I have no appropriate introduction for this blog post, other than I lost my shit over Whipped Cocoa.

It all started when I woke up this morning.  Ron had a late night obligation last night, and was sound asleep next to me.  Being the thoughtful and kind wife that I am, I didn’t disturb him when I got out of bed.  Because I knew he would do the same for me.  And also because he’s a real dick when he’s sleep deprived.  (To be fair–so am I!)

Gabriel was still sleeping and I knew I wasn’t going to have time to do makeup this morning, but I had just enough time to take a shower.  I mean, I thought I did.  There’s something else I have to tell you.I promise, this is relevant to the story:  I have dry skin in the winter.  It only started a couple years ago, when I turned 30.  I know this sounds dumb, but I could not figure out why my skin would get itchy in the winter.  I also never understood the reason why companies pushed “body lotion” so much.  Face lotion–sure.  But body lotion?  A greasy Greek had no need for such things.  I could not fathom why anyone would need gigantic pump bottles of lotion (except, maybe…if it wasn’t used as a moisturizer.  Ya know.)

Now I have lotions and creams, oils and body butters.  I hate putting any of them on after a shower.  It adds extra time to my “get ready” time.  It’s irritating, but it’s a necessity…or else I’m scratching my body like I have fleas, and people tend to raise an eyebrow at that sort of thing.  Especially if you have a case of Tit-Itch.  OMG.  There have been times I would’ve scratched my nipples right off if I didn’t have an emergency tin of Nivea Creme nearby.

So anyway, yeah–lotion in the winter months is a MUST.

Yesterday, I used the last of whatever Shea Butter body wash I had in the shower, and I am trying to force myself to feel a little more festive, so I replaced it with a body wash called Whipped Cocoa.

I forgot I did that, so I when I stepped into the shower this morning, it was a pleasant surprise.

I went through the steps of my shower routine, which were just as uneventful as every other day…until it was time to lather up my body.

I squirted some Whipped Cocoa body wash on my pouf and got a pleasant whiff of chocolate.  I squished the pouf in my hand until it started to turn into a foamy lather, and then started washing my left arm.  Holy chocolate.  Mmmm…that smells amazing.

First  I was like

By the time I had washed approximately half of my body, I started to salivate.  The scent–although pleasant beyond my expectations–was overpowering.  I felt my stomach clench up.  I’m not really a breakfast person, but…damn, I am really hungry this morning.

I kept washing.  My hunger level increased.  I kept washing.  My nose was smitten with the scent; I couldn’t stop myself from inhaling the decadent aroma that even Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory couldn’t produce.

Then I was like

I kept washing.  Why would I blow cash on the Chocolate Immersion spa treatment…or a Chocolate Bean Polish…or a Cocoa Facial Experience… at The Spa At Hotel Hershey when a cheap bottle of Whipped Cocoa body wash is pushing me to the brink of mental and physical climax?!?!?!

By this point, I was in a frenzy.  The Whipped Cocoa body wash put me in a sensory prison, and I had to escape.  And I had to eat.  OMG.  I HAD TO EAT.

The odd thing about my sudden onset of hunger was that I didn’t crave chocolate.  I didn’t crave anything sweet at all.  I wanted something salty.  More specifically, I wanted Hash Brown Casserole.  Creamy, gooey, salty Hash Brown Casserole from Oregon Dairy.

And since Ron was sleeping and I had to get my kid up and schlep him to school, Oregon Dairy just wasn’t an option.  Because I needed Hash Brown Casserole NOW.

I toweled off, peeked into Gabriel’s room to wake him, and then went back into my bedroom where the new bottle of body lotion I bought yesterday was sitting on my dresser.  Cocoa butter.  Fuck.

Of all my lotions and creams, oils and body butters…I did not own anything with cocoa butter until yesterday.  The odor wasn’t nearly as pungent as the Whipped Cocoa body wash, but layering that lotion on top of freshly washed skin, with the scent of chocolate wafting its way from the bathroom to the bedroom, it took every ounce of strength (and shred of dignity) not to drop to the floor, writhing and bartering with the Universe to make a plate of warm Hash Brown Casserole appear on my dresser.

I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

Ron slept, just a few feet away from where I got dressed…blissfully unaware of the pain and suffering I had to endure after surrendering myself to the chocolate pillage.

I went into Gabriel’s room, turned on the light, and he pulled his covers over his head and giggled.  “Dude.  I have to tell you something.  It’s late and you have school today.  We have to hurry so you’re not late.”


“Also…I’m so hungry, I can’t stand it.  I took a shower and it smelled like chocolate and it made me so hungry that all I want to do is let you get yourself dressed and teeth brushed while I go downstairs and eat.  But I’m going to help you.  I just want you to know that I’m so hungry that I want to cry and eat my own fingers.  So let’s get dressed and teeth brushed QUICK.”

Fortunately, my kid was super cooperative for school-morning-routine…until we got downstairs and the minutes were ticking away until it was time to leave.

See, he learned this trick.  Actually, two tricks.  #1–If you give me a balanced breakfast, I will eat the carbs and drink my milk and then claim I’m not hungry anymore, so I can’t eat my fruit.  #2–If you give me a serving of fruit first, I will dick around until T-minus 10 minutes and you and dad don’t want to send me to school with an empty stomach, so you’ll give me my cereal or toast or koulourakia or whatever.

There are obvious reasons why I want my son to eat a balanced breakfast.  Some reasons hold more weight than others.

For example–have you ever lived with a constipated preschooler?  They are downright MEAN mofos.  I hate it when Gabriel goes on a poopin’ hiatus, because then I have to turn into Mean Mommy and I don’t like doing that.

“Hey.  Look.  I’m sorry you haven’t pooped in three days.  Do we really need to have the Don’t Let Your Mood Dictate Your Manners talk again?”

So–between Thanksgiving and Black Friday last week (plus recuperation time) and a busy week here at home, a trip to the grocery store simply cannot be put off any longer.  I do fresh fruit with breakfast, but that wasn’t possible this morning, so I tore open a package of diced peaches and said, “You have to finish this, dude.  You need to poop.  Yesterday was just a bunch of false alarms.  And please eat it quickly so I can give you your leftover pancakes–we have to leave for school soon.”

I was stuck in one of those time-wasting moments where I didn’t have time to prep his breakfast + get him out the door on time AND fix myself something to eat.  So I did what any mom would do–I put on my invisible Suit of Self Sacrifice and put my gnawing hunger needs last.

I watched Gabriel put a singular piece of peach in his mouth and rest the spoon in the fruit cup after every nibble.  I smiled and encouraged him to eat a little faster.

The silent tug of war began.  Seconds ticked by.  He put those peach cubes in his mouth one-by-one…while my stomach knotted up from ravenous hunger.  I was paralyzed, caught in the grip of a powerful craving–the satisfaction of the Hash Brown Casserole that would never come to fruition–at least not today.

Piece by piece…minutes had gone by.  There was absolutely no time for me to eat now, while my verbal urging to finish the peaches got stronger.  “Let’s not be late to school.  Do you want the rest of your pancakes?  OK–then finish your peaches.  Come on, spoons are for scooping.  You need to eat more than one at a time.”

An idea popped into my head that brightened my crippled spirit.  I’ll go to the grocery store!  They sell frozen side dishes, like mashed potatoes…why wouldn’t they have hash brown casserole?  It’s not exactly what I want, but it will do for now, I guess.

Time was evaporating–it was GAME ON.  I needed to get my kid to school so I could feed my fucking face.

“Gabriel!  Eat your peaches!  You need to poop today!  So eat your fruit!  School starts in five minutes!  If we are late to school, you are grounded from TV for the rest of the day!  EAT!  Let’s go!  It should NOT take this long to eat a little cup of fruit!  If we are late to school today, we will NOT be visiting Santa Claus later!


Eat the fucking peaches!  EAT THEM!


OMG.  He finished, finally.  And then scarfed his pancakes (go figure).  As we rushed out the door and raced to school, I was silently arming myself with reasons why I was speeding, in case I got pulled over.


“I’m sorry, Officer.  It’s just that I’m really hungry and it’s not like a “normal” hunger.  It’s like an accidental demonic possession hunger.”


“:::burst into tears:::  I’m sorry, I never expected this to happen when I washed myself with chocolate body wash!!”


“Sir, I’m sure if you’ve ever had Hash Brown Casserole, you understand how this all makes perfect sense and you can let me go with a friendly warning.”


“Yes…yes Officer.  I know I was in a School Zone.  I probably was speeding.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that there is so much on my mind.  And my heart is heavy, because…because you know why??  Because–you see that kid in the back seat?  He was taunting me!  He knew I was hungry and he sat there and ate his diced peaches one by one!  He’s a bully!  He’s an asshole! Who does that?!?!”


Well, the good news is…I didn’t get pulled over, and we weren’t late for school.


The bad news is…I could not find any frozen, pre-made Hash Brown Casserole.  I settled for a bacon and egg breakfast burrito, and it was terrible.


Oh well.  When life hands you lemons, write a blog about it.
I’m off to switch the body wash to something a little more tame (but just as festive) like Vanilla Bean Noel or Merry Berry Blitz.
i am in the zone no talking breakfast burrito
My Good Morning message to my husband.