Crabby Pantry Diaries, Week 3: My Mother, My Prison

If she were a tiny action figure, she would come with a teeny bag of homemade cookies, a Barbie-sized pie plate of leftover pie from church, an itty-bitty tin of blueberry muffins and a pull string that would make her say the following, “What do you want me to bring?” “Ok, I’ll just bring something small.” “It’s OK, you can have one cookie.” “Well, maybe you’re husband would like some treats, did you think of that?” “Fine, I’ll just make cookies for him from now on.” “Grandma’s sweetheart would like some cookies.”

All of these features make up the DNA for a perfect grandmother. But not a mother to a serious dieter. Less than perfect. Less perfect and more … disastrous saboteur of self-esteem and empowered calorie-counting.

I can’t blame my mother for my issues with weight or with food. Obviously, nobody held a gun to my head and forced me to eat cookies after school every day or dessert after dinner. Nobody forced me to continue that practice when I became an adult. And I can’t blame it entirely on genetics. Although genetically speaking, even the thinnest, tallest, blondest, bluest-eyed women to whom I am related still complain about DBD. Dutch Butt Disease.

But my mother should know better. You may recall the fact that this is the person who lost and is still losing weight after bariatric surgery. What I’m learning is, elective medical procedures do not fix food addiction. She specifically asked what she could bring when she and dad visited last weekend. I specifically said, “Nothing. No sweets. PLEASE.” She showed up with a bag of cookies and a pie. Homemade sweets are my kryptonite. I had such a great week, after going to two different restaurants, ordering pancakes and taking half of them home each time in a carry out box. Then my mother shows up with pie. This makes me crabby, but I’m not able to express my disappointment to her because I’m polite to my houseguests. This makes me frustrated, crabby, and now hungry and wanting to eat sweets.

I waited to express my displeasure until after she left. I tweeted. Tweeting: a passive aggressive girl’s best friend. Blogging: a passive aggressive girl’s longer best friend. My first order of business was to send that pie off to my husband’s office on Monday morning. Come on, people. A Key Lime pie with cream cheese and lime green Jell-O? If there’s one thing being a crabby dieter has made me into, it’s a food snob. If I’m going to nuke all my calories on dessert, it better be real Key Lime. That’s sweetened condensed milk, egg yolks, and actual Key lime juice. But then Husband forgot the pie. So into the trash it went. I know. It’s crazy wasteful. But I did it and it felt good. If I hadn’t, that thing would have been sitting on my counter calling my name in the language that only cream cheese knows, even packaged inside an imposter pie. Then, I piled an empty baby cereal box on top of it, and threw in some old, wet tea bags. No way to Costanza that pie out of the trash.

Pie victory aside, My mother’s cookies did not escape my cookie-hole. Neither did the lard in the refried beans at the Mexican restaurant on Saturday night. And so, I ended up gaining half a pound this week. I’m not too upset, I guess. It’s not that much of a setback, and aside from that I gained a bit of courage in the face of empty calories. And possibly, some courage in the face of Little Dude’s grandma, to whom I will say next time, “Bring the cookies and pie home with you, or else it’s going in the garbage.” I’ll let you know how that goes.

So here was my worst day. Saturday, March 12:

Breakfast: One-half serving triple berry pancakes at Spyro’s. (Only the best breakfast in town)

Lunch: Boca chicken patty, light string cheese, 100-calorie deli flat bread, greek yogurt. Um, followed by three oatmeal raisin, cranberry, white chocolate cookies. Yes, THOSE cookies.

Snack: couple handfuls honey mustard pretzel pieces.

Dinner: Steak tacos and a 27-ounce margarita at Cebolla’s. And no, I did not take half of it home. I did only eat half of the refried beans, but half a pound of lard and cheese is still half a pound of lard and cheese.

Best day, Thursday, March 10:

Breakfast: One serving oatmeal, half serving rice milk, coffee.

Snack: 1 medium ruby red grapefruit.

Lunch: Boca sandwich (I think you get the picture), greek yogurt, one serving Snapea Crisps.

Snack: Homemade trail mix: one serving each of raisins, walnuts, and popcorn.

Dinner: 1.5 servings couscous, 1/3 can tuna, 1 cup peas.

Snack: 1 serving popcorn with kettle corn seasoning, 2 servings wine.

See what I did there? Well, no you can’t see precisely. But looking at my food log, my wine intake seems to increase heading into the weekend, peaks on Saturday with the arrival of my parents (see 27-ounce margarita above) and slowly tapers off again after Sunday.

There’s probably not a correlation there.