To Cleanse or Not to Cleanse? Redux. Day 2.
Today I am cranky.
6:15 a.m. – I actually wake up in a good mood today. Feeling refreshed from over 8 hours of sleep (such a luxury), the girls are dressed and ready for school in record time. This morning no one asks to try my green juice, but the 5 year old reminds me that she didn’t get any of the cashew milk last night, and why can’t I drink that one in the morning so that she can have some? Again, greed takes over, and I secretly make plans to wait until she is asleep to drink it again tonight.
9:30 a.m. – Both kids at school, I settle into work determined to be productive. The #2 juice, a pineapple mint, even tastes better to me today. (Yesterday it had a funny after taste.) But the smell of vanilla cakes baking in the oven wafts into my office from the kitchen, and I begin to get cranky. This mood settles in for the entire day. As do the shivers–I am freezing. I make myself a green tea and grab a small handful of almonds while I’m at it. Cleanse, shmeanse, I think. Logging on to Twitter, everything is about food. Granted, I follow Eric Ripert, Tom Colicchio, Marc Forgione and other chefs, but they seem to be particularly verbose about their dinner menus today. I notice an interesting piece in the Bon Appetit blog: The Food Lover’s Cleanse. A two week commitment where you actually get to eat solid food. Why didn’t I see this before Blue Print? I salivate as I begin to read her daily menus, but as I continue through the days, I get tired just thinking about the shopping, cooking and preparation she is doing for herself. Plus, there’s a lot of salmon on the menu. I don’t like salmon. Oh well, good riddance.
2:00 p.m. – I emerge from my office for a quick meeting with a packaging vendor. The store is busy, so I stay to help customers, even though I’m still in a foggy, surly mood. At one point I answer the phone–a client is on the line looking to buy her daughter’s 1st birthday cake. She has no idea what she wants. Only that she wants it to look “spectacular”, but she “doesn’t want to spend that much.” I go through 20+ flavor suggestions. I talk about the design ideas in her budget. She looks at a picture online and asks if she can get something like that cake. “Yes, of course, but it costs more than you wanted to spend.” “Why?” “Because it takes about 3 times as long to make the decorations.” “Why?” I feel like I am speaking to my 5 year old. I try to be patient–she agrees she should probably come in to take a look at more pictures and talk to us in person. After a 30 minute conversation, we hang up the phone. My head hurts. I grab another small handful of almonds and retreat to my office.
5:00 p.m. – Chaos at work. Both the printers are out of ink. We are scrambling to get UPS labels printed, so we can send out Cookie of the Month subscriptions before the impending snow storm. It’s a “Calgon, take me away!” moment–the kind I have probably once a month as a small business owner. With zero energy, I decide to leave it in the hands of my capable manager and escape to pilates class.
5:30 p.m. – In addition to being 2/3 of the way through a 3 day cleanse, I haven’t been to pilates class in 6 weeks. My muscles are tired and soon become sore. My face gets unusually flushed. I make it through class, but I feel sore and miserable. I want a cheeseburger and a glass of wine.
7:00 p.m. – At home, my 2 year old goes to sleep quickly and easily. (Sigh of relief again.) Still thinking of cheeseburgers, I open the refrigerator. I see our Artisinal Cheese of the Month Club mailing, and I want to dig in to the camembert so badly. Instead I take an uneaten cucumber stick from one of the kids’ lunches, and grab a handful of homemade granola the 2 year old made in pre-school. That satisfies me enough to dump the remaining sips of the #5 green juice I was still trying to finish. My 5 year old looks at me and asks again about the cashew milk, so I open it up and give her a sip. I have to pull it away from her mouth. It really is good. I decide we should make smoothies with almond or cashew milk on a regular basis.
7:30 p.m. – My husband gets home from work, and he puts the 5 year old to bed. I look out the window to see the state of the “snow emergency” but see nothing. It makes me sad to think about sledding and hot chocolate and chili or other snow day comfort food, when I know I’ll have to be at work regardless, and I’ll likely be drinking my juices. I think again about throwing in the towel. Then I think, “what if Amy Chua was my mother?” And I decide “this Westerner won’t quit.”
9:00 p.m. – I am on the verge of drifting off to sleep on the couch, and my husband emerges from his reading and bedtime duties. At this point I feel like I could go to bed sad and miserable, but I stay up, and I talk to my husband about things that I’m worrying about at work. He gives me good advice. All of a sudden I have a second wind, and even the smell of his hearty soup and glass of red wine doesn’t bother me. Our 2 year old sleepily stumbles into the living room to join us, and we let her sit on the couch. At 9:30 the phone rings–an automated message from our daughter’s school that school is canceled tomorrow. We look out the window and snow is just beginning to fall. We wake up the 5 year old, because she had been so excited to see the snow, and then the four of us cuddle up on the couch and watch “Million Dollar Money Drop.” (Classy, I know.) I feel content, satisfied that I made it through Day 2, and not at all hungry.