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 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.