Well, maybe I am not a liar. Maybe I didn’t lie. But I never told my children, or my husband, there were Klondike bars in the basement freezer either. I had bought the six count of the Original Klondike bars several weeks ago for my oldest daughter.
And I forgot to tell her, and then she moved out. And then I forgot about the ice-cream bars.
I didn’t share
Then last week I found the Klondike bars in the basement freezer. They were hiding behind the frozen chicken wings.
Hey, look at that. I never told the kids or my husband about the Klondike bars, and they don’t know they are here. And, I haven’t eaten any chocolate, for five years, (except for the bunny ears at Easter.) I can handle this. And nobody likes Klondike bars. Just the oldest kid and she moved out.
And, I forgot how sick I felt the last time I ate chocolate. I thought I wouldn’t get sick last time, because there were Macadamia nuts with the chocolate, and the nuts would balance out the effects of the sugar. But the nuts did not help. The last time I ate chocolate I yelled and grabbed my hair and felt awful.
Eating in secret
I ate one ice-cream bar the first day. And one ice-cream the second day, and one ice-cream bar the third day. And one ice-cream the fourth day, and one ice-cream the fifth day, and one ice-cream the sixth day. And I never told anyone. (Maybe I should tell my husband before he reads this story.)
I ate them in the basement in the corner at my writing desk, and if anyone came in the basement I hid what I was eating. Then I hid the wrappers in the back of my Orchard Supply Hardware truck on my desk.
My plan was to eat the six Klondike bars and then never eat them ever again in my whole life. Just the six bars.
I dreamt about the bars; I tried to see how long I could go each day without eating a bar. An ice-cream bar with a crisp covering of milk chocolate. I tried to eat the bars slowly. And after I had eaten a bar, all I could think of was, I get to eat one more tomorrow.
And then they were all gone. All six. Eaten. Gone. Digested. Finished. For the rest of my life.
The Klondike bars were calling my name
As soon as I walked into the grocery story I could hear the Klondike bars calling my name. “Pamela! Pamela! Come to me. Surely you can eat more than six for the rest of your life?”
As I walked down the meat aisle at the grocery store, past the chicken, turning left at the end of the aisle to get a gallon of milk, the Klondike bars got louder. I had to walk right past the ice-cream to get to the milk! The Klondike bars said, “Hey, Hodges, where have you been? We aren’t that bad. Buy two packages this time. One package for the kids and one for you.”
Twelve Klondike bars went in the shopping cart. I didn’t tell the children or my husband. I snuck them into the downstairs freezer, and I started to eat them. One a day.
After day twelve, in the morning, there were twelve Original Klondike bar wrappers in my Orchard Supply Hardware toy truck. The effects of the sugar on my hypoglycemic brain were overwhelming. I hit the counter and yelled.
Good-bye Original Klondike Bars
Immediately after I finished yelling, I walked downstairs and threw the rest of the Klondike Bars away. The Original Klondike bars. Six of them. In the garbage.
And I won’t buy Klondike Bars again. Ever. (Well, maybe if the kids ask. But, I won’t hide them, and I won’t eat any.)
And I will write a new title, I will be the honest, not ice-cream sneaking, not having a tantrum mother.
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I couldn’t figure out last night why I wanted to tell you I was sneaking ice-cream. Why would I tell you?
It would be so much neater, if I keep on telling you, “Oh, I never eat sugar or chocolate. I only eat carrots as a snack.” It would be much more polite if I kept up with the “I never make mistakes, and I am a perfect mother,” game.
And haven’t you heard people complain that most posts on facebook and instagram only show a person’s good side?
And then we compare our summer vacation to the Outlets with someone’s trip to Disneyland? Or we compare what we eat to someones picture of a plate of carrots.
People sharing how they have life all figured out, and how they are so cool.
Well, I don’t have it all figured out. Last week I drove to the store to buy clean underwear because I didn’t want to do laundry.
And I ate sugar. And I yelled. And I am not cool.
And every morning I pray, Dear God, help me be a good mommy. Help me be kind. Protect my children, and let them always know they are loved. And now I pray, Dear God, please help me walk past the Original Klondike bars at the grocery store and help me not eat sugar or chocolate.
I paint, I write, and I am not perfect.
Today I pray, that you feel loved. Loved if you are a parent who sometimes makes mistakes and yells. Loved if you never had children. Loved if you are not married. Loved if you don’t always eat the right food.
Just plain old loved.
xo
Pamela
And I promise if you come and visit me, I will buy you Klondike bars and I won’t eat any.
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