Honey Bunches of Portion Control

Oh, portion control. How I loathe thee.

 

First I should say, I’m starting a weight loss program at my church to help me lose the 6 lbs that I need for medical clearance (and the other 34 lbs that I need to make the circus mirror in my bathroom go away).  I’m very excited about this.  I need community to lose weight effectively.  It takes a village to burn a calorie, and all that.  So far five other ladies want to do this with me.  I’ve warned them to don their sarcasm deflectors for the journey.  My jokes tend to come from all ranges of the dry spectrum.

 

Portion control is hard. Thankfully toddlers are around to help.

 

That was Sunday.  All excited.  All fired up.

 

This is Tuesday.  Whole.  Different.  Ballgame.

 

Portion Control Problems

 

I woke up this morning, pretty sure I was still kind of committed to sort of being careful in the kitchen today.  Yesterday I had a high protein, low carb breakfast of a couple of eggs.  Yeah.  I’m pretty awesome.  So today as I casually pondered the question of breakfast I considered being a true martyr and skipping.  But I said to myself, “Self, you know if you don’t eat breakfast on Tuesdays you’ll be so tired after working in the clothing closet that you’ll burn out and come home and binge.  Take care of yourself, Self.  Don’t try to be a hero.”

 

Feeling pretty good after my pep talk I thought, Okay sure.  I’ll have a little breakfast.  Nothing much.  Just enough to keep me going until lunch.

 

By the time I got to the kitchen, my Self had manifested into a little red guy on my left shoulder.  And he had talked me out of having eggs.  “You had eggs yesterday”, he said to me in a strange Count Draculaesque accent.  “You deserve a little carbs for all of your good works”.

 

“You have a valid point, little red guy”, I said back.  I’ll just have a very small bowl of cereal.  Minuscule.  In fact, I’ll just have a serving size. After all, 3/4’s of a cup is only half a billion grams of sugar.  We’re still practically dying at the feet of carbohydrate martyrdom.

 

By the time I had the box in hand and started to pour, I realized that pouring a serving size was going to leave what definitely felt like less than a serving size inside of the box.  “Well, that’s just silly,” the little guy on my shoulder said, this time dressed as the practical mom side of my personality.  “I’m just not going to put a practically empty box back in the cabinet”, he said again using my voice.  “Besides, there’s barely any in there, it won’t hurt to just dump it all out.”

 

Some strange feat of physics happened between the cereal leaving the box and landing in my bowl.  There was a lot more than the little guy had sold me on.  “Oh well”, I thought.  “It’s already out of the box now.”  And everyone knows that you can’t rebox cereal, just like you can’t unchew gum, or get toothpaste back in those little flattened tubes.  “Besides, I doubt it’s that many calories, there’s no need to actually measure it and refer to that silly side panel of nutrition again.  I’m sure this is fine.”

 

I don’t really remember a lot after that for several minutes.  I think I went into some kind of zombie-shark-cereal-feeding-frenzy.  I do have some hazy moments of consciousness with thoughts drifting through my brains like, “Gee, those sure are big bites you’re taking,” and “You’re totally in control, you can stop eating whenever you want to,” and “Eat…eat….eeeeat”, in the dracula voice again.

 

Just when I thought I’d never snap out of my semi-aware state, something appeared on my right shoulder.  Actually, it was just to the right of my right shoulder.  And it was holding underwear.  Finding Nemo underwear.  And then the smell fully jogged me back into a sentient state.

 

Me: “Two year old, did you poop?”
Two year old: “Lesh.”

 

*insert elevator music here*

 

…On my way back from the potty several minutes later, as I neared my abandoned cereal bowl, I was suddenly confronted with the awareness that I was full.  Literally, physically, full.  I looked down at the soggy 1/3 I had left behind, and I finally understood the message God had had to deliver through a 2 year old.

 

My portion control…stinks.

 

-Jessica

Comments

  1. Rofl! Haha sorry, that does "stink." lol.

    I can post! woot!

  2. Michelle ~ Blogging from the Boonies says:

    Oh my gosh…. :snort: You have a clever wit that makes me literally snort. Like, out loud and everything. Read this "You Might Also Like…" teaser as I was shamelessly stretching out what was supposed to be a three minute sit-and-rehydrate-after-waling-and-running-1.5-miles break to ten minutes or so. I think I should go through your archives sometime while I am stretching out my computer time.

  3. @Michelle – I think I wrote this right before you wandered over to my blog and brought your Compassion Posse with you! Lol.

  4. You're a (honey) nut!

  5. Julie Williams says:

    HAHAHA!! Loved this! My 25yo daughter often reminds me that my stomach is the size of my fist..not my head..hahhaha.. that girl she sure is funny one. :)

  6. Melissa R says:

    So this could be an online weight loss thing too… right?

  7. note to self – don’t read Jessica’s posts about diet, portion control, or losing weight stuff while eating bunt cake. It spoils all the fun out of bunt.