More to Love

A couple summers ago I lost 25 pounds. It was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.

I teamed up with a coach, and she quickly became a friend. In our online group, I met a lot of other ladies also on the weight loss journey. We supported each other. We cheered each other. We challenged each other. Women empowering women!

I also learned to sweat for something bigger. On days when I didn't feel like doing the work, I worked out anyway for those who couldn't. It was a powerful emotional and physical journey.

Then I stopped sweating it out. I stopped meal prepping. I stopped drinking water and eating healthy. I bought the Dr. Pepper. I drank the Dr. Pepper. I'm still drinking the Dr. Pepper.

Can I make a confession? I enjoyed every aspect of that, too. I did. I wish I could say that I was racked with guilt and shame. I kind of feel like I should because I knew better and I didn't choose better. But I didn't feel guilt and shame. For the first time in my life, I did not equate my waist size with my worth.

So what am I saying? Am I saying I was wrong to meal prep and eat right and work out? No way! It was right. It was great. And, as I said, it was empowering. In fact, it was that experience that helped me lose something more important than 25 pounds. That experience helped me lose my body-shaming mindset.

I can honestly say that I love my body. I truly do. I love my jiggly thighs because they are part of a set of legs that hold me up and move me from place to place. I love my belly  because it works. I don't have some of the digestive issues and stomach problems that many of my friends suffer from. I love my arthritic fingers because they remind me of what my Grandma Nina still accomplished with fingers that hung from her hands like limp, crooked sausages. (As a young girl, that's what I thought they looked like.)

I love my body, but my focus shifted from it for a while. But isn't that life? It seems to be mine. I work on my mental heath and self talk for a while. I get it to a good place. Then the focus shifts. I sweat hard and eat clean for a while. Then my focus shifts. I Dave Ramsey the shit out of my finances. Then my focus shifts. I organize my desk like an anal retentive psychopath...wait, Nope. Never done the organizing thing. That one can't hold my attention long enough to separate a paper clip from a pad of paper. But, you see what I mean.

I don't know if anyone else's focus ebbs and flows like that. Maybe I've given up. Maybe I've grown up. I'm not sure what it is, but I have accepted that I don't have enough focus to focus on all of it at once. So, I'm keeping the fat clothes and the skinny clothes. I'm keeping the body love and the positive self talk. I'm even keeping the messy desk. I guess what I"m actually doing is keeping it real.

I know that it's time for my focus to shift again. I love my body, but I'm not crazy about the lower energy levels and the worry that the blood pressure might go back up. So, I'm pulling out the meal prep stuff and throwing out the Dr. Pepper. I know it will feel great, and I'm happy to do it. I like sweating for something bigger. I like losing the weight, but you know what else? I especially love what I've gained.

If I Can Do It...My Journey Into Homemade Salsa

It's 10:00 on a Friday. I'm making homemade salsa. Of course. What else would I be doing with my life?

Here's the thing--I don't really make salsa. Making salsa is falls under "cooking". I bake. I don't cook.

But there's that turning over a new healthy leaf thing, so when I felt the urge to turn my kitchen into a a Roaring Mom version of the Keebler Elves Treehouse workshop, I stopped myself. I've been doing pretty good on this health kick thing. It's all about breaking old bad habits and replacing them with new healthy ones.

I pulled out my Fixate (21 Day Fix Approved) Cookbook and searched for a healthy replacement. I've actually always wanted to find a good homemade salsa recipe because we go through the stuff here like it's water.

There are 2 steps in this recipe:                                                        
     
1. Combine jalapeno, tomatoes, and salt in a bowl and mix well.
2. Add garlic, onion and cilantro and mix well.

YES! Even I can do that...but wait!

The ingredients list says roasted jalapeno. How the heck does one roast a jalapeno? I roast a roast in a crock pot. I'm not much of a chef, but even I know that won't work. So I Google it.

Apparently I need gloves to handle the jalapeno. I don't have jalapeno-handling gloves. Hmm... A plastic bag will work, right?

It is gonna have to. I am not going to the store (for probably the third time that day) just for jalapeno-handling gloves.

So back to this jalapeno roasting thing. First, I have to cut the peppers (while carefully holding them with my plastic bag). Then I have to take out the seeds. Seeds are tricky little boogers to pick out with a shopping bag on your hand. Next I place them in the oven on a broiler pan. (I may or may not have Googled what a broiler pan is.) Guess what? I do, in fact, have a broiler pan. Who knew, right?!

Who knew, also, that the peppers still aren't ready for salsa inclusion after they are broiled...er...uh...roasted...whatever...and cooled? They also must be peeled. How does one peel a roasted, broiled, blackened, jalapeno?

Google was busy that night.

Place the jalapenos in a sealed paper bag for fifteen minutes and the skins should peel right off. Only, I don't have paper bags. I have only plastic. You know, in case I have to handle jalapenos. I can also place the peppers on a plate and cover them with a bowl.

Meanwhile, I have some cilantro to chop. I'm not exactly sure cilantro can be chopped. It's wet and sticks to your hands and kind of tears or smashes. It doesn't really chop. I remove the bag/glove and tear the cilantro. Done.

Eventually, everything else is chopped, too--even the roasted, broasted, broiled, steamed, peeled jalapenos.

But wait! There is a recipe "tip"! I could have just pulverized it all in a blender for a less chunky version.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I have to try it. I like less chunky salsa. And I've come this far, anyway.

Well, it smelled great, but resembled a bowl of vomit.

Luckily, I had saved back a bit of the colorful, chunky, guilt-free, homemade, 21 Day Fix approved salsa. It tastes like accomplishment...and jalapenos!

What's Cookin', Good-lookin'?

Is this a midlife crisis? Is it menopause? Is it premenstrual premenopausal problems? Is it early onset dementia? A.D.D.? Heatstroke?

Seriously, there is something wrong with me. I'm excited about buying a cookbook.  A cookbook!! I don't cook, folks. I really don't.

This confession made to another Roaring Mom nearly ended our friendship.

Me: I don't cook.
Friend: That can't be true. You feed your kids something. What did you have for dinner last night.
Me: Cereal.
Friend: Cereal? That's it?
Me: (Proudly) No, that's not it. I thought we should also have some lean protein, so we had shrimp cocktail, too.
Friend: (Dead stare) Cereal and shrimp cocktail? I don't think we can be friends anymore.

My dear children still remind me of the time I did try to cook dinner and had to bring out my Emphatic Voice (you know, the one they say sounds a lot like my Angry Voice) when they kept interrupting me. What can I say? I was putting a lot of thought and effort into it. I had purchased those Tostitos Scoops chips. I carefully spooned a bit of canned refried beans topped with a dab of pre-shredded cheese into each one. I placed the plate in the microwave, set the timer, and kept watch so they wouldn't over heat. No one likes cheese that's been over-micro melted into plastic. The kids had no respect for my slaving over this creative cooking.

While I stood watch, I heard from beyond the kitchen: Where's my cleats? What time is practice? Can you help me with my homework? I need poster board for school tomorrow.


Finally, I had HAD it! I yelled...er, uh, said emphatically..."Can't you see I'm trying to make dinner here?!"

"Mom, it's nachos."

"It's fancy nachos!!"

Ungrateful kids.

So the fact that I am now excited over the launch of a new cookbook is kind of...weird. Something strange happened to me this summer. I got hooked on eating. I mean really eating. Not stuffing my face. Not grazing. Not snacking. Not snarfing. Just eating for nutrition, to fuel my body, to create a healthy  me.

So far, I've been able to get by without actually cooking. The grocery store makes a mean roasted chicken and the deli sells delicious shredded turkey. These foods fit beautifully into the 21 Day Fix program I've been using as a guide to better health. Now Autumn Calabrese has created the Fixate Cookbook full of 101 recipes for my 21 Day Fix. They include vegan, vegetarian, Paleo, healthy meals for a healthy me. For a healthy family!

My Roaring Mom Friend has often told me that sometimes she thinks food = love. Some moms overfeed and under nourish. Some try a special show of affection with fancy nachos. Some get it right and fuel their kids for health, success, fitness, and all that good stuff. I might be a little late getting on that band wagon, but at least I'm getting on.

The 21 Day Fix has lasted a lot longer than 21 Days. It has certainly fixed a lot of what I didn't want to realize needed fixing. I feel better. I have more confidence and more energy and now a new interest in learning a new skill--cooking! The best thing, however, is hearing my kids say, "Mom, we are so proud of you!" Those are just about the sweetest words a Roaring Mom can hear.

Interested in starting your own 21 Day Fix? Comment below or click here to order your own Fix!

Fighting the Good Food Fight

We try. We really do. We understand our food obsession and we fight against it. And then most of the time, we fail.

I remember when I realized this food issue of ours might be a little more serious than I originally thought. I was watching one of those extreme weight loss shoes. The man on the show simply could not lose the weight. He was sabotaging himself with drive-throughs and doughnuts stores. In the end, they said he had a food addiction. Food addiction, they explained, was characterized by eating even when you're not hungry and continuing to eat past the point when you are full on a regular basis.

Uh-oh.

In our home when someone answers the question "Do you want something to eat?" with "No, I''m not hungry," it confounds us. Uh, since when do you have to be hungry to eat? And since when do you stop just because you are full?

But we do try.

There was the time I tried the cabbage diet: 7 days of cabbage soup. I like soup.

By Day 2, I was ready to eat my desk, I was so hungry.

So the Quiet and Calculating One thought she'd give it a try. Show mom how it's done, right?

She started on a Monday, which is consequently the day they return from their father's. That evening, she came home starving, with a side of food anger! I told her to have a bowl of her soup. She could eat as much as she wanted. She informed me she hadn't made the soup. Her dad didn't have the ingredients. So she'd eaten nothing all day because she wasn't supposed to eat anything but soup, and she didn't have any soup, so she ate nothing. Then the food anger kicked in, and she ate everything!

She lasted a bit longer when she decided to become a vegetarian because it was healthier. So I was confused when she picked all the veggies off her Jimmy John's veggie sandwich. She explained, she doesn't like veggies on her sandwiches. The next day, it was back to her usual #4 Turkey Tom.

The kid with the longest success rate is my Food Nazi daughter (and former peanut butter addict) who comes home from college and goes through the pantry describing every single noxious chemical in every single food item.She guilts us into eating nothing but bean sprouts and air--as long as the bean sprouts are organic--while she sneaks Jiff by the spoonful behind our backs!

We should all weigh 500 pounds. Luckily, we aren't afraid of exercise--even if we have been known to go the extra mile only so we can eat the extra cookie.

If there is something I've learned through our food trials, it's this: Life is too short to eat only bean sprouts and air, even organic ones. Also, I'm kinda glad there's a doughnut store on the way to the Y. It gives me incentive to go the extra mile!

For the Love of Food

During a serious parenting conversation with one of my favorite Roaring Moms, she divulged a problem with one of her children frequently stealing food from her siblings and hiding it. Stuff like treats from school parties or special snacks would disappear. Then they would find the wrapper in the culprit’s room. My heart went out to her as she was truly disturbed by what had become a real point of contention in her family. I racked my brain for the right thing to say, but my mind was stuck on one thing: the contraband two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper I was currently hiding in the trunk of my car!

When she asked how long I thought her daughter would have this problem, I came clean. Yes. I’m forty-something and fabulous and I hide soda in my car, smuggle it into my home, and hide it from my kids. All the time.

I have food issues, and I have successfully passed them on to my kids.

Back when I was a married Roaring Mom, it wasn’t uncommon for us to sit down to dinner and have at least one kid ask for soda. I would explain we didn’t have any soda. Water was better for them anyway. Then one would lean forward and whisper, “Go get it from dad’s secret stash.” Then another would take me by the hand to their dad’s closet and point to the top shelf.

It’s also not uncommon to find sticky notes in the fridge threatening death or worse to anyone who touches the last helping of banana pudding. My kids are not above the Lick Method, either. “I licked that cookie. It’s mine!” As for school party treats? Anything not eaten within 24 hours of said party is fair game. Halloween candy? Well, you better sleep with your bag under your pillow if want to have anything other than popcorn balls left in the morning.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to teach will power by frequently reading Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad Story “Cookies.” They try everything to not eat all the cookies. Finally, they give the cookies to the birds. They have no more cookies, but lots and lots of willpower. So, Toad goes home to bake a cake.

After all, what’s willpower without cake?  (Click here to check out the story for yourself.)

All I can do is try to set a better example, right? So when I bake the weekly cake because I’m an emotional baker and I still get depressed when the kids go to their dad’s, but there’s no one there to eat it but me, I work up my willpower! I don’t eat a single piece. I do take a nibble, just to taste, but I don’t actually serve a single slice. A day later when I notice it’s half gone (even though I never actually served a slice), I realize I’ve got a problem. I can’t let them come home and see I’ve eaten half a cake myself, so I do the right thing. I make the sacrifice. Then I have no more cake, but lots and lots of willpower.

Just so we’re clear…I didn’t feed it to the birds.

It’s sad, but the best advice I can give my Roaring Mom friend is a wish for willpower. In the meantime, go buy a case of sticky notes.

Who Gets the Tradition?

Before I was a single mom, I spent Thanksgiving gobbling up traditional trappings at an intimate gathering of...oh, about 70 people. Sometimes the gatherings were at someone's house; sometimes they were at a rented church hall. Marrying into this kind of holiday tradition was a change for me, but I tried my darnedest to fit right in. But as you know, if you've read any Roaring Moms posts at all, we have a Murphy's Law Life. What can go wrong, will go wrong.

There was the year I hosted the event at our Painted Lady Victorian Home. The only bathroom available to the hoards of family was upstairs, which was problematic enough. When the toilet boycotted and started spewing everything back up until it drained through the cracks in the ceiling and into the living room football lounge, that's when the real trouble started--and the guests left. Then there was the year I caught some nasty influenza virus literally the night before. Feeling it was too late to change venues and because it was potluck anyway, the hubby decided I could quarantine myself in the bedroom. You know, it might not have been too bad to lay in bed all day while someone else catered the meal and cleaned up, if I hadn't been on fire with fever and coughing up blood. It was awful!

Most Thanksgivings weren't so cursed. Just mine, of course. Nevertheless, chaotic, messy, noisy, crowded Thanksgivings have blessed my kids their entire lives. Their father and I deciding we would live in separate houses didn't need to change that for them.

For the past several years, my Thanksgivings have been comparatively smaller affairs--sometimes spent with my family, sometimes with my kids, sometimes with my friends, and once alone. That was fine too, because I treated myself to a big ol' stack of IHOP blueberry pancakes and no one was around to tell me that IHOP blueberry pancakes aren't Thanksgiving worthy. I've truly come to savor the small Thanksgiving. Our lives are chaotic, noisy, and messy on a daily basis. A quiet holiday that comes right after soccer and theatre season is quite welcome. There is nothing like a cozy fireplace, a cup of cocoa, the Macy's parade, a simple gathering, and a quiet day to pump me up for the Christmas season. At the end of it, I am honestly grateful that my children spent a crazy couple of hours with the cousins and battled Black Friday with that side of the family while I sat in my pajamas, stuffing my face. And I have never again had to plunge another toilet on Thanksgiving Day.

So regardless of what "the papers" that all divorced couples refer to like they are the third tablet to come down from Mt. Sinai say, the kids still get their chaotic Thanksgiving tradition with their cousins and aunts and uncles. And that's the way it should be. Through divorce, you might be able to split furniture and bank accounts evenly, but not traditions.

I hope any moms and dads from split families, blended families, and even dysfunctional families who might be reading this understand--you have your childhood holiday memories. It's time to make sure your kids get theirs. Whether that memory comes from a day with you or a with someone else who loves them shouldn't matter. Don't you want them to smile back on it for years to come? It's not the hours logged at one house that makes the memories. It's the laughter, the noise, the chaos, the cousins, the cozy cocoa, the quiet day. And maybe even the plunged toilets.

What are your most disastrous or most wonderful Thanksgiving memories?

She Chose...Wisely

I've heard it said that what we are today is a result of our past choices. And what we will be tomorrow will be a result of the choices we make today. It's a simple idea. Kind of a no-brainer, in fact. But it's genius to someone like me who feels like a walking "no-brainer" most of the time.

So yesterday, at Target, the perfect profoundness of that statement hit me like a ton of...chocolate fudge! In fact, I was craving chocolate fudge at the time, contemplating which commercial grade chocolate confection could possibly tame the craving, wondering if this Target (not a Super Target) would have all the ingredients necessary to make my most delicious, mouth-watering home-made fudge since I had no ingredients at home since I had announced after the last batch that it would, indeed, be the last batch. My face grew hot. My vision blurred. My hands began to shake and my head got dizzy. Must...have...chocolate...

Then, suddenly, it was as if God or Tony Horton or a leg-warmer-wearing 1980's clad Jane Fonda intervened to save my soul. Or at least my waistline. There, at the corner of women's shoes and Valentine candy, was a bright, shining display of physical fitness: Buns of Steal, Power Yoga, Hip Hop Abs, Beach Body, Biggest Loser Body Make-Over, and yes, even an all-new Jane Fonda Fitness video!

I stood frozen to that spot as the display seemed to glow like a heavenly vision and a chorus of angels began their serenade. Only instead of the Hallelujah chorus, the Jello theme song sounded in my ears. "Watch it wiggle. See it jiggle..." And I realized they weren't referring to Jello brand gelatin, but instead they sang of the result of too many bowls consumed of that fruity dessert. Ah, hell, too many bowls of the whipped topping that was supposed to go on the fruity dessert but was sucked straight from the nozzle instead. And the pumpkin pie, and the peanut butter cookies. AND THE FUDGE!!!!

Quickly, before I could even acknowledge the sweet-talking devil on my shoulder, I grabbed one of the work-out videos that promised results in only 10 days and ran (jiggling all the way) to the check-out counter. I ignored the mocking siren calls of the Kit Kat Bar and the Reese's. I turned my back to the shiny temptation of the Hershey's Kiss and bolted out the automatic doors. I was free! I had made it through the entire Target store without a single break down.

So I made a choice yesterday for a better today. And today I choose an even better tomorrow. And in 10 days (because I really only have about 10 days worth of will power I'm sure) we'll see what that tomorrow looks like.

Can I Get A Heaping Helping of Normal, Please?

Normalcy? What's that?

Well, it's what all the parenting books and magazines and experts tell you to try to maintain when your family is going through the divorce transition. I'm wondering what exactly a parent is supposed to do when your family was never normal to begin with? And as far as going through the transition? Well, that's never really over, is it?

Now that we are a few years out, my educated guess that "maintaining normalcy" means to forge ahead like nothing is different. I remember a moment when we were just a few months post divorce and Frank developed this habit of asking the same question every single night.  "Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?"  On one particularly trying day, Frank came into the kitchen and asked this very normal question again. I took a deep breath, counted as close to ten as I could get and explained to him in my serious voice (which is quite an abnormal voice for me) that I truly, truly hated that question.

I don't know if that question bothers other moms, but it drives me nuts! WHY do they want to know what's for dinner? Is it so they can decide if they want to do the Secret Pizza Hut dial on the cell phone? Is it a gentle reminder that the rumbling noise echoing through the house for the last 30 minutes means everyone is starving? Could they be taking some kind of scientific poll to see how many times a week Mac-n-Cheese can pass for dinner? Why do they need to know?

Poor Frank. After enduring one of my well-worded, perfectly punctuated lectures, he smiles, hugs me, and cautiously whispers. "OK, but I still kinda want to know what's for dinner."

Years later, he's still asking almost every night, "What's for dinner?" I'm not sure why this habit started. Maybe, at first, it was his way of focusing on the "normal" stuff of families. He might have two homes now, and divide his holidays between parents, but there is always dinner. Or maybe (as is quite normal for me) I'm reading too much into it and he truly just wants to know what's for dinner. And sometimes, I'm quite sure, he asks just for the thrill-seeking pleasure of it. Nothing says you're living on the edge like sneaking up behind a knife-wielding, chicken-carving Roaring Mom at the end of hectic day and asking, "What's for dinner?"

I honestly don't know how well we maintained "normalcy" through the transition. In fact, we're still trying to figure out a whole lot of stuff.

A little over a week ago my oldest daughter left for college. She left behind a mess of clothes the sisters aren't sure if they are allowed to wear or not, an empty bedroom the siblings are wondering if they still have to stay out of, a cat she rescued a couple months ago that I'm not sure I'm obligated to keep, and a few decibels of noise level we're doing our best to fill up. In other words, we're once again striving to maintain "normalcy".

Tonight, after I finished the Roaring Mom Round-up (otherwise known as the extra-curricular taxi time), Frank followed me into the kitchen and asked, "What's for dinner?" This time I hugged him. It's good to know that, at least for now, some things remain.

Sugar High

Ripped from the Headlines of Facebook:

"OH yes!...Paybacks are hell!...I just gave my daughter a tube of Liquid Lolly-pop & a Mountain Dew...now waiting on my Ex to pick-up my daughter."

True status posted on a FB friend's page. I read it and...laughed. It's just funny. But, judging by the comments she got, not everyone appreciated the humor.

This woman was chastised publicly for everything from manipulating her child against the father to committing child abuse. Child abuse? For letting her child drink a Mountain Dew? Give me a break.

Some folks did come to her defense, and I noticed the comments were equally split--men vs. women. Mom vs. dads, perhaps?

I have no idea what her family life is like, but I do understand the idea of payback. Moms, how many times did you prepare a nutritious meal, only to discover that dad had spoiled the kids' appetites with sugary pre-dinner snacks? How many times did you find creative ways to get the kids to choke down carrots and broccoli, only to have dad announce loudly to everyone that he was treating them to Dairy Queen for desert? How many times did you send him to the store for string cheese and whole grain bread, only to have dad bring home Fritos, bean dip, and double stuff Oreos? And my personal favorite--how many times did you specifically forbid any $100/100 calorie per kernel movie theatre treats, only to have him return from the "restroom" with a tray full of the stuff?

Mountain Dew and Liquid lollipops might be considered child abuse! My Aunt Fanny's fanny!

If sugaring up a child is abusive, there are a lot of grandparents with a lot of explaining to do. Most grandparents I know brag about the fact that they spoil the grandkids and then return them to the parents. And some even do it on purpose, just to experience the joy of payback!

My dad is an amazing cook. The kids beg to go to his house, sometimes just for the leftovers, which are always better than anything fresh off the grill in my kitchen. But even with a the luscious buffets he prepares, one of their favorite things about going to Grandpa's is the fact that the pantry is full of soda pop and the freezer is full of individual Haagen Dazs ice cream cups. And they can have as many of each as they want. Grandpa stocks these sinful snacks specifically for the grandkids. He and Grandma don't indulge in them. It's an investment he makes purely for the benefit of payback. And maybe for the hugs and smiles from the grandkids when I say they've had enough and they answer, "But Grandpa said I could!"

Grandpa has been spoiling his grandkids like this for a very long time. His oldest is 20 years old. He drives back from college and sometimes makes a stop at Grandpa's soda and ice cream shop before he even makes it home.

When my daughter was three days old--three DAYS old, Grandpa came to visit. It just happened to be Halloween. All the cousins had flocked to our house to see the new baby and, if the truth be known, because we had the best trick-or-treating neighborhood in the city. There was sweet stuff piled on every horizontal surface. I should have known better than to leave Grandpa alone with the baby. Thanks to him, she enjoyed her first lollipop that night. And when the moms caught him and screamed that he couldn't let a 3-day-old lick a lollipop, he laughed and continued to hold the cherry sucker to her eager lips.

So, did this mom commit mortal sin by sugaring up her child before sending her to Dad's? Well, scientists have been trying to tell moms for years that sugar has nothing to do with hyperactivity. That it's the party atmosphere that those snacks are served in that create the chaos. I never bought it, but if science is on her side, maybe she should embrace the official findings.

In any case, the daughter will soon crash, so maybe Mom did Dad a favor. Maybe he'll be able to sit back with a cold soda and candy bar and watch the game while the daughter takes a nice, long nap. We'll just hope he's not too hyper for her, once she wakes up.

What do you think? Harmless humor or abusive action?

Gobble Gobble

I go to the grocery store every day. Sometimes more than once. Luckily, I live equal distance between 2 stores so I can alternate trips in an attempt to fool the checkers. It's quite an embarrassing obsession. Especially with S for a BFF, who goes to the store like once a month and then calls me all giddy and bragging that she just bought $500 worth of stuff for like 50 cents. She's truly disgusted with the amount of money I spend on groceries and the amount of time I spend at the store. Every week I promise to change. And then when she asks how I did, how many times did I go this week-- I lie!

D: I don't think my friends quite understood how much I really, really love food until yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner. Seriously everyone else is getting up from the table and I'm lookin around thinking, "Look at all this food. Ain't no way I'm stopping now." I shamelessly ate like three times more than everyone else there.

S: That's hysterical.

D: I think they finally caught on though, because when the host fixed me a piece of pie he literally served up a fourth of the pie. I told him it was too big. He just smiled and said, "I think you can handle it."

S: You know I tried to warn them. I told them they needed to have food available for you at all times or you get cranky.

D: I do get cranky, don't I?

S: If we ever go on a trip I'm gonna have to pack snacks for you like I do for my kids.

D: You better. And I don't think it's a blood sugar thing. I just like food.

S: No, it's a don't-get- between-D-and-her-turkey sandwich thing.

D: That's right!

S: Maybe that's why we have always hit it off so well. I grew up in a family where we plan food. That's what we do. My sister and I could spend hours at the store checking out everything we've never tried and how yummy it would be. And then we get the family together and we eat and eat and eat.

Bleep-Bleep

S: Oh my God! Why do I hear cash register noises? Why in the hell are you in the grocery store again? I swear I'm gonna have them post your picture and not allow you in more than once a week. What could you possibly need at the grocery store?

D: I heard they had food here.