We’re falling apart in this house. The Husband blogged yesterday about his latest midlife crisis, which is coinciding with his turning 40 in just over 100 days (not like anyone’s counting or anything). I follow him shortly thereafter, which I had thought I had been handling well until this afternoon.
I got home from work a bit earlier than usual, scoring me some points with The Girl who plaintively asked me this morning if I could be home for dinner tonight. Dinner was prepared foods from Giant (rotisserie chicken, mac and cheese, stuffing, and cinnamon baked apples). I was feeling all pleased with myself – having just completed a great event today at work, relishing the thought of the house to myself for a few minutes, and dinner being done.
I played the answering machine message.
“Um, Melissa?” the recorded voice said. “Yeah, this is M. from Your Doctor’s office and your total cholesterol is 221, your triglycerides are 157, and your LDL is 150.”
Damn, guess that means no macaroni and cheese for Mommy tonight, I thought. Some quick Internet research (I know, I know … ) tells me that while these numbers aren’t horrible they could certainly stand some improvement. Nothing good ever comes from borderline-high cholesterol. Clearly some dietary adjustments are in order, and the irony isn’t lost on me that I am, by far, the healthiest eater in this household. The Dean’s diet consists of pizza, pasta, and Diet Sprite. His cholesterol is “picture perfect.”
I want what he’s having.
And what he was just having was a bowl (OK, a mug) of Edys. Up until this afternoon, I would have been joining him in enjoying a nocturnal bowl of Cookies and Cream. This is what we do – every night. One of us will ask the other if he or she wants ice cream; inevitably the answer is yes. One of us will scoop the ice cream, one, two, three scoops, and over ice cream we’ll talk, surf the Internet, or watch episodes of “Dallas” that aired while John Lennon was still alive singing about peace and love.
So, no more ice cream for me (or at least, not every night).
I should be grateful – and I am – for having The Husband right here in the family room at all. Not to mention The Girl who is sleeping on the sofa as I blog, and The Boy who is upstairs wrapped in a blanket “like a burrito” (a low-fat one, natch). So it really shouldn’t matter that I need to restrain my ice cream and mac and cheese consumption. It’s a small morsel to pay in return for the possibility of a few extra years with them at all.
But damn, that bowl of ice cream looks really good ….