I do. And he lives in my house.
I have often lamented that my dear husband brings food into the house that I would rather not have cross the threshold. Some of it is unhealthy and is something I crave and struggle to resist. Some of it is equally unhealthy but doesn’t tempt me and I can live alongside in peace and harmony with nary a second thought. But some food he brings home, while certainly meeting most standards for healthy eating, is never-the-less food that I would rather see never or less. Foods that might make my red-light list Foods that tempt me. Call to me. Often resulting in overeating.
I don’t want to limit my husband’s right to bite. He should be able to eat what he wants to eat, healthy or not. And I need to be very clear in stating that he has made many accommodations for me and my crazy eating issues in the past. Like the time he bought Dove Bars with his brother and ate them all in the car on the way home. Or the time he hid the Oatmeal Cream Pies. Or the now very-long-span during which he has gone breadless.
Which brings me to the muffins. I’m talking English muffins here. The healthy-ish kind. The wrapper asserts “light” and “multi-grain” and “fiber.” And the nutritional information confirms it. But my name is Karen and I just might be a bread addict. And in my (rather warped) mind, English muffins are bread in disguise. Like bagels. I have learned a lot by trial and error this past year and one thing I have erred with over and over again is thinking that I can eat bread products like a normal person. The old me used to be able to enjoy an English muffin once in a while. And even a bagel. (She says, drooling.) But the new me has figured out that life is better
breadless bread minimized.
So when I saw that Costco sized package of camouflaged bread coming into the house, a dialogue began playing in my mind:
“Yikes, English muffins… temptation.”
“You don’t want one, you won’t eat one, no problem.”
And then my next thought went to my blog. And the power in putting things out here. In sharing. In public admissions and accountability. In owning my words. So here I sit, knowing that I can write all about those Thomas’s muffins, with all the nooks and crannies to hold the melted butter, and then I can walk away from the keyboard and the blog and muffin madness. I don’t want them. I don’t crave them. Much as I also don’t want them in my house, I can live with them being here. (Although at the rate my husband is eating them they won’t be around long.) The only muffins I’ll be having are the ones that spill out over my waistband:) And the stud muffin who shares my life.
So, yes, I know the Muffin Man. And I know myself. And today, I’m loving us both:)