We’ve been on this diet. And when I say “we,” I technically mean my kid, but really, if one person in the house is dieting, everyone is dieting, especially where no one volunteered to diet. It’s technically a prescription plan from his neurologist, but to me, it feels like punishment for ever enjoying French fries, or you know, life.
We were a proud meat-and-potatoes family. I’m talking a dash of meat with an extra side of buttery, salty, mouth-watering mashed potatoes. Now? We’re meat and vegetables, meat and vegetables, and sometimes, if I’m forced to cook, just meat.
Did I mention that my dear husband is the cook in my house? Anywho, the junk food is gone, the snacks are gone, and happiness has left the building. But my husband has a “what I eat at work, stays at work” mentality. The kid was forced to be with me 24/7, so I didn’t get that… luxury. Don’t check the cupboard in my laundry room, though.
If I had to describe this diet, I’d say it’s like having an ingrown hair, every day, all day. Not enough pain to cry about, but just enough to remind you life used to be more enjoyable on the couch with brownie batter and a spoon.
This diet has turned grocery shopping into a part-time math class I never signed up for. You can find me standing in the aisle, squinting at food labels, mumbling fractions under my breath like a lunatic.
English was always my subject, okay. I could write a ten-page essay about To Kill a Mockingbird in one night, but one serving of cauliflower rice throws me into a full breakdown.
Eighty-five percent of what’s allowed on his plan can’t even be found in Cozad. Not just Cozad, but Lexington, either. You’d think I was hunting for Bigfoot instead of raw, non-seasoned macadamia nuts.
His neuro-nutritionist gave me a 200-page food dictionary with brands and approved ingredients. Two hundred pages. I’ve had shorter novels on my nightstand. I understand that his diet is medical and not something most families do, but come on, eating healthy shouldn’t require a degree in logistics.
My kid is allowed 15 carbs a day. Fifteen. For comparison, one banana has 27 carbs. One potato, just one delicious, comforting, perfect potato, has 37. Two cans of Coke would be his entire carb count for a week!
He also has to consume a lot of healthy fats. So, every morning he takes four tablespoons of olive oil like it’s orange juice. I’d be gagging, but he just shrugs and keeps going. Champion behavior.
My mom, bless her, comes over every Wednesday and makes a weeks worth of “fat bombs”, basically healthy peanut butter cups made with expensive peanut butter, lots of butter, and chocolate chips that cost more than gas. But she makes them with love, and that’s one ingredient that’s still free.
Eating out has gotten easier as we learn what’s what. Basically, he can have a cheeseburger, no bun, with a side of pickles. That’s it. Or at least all he is willing to eat. Sugar-free ketchup is not a thing most places have, and you would be surprised at how hard it is to remember to bring your own condiments sometimes. Most ketchup has 5 grams; ours has 1.
After a very hungry boy went to lunch without his trusty ketchup bottle in his bag and used up his remaining carbs, I decided I would shoot for the moon and ask if the restaurant would allow him to keep his own bottle there. Without hesitation, she said yes.
No one will ever be able to convince me to move, ever. Living in Cozad is like the TV show Cheers. “Where everybody knows your name”. Sometimes people know too much information, yes, but most of the time, it’s just one person helping another person live an easier life.
Anyways, this weeks column is about more than a stupid diet or a ketchup bottle. Maybe when someone offers me something I can’t have, I’ll just say, “Oh, I’ll eat that in heaven.” Because I know God’s serving up mashed potatoes, bananas, and garlic bread with zero carbs up there.
Next week might be about how my husband’s been looking for a paper I threw away four months ago. Stick around and we’ll figure it out together. Just stick around. I want you here.
A miserable potato-lover, Liz
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