The table was loaded with all the fixings for a vegan taco feast. I’d followed the recipe to the letter, congratulating myself for finding one more recipe that all members of the family would eat (Rule number one when I’m dieting is that only one meal is made for the whole family).
But as the boys were loading up their plates with beans and tomatoes, I hovered over the calorie counter on my iPhone, tapping in each item that was about to go in my gullet.
“Mom, has anyone ever wanted to go on a diet?” Thing2 had stopped shoveling and now rested his chin on his hand as he watched me suck the pleasure out of a meal I’d worked very hard to find. I wanted to skip the calorie counting, but I didn’t dare stop.
The last few months I’ve been a bad, bad girl. I didn’t fall off the diet wagon. I stress-ate and gorged and over-indulged so much I broke both freaking axels, and my imaginary work animal went on strike.
So I kept on tapping. The boys were into serving number two by the time I had my first fork full. It was all food I love, but it took a few bites to remember I’d picked this recipe so we could all enjoy a healthy meal.
“No,” I finally answered a Thing2 who had long forgotten the question. “Nobody has ever wanted to go on a diet.”