Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

So for anyone not in a helping profession or related field, the title makes little sense to you. However, if common sense is your friend, and obviously it is because you're reading this blog, then you can figure it out...

This has been a busy week.  Our vehicle has been giving us trouble, yet again and this sends my husband into a flurry of activity that involves test driving numerous vehicles.  He acts like this is a chore but he likes it.  The beauty part of it is, I refuse to enter the dealership he's been frequenting because their customer service is perhaps among the worst in the free world; so he goes and deals with them face to face, brings the numbers and the vehicle to me and they I give my yay or nay.  Except tonight I might have to break down and go to the actual dealership with him.  This is where most likely the salesman (and he is indeed male), will begin by largely making eye contact with Ryan and directing the sales pitch at him.  Then I will start talking and eventually he'll realize that despite the fact I have a vagina, I am capable of math, decision making and speaking out loud.

Is this unfair of me?

No.

In the time we've been together we've bought two homes and a vehicle among other things.  Typically when we deal with males sales people this is how they begin.  Like it's 1946 and Ryan only brought along the little woman to get her out of the kitchen for awhile.  Then I start talking.  At first they can't figure out why I haven't been trained to keep my mouth shut, but eventually they realize I am indeed making sense and we work from there.  It's tiring getting them to that point though.  Even when I ditch my skirt, heels and pearls for a pair of pants and runners.  Maybe it's my 'up-do' and red lipstick that throw them off...

In any event, life continues to be busy and fraught with stress and worry and general somewhat organized chaos.

So what 'self-care' practises do I utilize to make sure this mommy is a happy one? 

Well, right now I have a box of Halloween candy beside me.  And a glass of milk in front of me.  So far I've eaten roughly seven 'Fun-Size' Twix bars and four Snickers.  And I'm not done.

I fed my children pizza pops because I didn't take anything out of the freezer for supper and the dishes didn't get done last night.  They followed up the pizza pops with pudding and are now on to cheese strings.  I attempted to sneak some grapes into the equation, under the pretense of being a good mother who provides her children with choices from all four food groups, but they politely declined. 

I am not setting a good example at present but due to their under-developed observational skills they have yet to notice mommy is gorging herself on candy as opposed to eating an actual meal. 

Do I feel any better?  More relaxed?  In control of my life?

No, kind of, and no.

Will I regret this binge later?

Yep.

Will I choose exercise instead next time?

Likely not?

Alcohol?

Should the opportunity present itself.

For now though, I gotta go.  I'm almost out of milk.