The Brownie Oath

My daughter has to memorize an Oath for Brownies. I've come up with my own version:
"On my honor, I will try
to avoid brownies and other binge foods,
to help keep my weight under control
and to live a long, healthy life."

My husband called in sick yesterday because he felt nauseous and fevered. This was actually a positive for me because I had to get my newsletter done, and it meant I could stay at work later and not rush home to let the puppies out.

However. When I did get home at 2, I walked into the Torture Chamber -- the house freakin' reeked of fresh baked brownies!

"What did you do???" I looked at him in horror. He replied he was craving them and decided to whip up a batch. ( I later noticed that he also baked a rising-dough pizza and ate 3/4 of that, too. I guess the nausea had passed.)

"Are you trying to torture me, or make sure I'm massively obese forever?" I queried, then stopped and shook my head. "Scratch that. I know you weren't even thinking about me when you made them."

Here's the rub. While I'm glad I said it, I knew it didn't get across like it should have. On the surface I was saying I knew he didn't bake the brownies to intentionally sabotage me. But on the other hand, I wish he would think about something other than his cravings -- namely, some consideration for me. I have been very vocal about getting myself back on track this week, but apparently that didn't come up in his mind as he baked these little binge bombs.

Last night I managed to stay away from them, but it was horribly tough. I wound up getting one of my Vitalicious VitaBrownies out of the freezer and ate that instead. I figured I'd at least get some fiber and nutrients, and it did keep me from attacking the unhealthy ones.

This morning, though, I was still haunted by those damn little things. So as Hubby was heading out the door I handed him the brownie container and said, "You don't have to give these away, but keep them in your truck or something, because I can't have them in the house. If they're here I won't just eat one, I'll eat all of them. It's an illness." I don't know how I could have gotten more succinct about it.

Hubby was fine with this request, and when I brought up the word illness, he replied, "Hey, I'm the one who made them," insinuating he's the one with the illness. He then got very revealing and said, "If I could find a good hypnotist, I'd go to one. Every night I think to myself I have to do something, and every day it doesn't happen."

God bless him, I've certainly been there, and it's hard. I wish I could give him a pill, a book, a plan that would give him the magical "click" that happens when it all falls into place. Like I've said before, if I had that I'd be a billionaire. But the truth is, I've even had the "click" and it can still go away and be very difficult to recapture.

My de-bloating slowed down a lot this morning, which makes me believe what's left is what I actually gained over my blow-out. Pretty depressing, because I basically wiped out a whole winter's hard work in what, 10 days, two weeks?

It's difficult not to think, "Why bother? I bust my hump for four months and I'm right where I started!" But let's face hard facts-- if I hadn't stayed vigilant this past winter I could have easily gained 20, 30, even 40 pounds. That sounds extreme but I know my past history. So I basically wound up maintaining my loss from the end of December. That's an accomplishment in itself, in my eyes.

Of course, I'm still in the middle of my TOTM, so I could still have some water retention hanging on and the actual regain isn't as bad as I think. Even though it's Friday I am fully motivated to stay on track this weekend because of that Monday doctor's appointment. I am bound and determined to not be horrified and ashamed when the nurse weighs me in, so there's simply no other option than to stay mindful. As of right now I don't have any parties or events going on to tempt me, although I doubt I can escape the Sunday dinner with the in-laws. Such is life.