A mixed bag

Well, today was a tiring one at work but at least I got to swim during lunch -- the last chance I'll get to exercise until after the Thanksgiving break. I have too much to do during my lunch hour next week to go to the gym. Sigh.

I dashed out to a kids' consignment store in Salem tonight because it's going to be very very cold tonight (there are even predictions of SNOW, ugh) and I've suddenly become extremely anxious that Rachel doesn't have a proper coat. Couldn't find a coat, but did manage to snag some leggings, shirts and sweaters. It seems as if we're always running out of clothes for her to wear, but that could be because I only do Rachel laundry one day a week.

After I picked her up we went to Value Village, a cheapo store that's a cut above Goodwill. And I snagged a size 3 warm winter coat from Columbia Sportswear for $15! "TOO BIG!" Rachel protested, and as I made her put it on she said, "no no no," and it's true, it looks like she's swimming in it, but at least she's not falling out of the coat and I figure she can grow into it. I just can't bring myself to spend $75 on a coat she will only wear this season. Let's hope that, in fact, she grows into it because I can tell it's going to be a struggle getting her into and out of it.

So we were late getting home, and when I pulled into the garage and unhooked Rachel from her car seat I noticed she had made an absolute MESS with bits of granola, raisins and bran flakes. I was so exasperated that I plunked her down in the kitchen and cleaned as much as I could -- then used the Dustbuster for the rest, which absolutely terrified her (and I knew it, too, which makes my behavior all the more abonimable). "No more granola for you, Rachel," I said crossly as I carried the crumbs from the car to the kitchen sink. "You make too much of a mess." All the while she was crying and imploring me not to turn on the "vaccum cleaner" again, at one point grabbing my legs and holding onto them for dear life.

That's when I sat down on the kitchen floor and took her in my lap and started crying. I know she's scared of the Dustbuster but I used it anyway, and I got angry at her for making the backseat a mess when, really, it doesn't matter in the long run. I told her that I needed a hug and she obliged. She even gave me a kiss when I asked.

"Do you want to eat dinner, sweetie?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Want to do Mommy books?"
"Yeah," she answered.

So, no Shabbat candles or dinner for us tonight. That opened the door to another perpetual worry: That Rachel never eats a decent meal; she lives on snacks of pretzels, graham crackers, raisins, bananas, granola bars and the occasional jar of baby food. I have given up trying to feed her grownup food because she never eats it. Thus reinforcing my deep, insecure belief that I am really not equipped to do this on my own.