30 days of happiness, day 12 (day 11 was exercise, and I've covered that...)

I am finding that it is nearly impossible to write about food without writing about my entire life, so I’m just going to jump in and tell the stories.  The foods of my childhood all came in boxes and cans.  My mother is not a morning person and does not enjoy cooking.  My brother and I learned early to get ourselves our (brightly colored, sugary) cereal and milk.  In high school, I ate a doughnut and a Coke for breakfast every day.  When Crayola came out with macaroni and cheese as a color, I recognized the color of my childhood, the orange powder of magic.  I was not encouraged to experiment in the kitchen, lest I make a mess.  At the same time, every bite of dinner I ate or did not eat was scrutinized, commented on, analyzed.  I was always eating too much or too little.  My preferences were mocked.  My mom had been fat as a child.  She dieted like crazy to lose weight in high school, but that fat child has never really left her.  Her weight continues to be an issue.  She has tried every diet program ever, sometimes losing weight, always gaining it back.  I didn’t think about any of this.  It was just how it was.

Then I went to college.  I learned to try new foods.  I tried foods I thought I didn’t like and discovered that how something is cooked makes a huge difference.  (Current personal guideline for evaluating restaurant menus:  try whatever I haven’t had before or what is more complicated than I am willing to cook at home.)  I cooked things myself, making huge messes in the kitchen and feeling fine about it because I was the one who was going to clean it up.  I began to realize that maybe food wasn’t an endless reward and punishment system.  And I gained weight because I still didn’t know how to build healthy eating habits.

I got a lot healthier during and after my first pregnancy.  I lost ten pounds in the first four months with morning sickness.  I lost the baby weight and more after Syd was born.  I was not the thin little thing I had been in high school, but I was doing all right.  The second baby didn’t change things much.

Major depression and divorce brought new realizations.  Under stress, I will eat more, until the point where I can’t eat at all.  I had worked that out, more or less, and was nearly a healthy weight when I remarried.

My husband is a big man.  He struggles with his weight and his own difficult relationship with food.  We both gained weight after we married.  I am not a very picky eater, so I tended to eat along the lines of what he preferred, which didn’t work well for me.  Eventually, I figured it out.  I also discovered how much I love exercise.  Those two things helped me lose the extra weight.

Over the last months, my weight has been creeping up again.  I know it is because I am not making good food choices.  Sometimes, of the things I want, the only ones I can have are the ones that are edible.  I am learning that I don’t have to eat All The Foods.

I am a little hesitant to outline the perfect food rules, because sometimes when I look at the big picture, I panic and head for the ice cream.  However, I am reminding myself that I don’t have to follow all the rules at once, starting this minute.

The rules:

      No Coke (my worst addiction).  Diet Coke is okay until I am ready to deal with the caffeine problem.  Ultimately, no soda.

      No added sugar.  This is a work in progress.  The exception is the honey stuff I eat on long bike rides.

      Reasonable portions.  Must not eat whole house.

      Few packaged foods.  I’m not ready to bake my own bread or make my own spaghetti, but more scratch cooking is better.

      Organic free range sustainable.  Good for me, good for the world.

      More fruits and vegetables.  Fewer fats and meats, less dairy.

      No panicking.  Treats are allowed.