I can eat the good stuff. Really.

About two years ago, a cookbook author sent me her book, Mom-a-licious. I read a bit of it, but never cooked anything from it. We were living in an apartment temporarily and the combination of that tiny kitchen, the ages of my kids, their sleep schedules, and the lack of parking spaces in my life at that time meant that all talk of cooking, recipes and my health in general went in one ear and out the other. I was just getting by in terms of energy. Lots of take-out was involved. I probably lost the book within three days of receiving it.

Something I read in the intro of Momalicious has stuck with me still, however. The author rightly assumed that I keep on hand fresh, healthy produce for my kids. Yes, my fridge and fruit basket are always filled with brightly colored bell pepper, strawberries, blackberries, fuji apples, and carrots. I buy avocados every week.

“But do I reach for those things when I want a snack?” she forced me to ask myself.

Nope.  They’re for the kids.

Really, that’s what my subconscious thought process was. I wasn’t even aware of how I was treating myself until I read (skimmed) this book.

I see now that this is ridiculous. I am just as entitled to a bowl full of blueberries as the children.  I can buy more blueberries if we run out. For some reason, this rationale did not come naturally to me. I was depriving myself of healthy food because I had mentally labeled those things as being for the kids. Two years after acknowledging this habit, I’m still working on my instinct to protect their stash.

Does anyone think that certain groceries are for the children? (And I don’t mean fishy crackers.)