1/2 Baked Life of Gods' Folly

If I could eat dairy, there'd only be three of these to sell! Chocolate Sour Cream muffins with Dark Chocolate Chips and Strawberries. These are fully baked. Oh yes. I'd eat them. As comfort. And joy. Comfort and joy. Tis the Season and all.
The other day I was in the knit shop, finally purchasing the pattern for the Lucy Bag and enough yarn to make one for Gramma Bunnie for Xmas, when I was once again Folly of the Gods for a few moments. I just love these times. There I am, happily reveling in some cool Hannah memories, thinking of the red scarves I'm making for the Jizo Ceremony; all in love with mothering a daughter, when I hear that voice. The voice of the Mother Who Hates Her Children, Especially the Daughter. When she & I attend the same homeschool functions, my heiny is in constant clenching spasms. I know I've gotta say something after hi! What can be said, really? I work to channel Mary Lewis. Yes, I actually said to myself "What would Mary do?" and it helped. Sorta. I smiled thinking Mary would do a much better job at this opportunity for kindness. I remembered Mary questioning my purpose in this mom's life. Like to be the bearer of the one kindness that shifts the tides of unhappiness from this woman's fragile straw-hut of a relationship with her kids. Like the one who consistently models kindness & joy in the face of her ugliness. Like the one who keeps standing in possibility for people to do better when they know better. I touched every skein of wool yarn in the place, taking my time to fantasize about what I really wanted to say figure out what kind thing I could muster the goodness to say. As I was leaving I smiled even bigger, and wished her a wonderful afternoon, reveling in her childlessness. Oh she says I wish I was here joyfully, I'm here because I hate my kids and need to be away from them right now. Well, I stammered, Hannah's face flashing before my eyes and You Ungrateful Bitch dancing on my tongue, even that is a gift, I continued, y'know, being able to acknowledge how you're feeling and to have the support to actually doing something about it. Tears stinging my eyes, my heart about to leap itself onto 4th Street, I don't think I'll survive. I suppose so, she grumbled, my husband's pretty great. I breathed & Flash-dreamed about killing her, then said, at least this way they're not getting drowned in the bathtub and you've no reason to be put in jail. Sounds like a win/win situation. Hope you go back with better feelings after your knitting break! And I ran like the wind. Out to my car on shaky legs and one super clenched heiny. I'm still not unclenched.
I may never recover. Then again my recovery chances are greater than her kids.
Making pink mashed potatoes (beet juice) with my kid, whom I do not hate, helped my mood immensely.