My Attempts At "Centering"

I’ve been dealing with Divas all the live long day! Divas that I am parenting.

Diva #1 is short, dark and male and talks like Elmer Fudd would, if Elmer was crabby and complaining incessantly about the weather. “I’m tiwed of all the wain. When will it be sunny so I can go out and pway??” Diva #1 made no bones about the fact that he much preferred the Kraft brand of macaroni and cheese over the homemade version that I made for lunch today. Then I played a CD that I bought for myself this weekend. It’s an instrumental assortment of airy songs promising to help me in my quest for peacefulness and a harmonious existence, or some such. I don’t really know what that means. What I do know is that its songs have names such as “Zen Garden” and “Sunset Paradise.” I was hoping this music would help to relax me so I would not commit a felony because of my hormones and the little male Diva following me around the house complaining about the macaroni and cheese. So I played this CD, to which Diva #1 stated he hated that kind of music; that it was too “sad” and made him want to die and go to Heaven right now. And then he threw himself on the floor, striking a SAD AND DYING POSE, and was highly insulted that I wasn’t taking it seriously and calling an ambulance. I was clean out of compassion. But fortunately the cat cuddled up next to him, giving him the empathy he’d been yearning for, and I went back to eating my macaroni and cheese and listening to my Zen music.

Diva #2 is taller and female. I picked her up from school today, and she was still fatigued from jet lag and her "boring" classes. I was forced to listen to a litany of reasons why France is so much better than the U.S. all the way home in the car. She stated deductions such as there is no legal drinking age and that they dine on delicacies like escargot which sounds way cooler than eating snails. She insisted I drive her to Trader Joe’s for chocolate croissants which she had a taste for, but then complained that they were not nearly as delicious as the “true French ones.” As long as we were at Trader Joe’s, I decided to pick up a few bottles of inexpensive wine. And having attended one wine-tasting at a vineyard in France, Diva #2 declared herself a connoisseur, and proceeded to advise me on my wine purchases, insisting that the French varietals were the absolute best. Isn't it wonderful that I had my own Personal Sommelier accompanying me on this visit to Trader Joe's, to critique my every move down the wine aisle?! She was annoyed when I settled on an Italian red to go with my dinner tonight of ziti with Bolognese.

(BIG SIGH OF SELF PITY.)

Diva #1 is now happily watching a DVD, the 11th one that I suggested. It's amazing that I had to only suggest 11! And Diva #2 is wistfully looking at her France pictures and texting her traveling buddies about how she wishes she could move permanently across The Big Pond. My middle child is wisely staying out of trouble.

I will pour myself a glass of Italian sangiovese from Trader Joe's, and turn on my “Serenity” CD, so I can attempt to achieve a bit of inner harmony before I begin the dinner. Cheers. And Peace Out, Baby.