I am a stress eater.  I know this.

When I’m upset, I eat.
When I’m sad, I eat.
When my kids turn into assholes at bedtime, I scrounge the cupboard looking for cookies, left over Christmas stocking candy or a bag of chocolate chips.

I also drink.

What?  You didn’t think I kept that box of wine on the kitchen counter to look “classy” did you?

And here I am, with a New Years Resolution to lose a gazillion pounds and my kids are driving me INSANE.

Why do they have to turn bedtime into a marathon scream-fest?  How can they be (relatively) good all day and then turn into monsters when the lights go off?

The screaming.
The laughing.
The tattle-tailing.
The hanging off the bunkbeds like monkeys.

After I spout off a few well-chosen curse words and threaten them with a week of no electronics I head straight for my kitchen.  I can’t help it.  I can totally think of all the reasons NOT to grab the pack of lemon cookies, like the fact I actually exercised today and I’m only 1.5 pounds from my first milestone, but here I sit.  Eating lemon cookies.  And for just a few moments…I feel better.

Then the cookies are gone and I feel like shit again and oh look!  I hear the boys again.