Rob and Sara plus 1 plus 1 more.: I get so emotional baby

Sing it Whitney

I interupt my blog posts about how my bathroom smells of pee and my kid and husband got the flu to bare my little soul. Cause blogging is cheaper than therapy or Jenny Craig.

If you'd asked me a few years ago, even a few months ago, if I was an emotional eater, I'd have said "no". I'd have told you (and I did say this) that I just love cheese dip and ice cream and sometimes I cave more than I should. I would have said that Halloween makes me eat copius amounts of chocolate and Easter candy is just SOOOO good. LIAR! I mean, I can't be trusted around a bowl of cheesedip or ice cream. That's the truth. I do try to stay away from those items. Even in low fat form. I can't be trusted.

Howeva.

I'm on a hunt for a better Sara. This took looking at myself and my habits. I am not a "bad" eater. I keep good food around my house. I hate McDonalds. I get baked chips at Subway. I park farther away than the first spot at the grocery store and walk extra when I can. I exercise moderately. I buy low fat almost everything. I'm not fat because I have everyday bad habits.

I am fat because I'm an emotional eater. I started realizing that everytime my kids have a tough afternoon and I'm feeling exhausted and stressed, a voice in my head says "call Rob and ask him to bring home food." The thing is, I am prepared for eating at home. I plan menus. I cook in my crockpot 2-3 times a week, most weeks. I try to chop/precook veggies and such during naptime to make dinnertime easier. I even have Smart Ones pizzas and dairy free pizzas, corn dogs, and cans of soup for the boys stashed for emergency purposes. Soup takes two seconds to dump out of a can into a microwave safe bowl. I don't need Rob to bring home food 98% of the time. There have been times that I have had food in the crockpot, that actually smells good, but I have that moment where I think "call Rob." Because, Rob bringing home dinner is my way of feeling like Rob is making my world better. And that food that he brings home probably has 3x the fat, calories, and carbs than what I would have made. (disclaimer: I am in no way blaming Rob, he is simply doing what I asked.)

And Halloween candy? Nine times out of ten, I don't eat a piece on Halloween. I eat it the day or two or a week after, when the inevevitable post Halloween/hayride asthma attack hits both my kids. Except I don't eat a piece. I eat 10 pieces. I tell myself I'm eating the chocolate because my dairy free kids can't have it. Bullshit. I'm eating the chocolate because for one second, while chewing, that chocolate made me forget that we had to cancel the 9,000th playdate and go to the doctor's office instead. Or that I had to call my boss...again...at 5 in the morning to tell her that I can't make it to the one day of work I'm scheduled for.

I got Zaxby's 9 days ago after Max's doctor's appointment. We had to wait for 2 hours at the doctor and half the people had masks on because they were there for the flu. And then I got told that Max only had a virus. So I just subjected my kid to 2 hours of waiting room with flu people to be told to give my kid over the counter medicines. My kid that has had 27,000 ear infections and illnesses that some people have to Wikipedia before they continue a conversation with me and in no way needs to be anywhere near the flu. I ordered boneless wings and fries and I dipped the fries in ranch. As I ate it, I thought about how I hadn't been to a Zaxby's in a while. And I thought longer.....like since the last time one of the kids had to go to the doctor sick. Hmmmmmm........

As previously mentioned in my last post, the shit (and puke) hit the fan last weekend. Two our of four of Rob and Sara Plus One Plus One more had stomach flu and the two spared didn't feel awesome either. We had to cancel plans to have my dad help Rob with major house help. We were super sad. My kid that was really sick was super sad. I was up with one or more kids more than I slept Friday and Saturday nights. On Saturday, I waited for a prescription to help his nausea for almost two hours. The whole time I waited, I was thinking about my poor mom and dad and sister that were home with my kid, dealing with his flu self. A pastel colored bag of peanut m&ms caught my eye. And then jumped down my throat. Well, not the whole thing, but a lot of m&ms went down that day. Even more went down Sunday on the drive home as I wound through the hills with my sickly, on my way home to my sick husband.

The rest of the m&ms were consumed while watching the Biggest Loser last night and it hit me how bad I'd sabatoged all my hard work. I've been getting up early, exercising during naps, doing squats in the yard while the kids played. And for what? So I could shove candy in gross quantities and boneless chicken wings down my pie whole when the going gets rough?

Part of getting better is realizing where the problem is. I've realized it and I'm not proud, but I'm glad. I have a good life. A great life. But there are times when it feels like its hard. Other times it feels really hard. My kids get sick a lot. One requires therapy that sometimes feels like more trouble than its worth. Some days I wonder if I should just work and pay others to teach my kids. Food doesn't fix these problems. A smile. A song. A kiss. A hug. A bowl of spaghetti squash and a ton of situps. Those things will fix those problems.