I had an Olive-from-Little Miss Sunshine moment the other day.
We were in Friendly and it was time for the "Who wants ice cream?" question.
I always dread it. Not because I do not love the treat, but because I am perpetually losing 10 pounds and a Weight Watchers life-time slacker.
The ice cream offer almost always feels like someone throwing down a gauntlet.
My son is on to me.
In raising my boys, I have tried my hardest to keep the fat talk to a minimal and the healthy body image messages to a maximum even though such positive thoughts seem to rarely make the top ten station in my brain. (Yeah, I am neurotic. What's it to you?)
"Mom why don't you ever get ice cream with us? Is it because you are on the points? (WW calorie counting for those unfamiliar)" My son asks me.
I don't give the real answer. I so don't want my boys to grow up and date diet-obsessed women even though I suppose I am one.
Sometimes I don't want ice cream, I say while visions of forbidden chocolate with peanut butter sauce on a spoon heading toward my mouth danced through my head.
My husband: "Mommy just tries to eat healthy." Then he orders the forbidden chocolate with caramel sauce.
Thanks honey...
The boys order make-your-own sundaes.
Our waitress pauses and looks at me.
No ice cream for you? We have fat-free, she says with a little too much glee.
C'mon Mom, my oldest says like a dare.
I blink and go with the frozen yogurt, sugar free hot fudge and splurge on the whip cream.
Better choice?
Maybe.
Still feels like a cop out.
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