Momservation: Your credibility for preaching good nutrition goes out the door when you’re caught raiding the Thin Mints.
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There’re many things I wished were different about myself:
- That I didn’t love Oreos®, Thin Mints® and Ritz® crackers so much
- That I didn’t crave a good steak, hamburger, or BLT so that I could look cows and pigs at the state fair in the eye
- That I believe Ranch® dressing tastes good on EVERYTHING
- That if I had to I could live the rest of my life on Lucky Charms alone
- That I firmly believe raw brownie batter is a gift from Heaven
- My inner thighs
These weaknesses in my character make it a daily challenge to set a good example of healthy eating for my children. The thighs are my cross to bear for not loving steamed vegetables, skinless chicken breasts and whole grain rice (I’m sorry, life is too short not to go for the combination pizza dipped in Ranch®).
What I do do to counteract my vices is regular exercise. I run so I can raid the fridge. I bike so I can binge. I swim so I can snack.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all junk in the house. We love our fruit smoothies, turkey burgers, fresh fruit, peas and corn on the side. For the sake of my family I’m making sure that food pyramid is getting built with the daily servings of fruits, vegetables, grains, proteins, and dairy.
But when Girl Scout cookie season comes around…Here’s what our food pyramid looks like:
Here’s my philosophy with Girl Scout cookies: If it’s not there, you can’t eat it. (Plus, then you don’t have to run an extra twenty minutes to get them to let go of your thighs.)
But the ghosts of Girl Scout cookies past haunt me every spring, making me fill the house with tangible, tasty reminders of those that have gone before them.
Delightful Do-si-dos. Sweet little Samoas. Trusty Tagalongs. Lovely Lemonades. And of course, my dear friend bought by the case – Thin Mints.
I like to think it’s my philanthropic tendencies that get the best of me, unable to say “no” to an adorable little girl in uniform just doing her civic duty.
But let’s face it, I’d probably buy them from a mangy, toothless crack addict selling them from the trunk of his car if it meant I would otherwise never see my precious Thin Mints again.
Curse you adorable little girls peddling your cookie crack in front of store fronts all over town! Oh well. We’ll eat better next month when the cookies run out.