Wednesday, February 2, 2011

We'll Die of Nothing

My husband has done it again.  He's read a book, taken it for gospel and now we all have to suffer the consequences.

I've read the book too and as someone holding a degree in nutrition, I see the physiology.  I see the biology happening.  I understand the flow of the food, but damn if I can give up what the book tells me.

The book, if you are interested is The Paleo Solution.

So, as usual, I have to prepare three meals each evening.  Actually, it's more like four since RePete no longer eats anything but eggs, PB&Js and hotdogs.  And Pirate Booty.  He loves Pirate Booty.

I make BN his paleo diet.  No grains, no dairy.  I make the kids something along those lines or sometimes altogether different.  And I either eat what the kids are eating or am forced to make my own meal.

I'm so stressed about it, I'm starting to look into the cost of hiring someone to cook dinner for us.  I can handle the breakfast and lunch, but dinner vexes me.  I think it stems from lack of caring.  Don't get me wrong, I care deeply for my men, but I've never been interested in cooking.  I never cared how my food was prepared when I was young.  My mom is an excellent southern cook and I ate anything she made (within reason).

And although I blame BN, it really is all my fault.

When BN and I struck out on our own, I was so repulsed by the raw meat when cooking that we became vegetarians for three years.

We slowly added chicken back into the mix and occasionally some turkey.  But we've been cow and pork-free since 1992. (although I've been known to partake of a barbeque sandwich)  He doesn't care for fish, so I don't cook it.  But by introducing BN to healthy thinking, I created a monster.

Year after year, he finds more and more things to add or eliminate.

I'm a mess.

I long for a time when meals were cooked lovingly in bacon drippings.


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