I tell myself if I hold in my instinctive response when stressed, I'll be more adult when I address the situation. Unfortunately, the usual result is that I end up fighting with the inner beast, which gives me wrinkles and stomach aches. Invariably, the inner bitch sneaks out anyway and I end up feeling like I've turned into Linda Blair and spewed green vomit all over a priest.
So far, I've kept a firm grip, but only because I made liberal use of this 2-Step Stress Buster, which I highly recommend to you if you have even a fraction of my issues. Yeah, I should probably find a therapist. But this remedy works. And it has to be cheaper.
Step 1. Attack the yard instead of friends, coworkers, family or the random stranger who knocks on your door trying to sell you something you don't want, need or welcome.
You need good weather for this, of course, and I was lucky enough to have it. In a pinch, you can clean the house, but the yard fights back more, which helps speed the recovery.
I spend more money on flowers than I thought I should have Friday, only to determine this morning that I want more. In addition to planting annuals in the front yard, I raked out all of the backyard flower beds and moved around a few perennials that had gotten too big for their borders. After 3-4 hours non-stop with rake, shovel and spade, I had killed a battalion of dandelions, reordered the borders and hopefully improved the curb appeal of our little house.
Step 2. Rent a kid to play with yours and then sit back and listen to the back seat chatter. Drive extra miles if you need to. Even with today's price of gas, the return on investment is in triple digits.
I rented Jenna this weekend. Like always, it was hilarious and a great help to my peace of mind.
Excerpts from the Alison-Jenna show:
As they get out of the car, Jenna finds a piece of Alison's artwork from school and picks it up.
"Hey, who's the guy on the cross?"
"Uh. That's Jesus, Jenna," says Ali.
"Oh yeah. Right. "
Later, while serving as my personal shopper, Jenna redeems herself and drags me over to look at a display of the Holy Family.
"Who is that anyway," I ask.
"Well that's the baby Jesus. That's his mommy and that's his daddy," she say.
"I think you're right," I say.
"Well, that is why people go to church," says the suddenly pious one.
***
"Hey, Miss Cheryl: what's that?" Jenna asks, pointing to my yard-work reward: a Mike's Hard Liquor pomegranate lemonade.
"That's a grown-up drink," I say.
Following Alison down the stairs, Jenna calls back, "When I'm grown up, can I have that drink?"
"Yes you may," I say, taking a swig.
"Hey Jenna, I bet I'll get to have that drink before you do," says Alison, a full 42 days older.
"Yeah probably," says Jenna.
***
Somewhere along the way, a bug crossed the girls' path.
"Kill it," said Jenna, progeny of the bug-hater Amer.
"It's not bothering us, Jenna," said Ali, she of a more liberal, live and let live home.
"Just. Kill. It," said Jenna.
This went on for a while. So long, in fact, the bug escaped.
***
Alison is keeping up pretty well with her fish responsibilities. I measure this by the fact that Grace the Fish still swims. The girls were returning her to her room after we cleaned her bowl.
Ali was carrying the bowl.
"Be careful, Ali. There's a fish in there," Jenna said. "You drop it, she's dead."
Alison, a bit offended, informed her: "I'm very used to this, Jenna!"
***
After dinner, I parked the girls in front of a movie and took a little break myself. At 10 o'clock, they were still going strong and Jeff decided they needed to go to bed. Every once in a while I would mute sound on the television just to hear them giggle. I didn't need to know why they were laughing. The squeals alone were pure therapy.
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