, none of that rationalizing could help the situation. I had to let it run it's course and as I turned onto the freeway, I began to hyperventilate. Some of us have had those cries, the ones that seem to take over your whole body, the uncontrollable, soul starved aches that just keep coming. I've had a few in my lifetime and so I just let it roll. After a few minutes I caught my breath and made a conscious decision to stuff it down until later. I was on my way to a friend's house, hurrying to get there so her drama could become mine. So I would be able to absorb myself into her life and not think about my own. It worked. I've pushed it into a safe place, it'll harbor there until I feel like I have a safe place to deal with it. Until then, I'll eat my way around it.

ton of bricks

My son is moving out in two days. He hasn't packed yet and shows no inclination to do so. I am beside myself. Went to see "Toy Story 3" today. The boy in it is 17 now and about to leave for college. He packs up his toys and the story ensues. Absolutely heartbreaking. Spent most of the movie crying my eyes out, chunky tears sliding down my cheeks, trying to keep it together. Could see my youngest son glancing over at me periodically, knowing I was a basket case. An absolutely wonderful movie that wore me out. When it ended and the credits were rolling, I couldn't move. I could feel the sadness from my teenage son sitting two seats over. I knew it had grabbed him and held on. This was his life, this was my life. Today was the first day I have let myself feel absolutely miserable about this whole thing. The denial has left the building, I am in this heart and soul. And I am squeezed dry.

Deal with it

My son is graduating tomorrow. Next week he is moving away. I will cry like a baby. Probably for a very long time. As with the majority of moms I know, our lives revolve around our kids. That's the way it is and the way it should be. Never had much respect for those moms that lament about how they gave, gave, gave with nothing in return, only to "find themselves" in middle age, dump their husbands and take up pottery. Motherhood is a choice and I happily made it. But the whole empty nest thing is rearing its ugly head.

Because motherhood is all encompassing, when the time comes for one of them to leave, it's a little like being hit in the head with a stone. Yes I am proud of the young man he has become, yes I trust his judgement (as much as one can trust an 18 year old's judgement) and yes it's time for him to go out and learn to live his life. But I don't have to like it. I can whine, I can cry, and I can fuss. But what it really boils down to is my purpose in life is being forced to change. With little subtlety my children are going to leave home and I am going to have to adjust to this new way of being. I have seen this coming for awhile now. My most obvious sign was in January, when because I no longer have toddlers to take care of, I adopted a little dog. The first sign of impending loneliness, the chihuahua.

I guess that means that my son will still need me but with a twist. I'm still mom, but I have no control . My son is on his own. His autonomy will drive him. It's time for him to test his mettle. I can only sit back and watch, hoping that he will find his purpose while I search for my own. In the meantime, I'll pester him with instant messages on Facebook and leave long babbling messages on his voicemail. Poor kid.

capital punishment

I bake....alot. Just about daily I take a trip to my local market to purchase the supplies I need to whip up a batch of Toll House Cookies. I buy my generic brown sugar, shortening, and whatever chocolate chips are the cheapest that day. In my town there are two supermarkets. I tend to split my trips back and forth to avoid looking like some crazy market stalker. I'm sure nobody cares or notices, but in my brain, life is like that. It's exhausting to worry that much about everything, but trooper that I am, I persevere.
But back to baking. Yes, baking is fun. Yes, baking is delicious. But, no, I do not truly bake for those reasons. I bake because it is my way of dealing with the world. Baking soothes the savage beast. It takes me to my safe place. And it is killing me.
I could probably trace my obsessiveness with baking to a specific event, but over the years I have learned that most of us use something to soothe our pain. I have become more understanding of addiction and coping mechanisms. My KitchenAide is my pacifier, the thing I look to when times are tough. I have had that mixer for 14 years now. If I had to grab one inanimate object in a fire, it wouldn't be photo albums or jewelry, it would be that cranky old mixer who has served me through good times and bad.
As the years roll on and I watch my addiction flourish, I am feeling the effects of all those pounds of flour and sugar that have passed my lips. No longer do I really enjoy the creaminess of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate. I need it, I crave it. It comforted me for so long, but it's time for a new vice. It no longer fills the void. What that is, I have no idea. But with luck I will find it. Sooner than later.