Thursday, October 11, 2012

Food, I have to break up with you.

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." -Author, Moron.

I don't know who was the first to say that, but clearly, they have never tried bacon. Or mac and cheese. Or found themselves hiding from their kids and eating an entire package of Oreo cookies in their bedroom closet.

Ok, so I admit, the last part might just be me.

Since becoming a stay at home mom a few years ago, I have honed my cooking skills. Anything you desire, I can make it and I can make it better than restaurant quality.


I make stuff that puts Paula Deen to shame.

"Well, we could make the mashed potatoes/mac and cheese/anything on this earth with regular milk, but it just tastes so much better with heavy cream."

"I put in an extra stick of butter and some cream cheese because it just didn't seem creamy enough."

Some of the cuisine I have ventured into, my God, it should be illegal it's so damned good. 

Bacon wrapped this and cheese coated that.

Sauces, gravies and dips (Oh my!).

I have been defining my world experience through my tongue and stomach and it has been an amazing ride. As a matter of fact, I just got up and got myself a brownie because I made myself hungry just thinking about all the foodie goodness.

So, it probably shouldn't surprise me I have become too fat. (Who would've thought, right?) Not like "Jabba the Hut" fat, maybe "half a Jabba".


Amy the Plump. Someone is gonna start playing the tuba when I walk.

And I am gonna need to drive one of those carts at Walmart.

Which, I told Jude, would be my deal breaker for how fat he could get before I would have to draw the line on riding Mister Toad's Wild Ride.

And I don't even know how it happened. It seems like one day I was single with no kids and 120 lbs and the next I have three kids and if you tied rope to my arms and legs, you could float me in a parade.

What the hell, food? You did me dirty. You're like a scruffy-faced bad boy that I just can't stay away from. The one that gets me hooked on meth and booked as an accessory.

So I should probably get on that. The only problem is, that I love food. I love to make it, I love to eat it.

And when I say "love", I mean like romantic, emotional, crazy person love.

When I see a pot full of mac cheese, I swoon. Eating makes me happy. Whenever we have a party, I feed people and we are happy. People tell me that they like my food and I feel like a good host. Whenever I am sad, I eat things and it makes me feel better. They don't call it comfort food for nothing. It's a drug, but you can't just quit eating cold turkey, cause you would die, and dying is bad. But eating too much causes you to die too. You can't win.

So what the hell to do?

Obviously I can't just keep eating what I want or I will end up looking like a character out of Honey Boo Boo. And so will my kids. Cause they watch me eat. Not all the time, just enough, to get a sense that I eat too much crap in too large of a volume.

"Did mom run a marathon while we were watching Elmo this morning? Cause that's a ridiculously large bowl of pasta."

"What do you mean, there are no more girl scout cookies left? You just bought that box off me yesterday."

They're onto me.

And Jude and I are so good about preaching the values of eating fruits and veggies and always making sure the kids eat healthy foods. I don't want it to become some forbidden fun grown up thing to stuff your face.

Like when they are 20 and the realization hits them that they could, theoretically, eat ice cream for breakfast.

I don't want that for them. I want them to see food as a fuel and not as a friend. They need to be healthy. So, I guess, I need to be healthy.

So, here it goes.

Oreos, macaroni and cheese, pizza, cookies, pastas, and good tasting things of all kind: We have to break up. It's not you, it's me. Actually, you know what, IT IS YOU. I have let you run my life for far too long and I deserve someone who will treat me better. Someone like kale or tofu. Sure, they aren't super good looking and they are probably pretty bland on the plate, but they won't make me talk about mah diabeetus like Wilfred Brimley.

Wish me luck. I'm gonna feed need it.

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