I am Full of Pie

Raise your hand if you overate on Thanksgiving.

Count me in. Not horrible, but definitely over the comfort zone.

While I'm a pumpkin pie lover, Eamonn is not. Apparently if you don't grow up eating things that are pumpkin flavored, you never really develop a love for it. I have yet to meet someone from England who says they like pumpkin.

Anyway, I was debating about what our second pie flavor would be on Thanksgiving. The boys and I decided on apple after I found THIS recipe. Sometimes I come down a little hard on The Pioneer Woman because her recipes will put the average citizen into cardiac arrest. But on Thanksgiving, I'm willing to throw her a bone. It's time to throw caution to the wind.

I'm telling you, this apple pie is the bomb. The final two pieces need to go away before I suffer death by pie.

And definitely make the hard sauce for the top. Wow.

I made an attempt to have a gluten free Thanksgiving. I did it with one exception: the sausage stuffing Eamonn makes. I just ate a little because it's worth a little stomach cramping.

I made gluten free pie crusts with THIS recipe. I was a little worried because sometimes gluten free = nasty. But it was a total hit. Eamonn was complimenting the crust. When they were all finished eating, I dropped the gluten free bombshell.

Next up: Gluten Free Christmas. I'm already plotting and planning.

Chicken Fat

I think I could be a vegetarian. Today I spent my afternoon ripping yet another chicken limb from limb to make yet another pot of homemade chicken soup for yet another sick kid.

I'm totally not kidding.

Declan came home from school yesterday with a set of massively swollen glands in his neck/throat. Nifty. Which means I am one of those parents who sends her kid to school sick. Dang it. I hate it when I have feet of clay.

Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if he's just progressing through new sets of symptoms and he's been sick with the same thing for weeks now, like Finn was. Tomorrow we have parent/teacher conferences. I fully expect to hear that they'll each have to go all the way back to preschool and start over again because of all the school they've missed this year.

But back to my vegetarianism. Or not, actually, but I'm darn sick and tired of handling raw chickens. It's just really starting to gross me out. I enjoy a good steak, but the handling of raw meat is becoming more and more repulsive as time goes by.

I go through phases like this--sort of like seasons to the year. In the winter, I can't get enough of that heavy comfort food. Yep, bring on the chicken and noodles, meat cooked to death in a crockpot all day, and bread, bread, bread until my daddy takes my T-bird away. I love it.

But now spring is coming, and along with it, bathing suit paranoia. Let's just say that bread, noodles and mashed potatoes aren't exactly bathing suit-friendly fare. It makes me sad, but it does make sense.

I'm not quite in panic mode yet, that will happen in late April or early May, but I'm leaning towards lighter choices like fruit smoothies, salads, and still the occasional bowl of chili or lentil soup (I'm the only one who eats it here) on those snowy spring days. I'm feeling the urge to eat more raw foods again. But that requires some effort to dehydrate all that stuff and again, I'm not panicking. Yet. I fully expect to have the dehydrator running 24/7 in six weeks time and Eamonn will accuse me of running up the electric bill as a result.

By the time summer rolls around, I'm pretty much just eating grilled eggplant all the time. That's because I make a giant bowl of grilled vegetables and nobody likes the eggplant. So they pick out all the other stuff and leave me with a plate of eggplant all to myself. I'm OK with it. By September, I'm ready for a little variety though.

And then it's starting to get cold again and it's not long before I'm rooting around in the cupboard for my trusty crockpot.

My eating has come full circle.

Bon Bons and a Nap

Today I ate bon bons and took a nap. Seriously. And because I have a cold, I feel like I can get away with it without any judgment. Even though the last thing I should be eating when I have a cold is sugar, I ate the candy anyway.

Last week after Grandma's funeral, the whole gang of us (aunts, uncles, mom, dad, sisters, cousins, niece) all went to her favorite candy store--Marie's Candies--in West Liberty, Ohio (If you've never been there--check it out. It's a fun day trip). It was quite a pilgrimmage and I'm guessing we seriously helped their bottom line that day. It's a family business and several of the people who work there knew Grandma and Grandpa for many, many years, and we got to know them, too. So it was really only fitting.

Anyway, Mom wanted to send home some chocolate for the boys for Valentine's Day. She usually sends a box on special occasions. I was happy to discover that Marie's now has a Candy Registry whereby you can "register" for your favorite candies! To me, this is genius nothing short of whoever figured out how to split the atom. Because really, who needs to know how to split the atom? It's more important for people to know what kind of candy I like if they want to send me candy. Atom, schmatom. Now my Mom can just go in there and say, "Please make up a box for Natalie," and voila. So what if I chose something no one else around here likes. I bought them bags of assorted seconds to keep them happy.

My box of favorites is now hidden here in the house, as are the bags of "seconds," which are probably candies that didn't make the "Marie's Cut" because the swirl on the top isn't right or their shape is a little off. I have no problem with defective swirls or slightly off kilter shapes, personally. So now Eamonn is probably reading this and his chocolate radar is going off like mad. "What? There's candy hidden in the house?" And he can look all he wants, but it's carefully hidden until Valentine's Day. Sorry, Honey, but you and I both know that you and chocolate can't coexist for any length of time.

The only rub in this situation is that I only allow myself to eat candy or other treats once a week. I eat pretty well all week long and then on Fridays, I basically eat whatever I want. It may sound archaic, but it's a system that works for me. Because I came home with my own box of favorites, there's no way I'm leaving it out for the candy hounds in this house to ravage. I just don't think they stop to really savor and appreciate before they stuff it in their gobs. So I've decided I'm hiding my box and I'll treat myself to a little each Friday. Eventually I'll have to share the love, because believe it or not, good chocolate actually goes bad and it would be a crime for that to happen and also, it would be a crime for me to eat an entire pound of chocolate myself. And kind of gross.

Now I need to go and keep an eye on Eamonn as he rootles around the house and tries to figure out where everything is hidden. . .

The Marshmellow Detox Diet

The last few days have been painful as I come down from the high from a steady diet of hot chocolate, marshmellows, Christmas cookies and candy that have made up the four basic food groups I've been adhering to since the end of November.

It hasn't been pretty.

Today Finn had a friend over after school and they wanted to have hot chocolate and marshmellows. I could feel the sticky, sugary goodness of those marshmellows when I reached into the bag to pass them out. I wanted to stuff a whole wad of them into my mouth when no one was looking, but I had to settle for just licking my fingers afterward. And the hot chocolate? I was lurking around their mugs as they were finishing their snack, hoping someone left some dregs in the bottom that I could slurp. Because homemade hot chocolate? Nestle Quik doesn't hold a candle to it, I'm telling you. How could it with 1/4 cup sugar to every two cups of milk? I can't even begin to count high enough to figure out how much sugar we have collectively consumed this holiday season. But then again math has never been my strong suit and I tend to underestimate when it comes to how much food I consume. Perhaps that has contributed to my snug ski pants recently?

I know I blogged before about how I follow an online exercise program. You get a free coach assigned to you and you report in on your food, log your exercise, and get feedback (curiously, no one ever tells me I should probably eat more). Let's just say I didn't do much reporting in over the holidays. I mean, how was my coach going to respond to posts like:

Breakfast: Two eggs, whole wheat toast, 1/2 grapefruit, mug of hot chocolate the size of a small swimming pool with whipped cream and marshmellows.
Snack: 2 dozen Christmas cookies, glass of milk.
Lunch: Lean Cuisine, carrot sticks, half a tin of toffee.
Snack: apple slathered in peanut butter, multiple pieces of Marie's candy
Dinner: Skipped it so I could eat an entire batch of popcorn followed by another 2 dozen Christmas cookies dunked in raw milk.

(And you may laugh, but this is actually so close to the truth, it's sad)

Exercise--walking back and forth to the refrigerator, wrestling with lids of cookie tins, trying to hold the Marie's candy out of the childrens' reach, putting stamps on Christmas cards, locking the door behind the kids when they went out to play in the snow so they couldn't rush back in and find me with my head submerged in the cake taker full of Christmas cookies.

So the fact that I am now on cold turkey withdrawl from refined white sugar is made painfully obvious by my shrewish attitude towards the world. I'm like Elaine in that Seinfeld episode when she tries to not eat the office birthday cake. I've got the DTs and need some serious intervention. If only I'd saved a little piece of cookie to help in my detox process. Yes, date pinwheels are like methadone for me. I need them. I NEED THEM! GET ME A COOKIE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAASE. If you loved me, you'd give me a cookie.

Feet of Clay

Just in case my post from Sunday night (below) comes across as though we live in a plastic bubble (well, I'd never live in a plastic bubble because of the noxious fumes plastics give off, but you know what I mean) and we never eat anything bad for us, I want to set the record straight. I struggle on a daily (hourly) basis. I thought I'd list a few of my indescretions from the past 48 hours to enlighten you.

It actually started on Saturday night when I was filling Easter baskets. One chocolate, peanut butter filled egg for Declan, one for Finn, one for me. One Reeses Pieces eggs for Declan, one for Finn, one for me. Repeat pattern until eggs are gone.

Sunday morning. For some reason felt compelled to sneak some Easter candy before even eating breakfast. Continued this covert munching throughout the day. For dinner, I made a very delicious ham, that was, of course, made with nitrates and nitrates--a big yucky no no that none of us should be eating and it's in pretty much all things cured, like bacon, ham, sausage and all lunchmeats. And yet I happily made it, served it to my children and ate more than I should have. As a result of my chocolate and meat binging, I spent a good deal of the evening in the bathroom with an upset stomach. I won't elaborate on that.

Monday. Went skiing with Declan. He wanted eggs, sausage and toast before we left. Can't let the lad eat alone, can I? We usually ski with our lunch to avoid paying a million dollars at the resort, but as a special treat I told him I'd buy him lunch. After paying $16 for a plate-sized pizza that he didn't finish, I finished it for him because, I paid so much money for it, darn it. Last night we ate bangers and mash for dinner. Followed by chocolate chip cookies. . .and Easter candy when no one was looking.

This morning. Ate a great breakfast of oat groats and fruit. . .then when I was making some banana nut bread to take to some friends, I repeatedly took bites of the sweetened condensed milk which is one of the ingredients. I heard Martha Stewart say she does this, so to me, it's OK.

And we won't even talk about how on Saturday I made cookies for the firefighters to say thanks for hosting the St. Baldrick's event and I ate half the dough--no lie--in the process.

Hmmm, I'm reviewing all of that and thinking ick. And I wonder why I can't lose weight. But the point here is this is a constant struggle for me. And you know what? Sometimes I get sick and tired of trying to feed my children vegetables, so I just skip it. I feel like such a rebel.