I've Fallen Off the Wagon

I’ve fallen off the wagon. I didn’t even realize it until I looked around and found myself surrounded by the evidence. Empty boxes of licorice and Milk Duds, a greasy bowl that once held popcorn but had practically been licked clean, and a half empty bag of candy corn (even in a sugar-stupor I can only eat so much of that tasteless stuff). I realize that I should have bought the marshmallow-cream pumpkins instead because, for some reason, they go down smoother and I could have taken out the whole bag. If there had been any ice cream left in the house I probably would have eaten all of that too, but my son somehow managed to down the entire gallon in two days—quite a feat for such a little kid. I should have noticed that my nine-year-old was subsisting on ice cream for the past two days, but I was obviously too worried about my twelve-pack of real sugar Dr. Pepper to pay attention. Yep—drank all that too.


I blame it on the change in the weather. We’re just barely getting a hint of fall here and we’d just experienced our first cool morning that sent my kids into a frenzy to try and find a long pair of pants. I tried to explain that it’d be shorts weather by lunch time but we seem to jump directly from summer to late-fall in a single day—so they knew I was just lying so that they wouldn’t be late for school—again. I did find a jacket for my youngest but the two boys were out of luck. They’d grown out of their coats and it’s hard to convince them that they should shop for a jacket when it’s still 90 degrees out and they’re wearing flip-flops all day. They just had to do that stuff-your-hands-in-your-pockets thing that boys do. No wonder all the boys pants are dropping below their butts—they push them down trying to keep their hands warm. I can’t get both my hands in the front pockets of my jeans—probably because of the Milk Duds.

When I got home from work I immediately changed into my pajama pants, dug a blanket out of my closet and curled up with the remote control. That was the set-up. Gets me every time. Two tear jerkers later and my diet was blown and my newly cleaned house had been torn apart by the children that I had left to their own devices while I was working on my sugar coma.

Why do I do this to myself? I cruise the grocery store buying heads of lettuce and low-fat dressings, I blow past the chip aisle knowing that if a single bag of those make it into my cart that I’ll have them eaten by the time I pull out of the parking lot. I buy fish and bags of grapefruit and enough apples to fill my oversized crisper drawer. But I always put in a few boxes of candy, deceiving myself into believing that they’re just for the kids. I even tuck them high in the cupboard so that they don’t know where they are—but I do and all I need is a bit of cold weather to send me foraging through the kitchen. Maybe I’m part bear and I’m bulking up for a long cold winter. But bears don’t have winters that include the dream of going on a cruise for Christmas—which is why I’ll be back to eating my grapefruits and salads tomorrow. It was fun while it lasted.