"It's not fair"

It's both a blessing and a curse that I announced to the world that I'm doing this diet . . . now anytime anyone sees me, it's "How's the diet?" The accountability is good. It's also pressure. I always smile and say, "Great!" And for the most part, I mean it. My skin is looking better; my flexibility, as I've already discussed, has improved; my muscles are beginning to pop just a bit, and my tummy is already visibly flatter. But . . . I do have my moments.

Like yesterday. I made the mistake, a very kind mistake mind you, of offering to provide lunch during Teacher Appreciation Week for all the faculty/staff who don't have room moms-- music, PE, computer teachers, resource teachers, secretaries, even the custodian, aides, and lunch ladies!

First off, let me digress and express my now love-hate relationship with Costco-- hello! How does anyone live without a Costco membership? I got all the fixins for a delicious Chinese Chicken salad, plus soft white rolls, and brownie bites, oh and a bouquet of freshly snipped tulips, all for under $50. So this is what I love about Costco: bulk food so that you can easily feed 20 teachers. Or a family of 5 that really loves bananas, blueberries, hummus, milk, Z bars, mango salsa, and Stacy's Naked Pita Chips. Alas, most of the food on that list is now temporarily forbidden to me, or at least cut back. Light on the blueberries and bananas and milk (did you know skim milk has 12 grams of sugar per cup? Have I mentioned this already?) and no more Naked Pita Chips or Z bars . . . too "man-made." This is what I now hate about Costco: the willpower it requires to pass up free food samples of dark chocolate pomegranates, strong cheese, and oatmeal cranberry cookies! But I can't NOT go to Costco. I go there at least once or twice a week, while my 8-year old is in gymnastics. I'm kind of a Costco junkie-- I like to just see what's new. And stock up on what we go through the most: toilet paper, blueberries, and milk. Now: eggs. And they have friendly eggs  at an oh-so-affordable price. But back to my mistake . . .

I had no difficulty (temptation-wise) assembling the salad, setting out the rolls and butter and brownie bites. I was happy to hear the "oohs" and "ahhs" and "so delicious" from all who hungrily partook. It was just a little disheartening as I sat down to enjoy some of it after everyone had eaten, and I had to limit myself to the greens, the chicken, oh the chicken, and some of the veggies. The dressing had been mixed in, so I poked through to find the dry pieces of lettuce. I skipped the wontons and crunchy noodle things, the feta cheese, the pita crackers, the roll, and the brownie bites (those bite-sized morsels of chocolate decadence looked so small and harmless)! And I ate slowly, trying to quell that silly voice inside my head that said those three words I absolutely detest from the mouths of my children:

it's not fair.

I didn't even want to admit to myself that I had that thought, because it's so childish. But I did have that moment. I felt grumpy. I felt bitter. I felt sick and tired of eating pretty much the same thing for the past 10 days. And I felt really mad that everyone around me was eating really tasty, sugary, fattening foods that smelled really good. Even watching my kids eat a bowl of cereal was making me jealous. Yes, I had the thought of a 10-year-old: it's not fair.

But really, it IS fair. If I wanted to have a normal body, I could easily eat one brownie bite and survive. But I want something better right now, something beyond normal. Something more extraordinary. And when I attain it, the last thing I want to hear from anyone is:

it's not fair.