...of eating in restaurants, that is...
...just for month of September...
You know, kids, me and the mister aren't getting any younger. We've hit what I call the "mid-thirties paradox". I mean, finally, we're wise enough to understand just exactly what "good health" means, and we're also financially stable enough to invest in the whole grain/fruits and vegetables/exercise hullabaloo that "good health" commands.
But...it's our bodies that betray us.
Ol Mr. Metabolism ain't what he used to be...and consequently, every donut, peanut butter cookie, or handful of Lucky Charms conspicuously shows up on the scale in the morning. It doesn't matter how ascetic our diet is during the week...all that self-flagellating hard work is wiped out in one Fantasy Football Draft weekend of burgers and beer.
Depressing, yes. But there are two things I know for sure...
1. I'm loath to give up those Fantasy Football weekends. The same goes for chocolate and butter. Hell, that goes for food, in general.
2. I am unwilling to exercise two hours a day. Thirty minutes a day - that's about all I'm willing to go right now.
Whoever said moderation is the key was damn right (Ben Frankin, maybe?). Common sense tells me I can have chocolate and butter in moderate amounts and I can exercise in moderate amounts...and I can be healthy and happy.
As it turns out, the husband and I have certain triggers...certain things that completely send us off the diving board of Moderation into the swimming pool of Total and Utter Decadence. That's why you'll not find a crumb of Lucky Charms, Froot Loops, Apple Jacks, etc. in my house. A handful here, a handful there added up to extra poundage and uber-tight jeans.
And now...the next to go...restaurants. Turns out it's a trigger...for both of us. I dunno, something about a Subway turkey flatbread or meatball on Italian that causes all food-decision-making sense to go bye-bye. And if it's chips and salsa at the local Mexican joint...well, it's off to hell in a carbohydrate-covered handbasket.
So...family experiment for the month of September...no restaurants. At all. No exceptions. Except...
Brent is going to a wedding in Illinois in September, and he'll have to eat at the reception. This doesn't count as a restaurant. Otherwise, we...
prepare food and eat it at home
and
pack food whenever we know we will not be near our house (i.e. upcoming soccer tourneys for a few fall Saturdays).
Corking good plan, yes? The children were certainly okay with it when we proposed it to them earlier tonight.
However...
I predict my husband will be the first one to crack under the pressure.
...just for month of September...
You know, kids, me and the mister aren't getting any younger. We've hit what I call the "mid-thirties paradox". I mean, finally, we're wise enough to understand just exactly what "good health" means, and we're also financially stable enough to invest in the whole grain/fruits and vegetables/exercise hullabaloo that "good health" commands.
But...it's our bodies that betray us.
Ol Mr. Metabolism ain't what he used to be...and consequently, every donut, peanut butter cookie, or handful of Lucky Charms conspicuously shows up on the scale in the morning. It doesn't matter how ascetic our diet is during the week...all that self-flagellating hard work is wiped out in one Fantasy Football Draft weekend of burgers and beer.
Depressing, yes. But there are two things I know for sure...
1. I'm loath to give up those Fantasy Football weekends. The same goes for chocolate and butter. Hell, that goes for food, in general.
2. I am unwilling to exercise two hours a day. Thirty minutes a day - that's about all I'm willing to go right now.
Whoever said moderation is the key was damn right (Ben Frankin, maybe?). Common sense tells me I can have chocolate and butter in moderate amounts and I can exercise in moderate amounts...and I can be healthy and happy.
As it turns out, the husband and I have certain triggers...certain things that completely send us off the diving board of Moderation into the swimming pool of Total and Utter Decadence. That's why you'll not find a crumb of Lucky Charms, Froot Loops, Apple Jacks, etc. in my house. A handful here, a handful there added up to extra poundage and uber-tight jeans.
And now...the next to go...restaurants. Turns out it's a trigger...for both of us. I dunno, something about a Subway turkey flatbread or meatball on Italian that causes all food-decision-making sense to go bye-bye. And if it's chips and salsa at the local Mexican joint...well, it's off to hell in a carbohydrate-covered handbasket.
So...family experiment for the month of September...no restaurants. At all. No exceptions. Except...
Brent is going to a wedding in Illinois in September, and he'll have to eat at the reception. This doesn't count as a restaurant. Otherwise, we...
prepare food and eat it at home
and
pack food whenever we know we will not be near our house (i.e. upcoming soccer tourneys for a few fall Saturdays).
Corking good plan, yes? The children were certainly okay with it when we proposed it to them earlier tonight.
However...
I predict my husband will be the first one to crack under the pressure.
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