I’ve discovered something about myself in the last couple of weeks:
I’m a stress eater.
And I’m not eating apples and bananas.
I’ve never before noticed it, but when you have two children who mimic your every action, traits have a way of coming to light.
Especially when your son says, “I don’t want oatmeal. I want donuts again.”
And your daughter requests French fries daily.
And your son adds, “We had pizza twice this week but hamburgers only one time. Can we have In-N-Out again?” While I swell in pride over his mathematical skills as well as his logic and reasoning, I cringe a little at the light he shines on our recent dinner activities.
In my defense, I packed most of my kitchen which means we had to eat out a bit more than normal.
Of course, we weren’t exactly eating Subway, so my defense flies out the window.
I’ve never been one who takes her kids to fast food unless we’re traveling. I hate the idea of the kids eating all the oil, salt, and carbs. I get a stomach ache thinking of the calorie counts and the fats. I worry about starting bad eating habits, getting the kids hooked on the delicious taste of ketchup and salt. I justified it last week with the “chaos of moving”. This week, I’m realizing it’s a bad habit to break.
Mostly because those fries are just so good.
But I’m trying to get back on track. I’m making healthy lunches for Joseph. I’m actually cooking dinners. And if we sneak away for donuts on Sunday morning, well, that’ll be our little secret.