The good part of my weekend... knitting these little dudes
I wrote this blog entry at my SparkPeople blog (link to my page is in the sidebar to your right):
I wonder when I am going to get it through my thick head that I can’t ever rest with this effort? There are no breaks. There is no laying down the baton and lounging under a tree for five minutes. There is no “gee I will get around to meal planning/cooking/cleaning the kitchen later.”
If I don’t stay on top of food planning and prep I will not get through this.
There’s another adult in the house, but he is the throw-it-together-and-see-what-sticks type of cook. I need to know what I’m eating for right now. I need to get the macronutrient ratios I’m aiming for, I need to see if I can get all my nutrition from my food and I need to make sure my carb count doesn’t go too high. (And I don’t have much wiggle room there. If I want my fat stores to continue to mobilize I *have* to stay below 100g and probably more like 30g to 40g. The years of soda and grains have taken their toll on me.)
He just about never cleans anything in the kitchen but he makes just as much mess as I do, and frequently more. That dishwasher could be *empty* and he wouldn’t put anything in it unless he was feeling magnanimous. On top of that he’s a much messier cook than I am, which just exacerbates the problem.
To be fair he works 8 hours a day. This here at home is my job. We’re not married, not even involved, but the economy is in the crapper, I don’t have that great of a job history, and this way we can both parent without the usual back-and-forth of split-up parents who are being reasonable about contact with their child. So we’re sort of in a “traditional” setup here–and that’s fine.
My grievance is that this is a much larger residence than I’m used to dealing with. There is more of EVERYTHING that I have to keep up with. He, however, has not seen a more than threefold increase in *his* work duties since we moved in together. So a little more help from him than I’m currently getting would be very welcome. Apparently, though, it is also too much to ask.
And me being mad about it isn’t going to help anything. Me getting depressed and giving up on cooking even for a few days isn’t doing me a favor. He’s not going to suddenly remember that it is helpful for him to clean up after himself, or that even taking his dishes from the living room to the kitchen after a meal (yes, we often eat in there–something else I want to change), would be helpful to me. He just doesn’t care. So I have to care.
And I can’t blink. I can’t stop. I can’t drop anything. Because otherwise I give up and order pizza.
OK, it was *one* pizza. But even one’s too much, if I don’t make the pizza here. Wheat crust vs. cauliflower/mozz crust… no contest, as far as what it does to me.
Back on track today… and I tell ya, I could feel a lot worse than I do. Not a total loss. Probably not a loss of *weight* either… but what can you do.
Not quit, that’s what I can do.
That was pretty much my weekend in a nutshell. I’m up early today, so it’s time to hit the kitchen. You don’t wanna know how bad it is.
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