Thanks for Being There, Buddy

I had a plan. A brilliant, destined-for-success, fail proof kind of plan. Masterful, actually. This plan was so great I couldn't believe I hadn't tried it in the last six months. Sure, my plan wasn't exactly original, but this time I knew I could make it happen. Success was mine. I could taste it. What was my plan, you ask? Simply this: In my months-long struggle to lose five+ pounds of unwanted baggage in several areas of my body, I vowed that today is the day I would take charge of my food intake. I would empower myself to think, sleep, and eat healthy. No more bread or other useless carbs (no matter how much those little spawns of Satan tried to tempt me), no more processed pre-packaged dinners in a box, and absolutely without equivocation no more refined sugar. None. Organic and earthy. Inner peace and harmony were on their way. My bowels were rejoicing. And, being the sort of girl who does not do anything on a whim, I drove to the local health food store, imbibed some grape flavored probiotics, stocked up on dried peas and lightly salted pumpkin seeds, and began organizing my cleansing journey to unprecedented well-being.

I decided this Sunday would be a great day to embark upon my journey. I woke this morning and drank two glasses of water. Refreshing. Then I prepared a protein breakfast making sure not a drop of 12 grain carb-loaded bread snuck in, no matter how delicious and desirable it may have been. And then I went to church. Three hours of listening, learning, and absorbing the gospel. I was a sponge. Physical, mental, and spiritual enlightenment. Bring it on. Educated and experienced high councilmen instructed me on the righteous ways of motherhood, the struggles of the early converts to the church, the trials of the Saints in the 19th century, and being an example of service and discipleship. Check. I can do that. Then on to Sunday School...preparing for trials, chastisement, and sanctification. Check, check, double check. Not fun, but essential for the strength of Zion. And last but not least, an hour of Relief Society. One of my favorite meetings. I was especially looking forward to today's lesson because my dear friend and neighbor was teaching. She always presents touching and eloquent messages. I opened up my manual to lesson #37: Charity - the Pure Love of Christ. Hmmm. Giving not only of our money and provisions to help those around us, but also sacrificing our time and talents, and doing so without reservation. On any other day, I might have received this lesson with the intent in which it was given. But today, I sat in silence, glancing impatiently at the clock, trying my hardest to corral the impure thoughts that were invading unoccupied spaces in my mind. I desperately attempted to see the good in the comments that were being expressed, but all I could see were the trials that have come into my life because of unyielding service, and how I would like to "charity" some individuals right out of town...via a one-way bus ticket, perhaps? I don't really know what has gotten into me, but either Aunt Flo is especially heinous this month, or I am so overwhelmed with my life right now that my insides are warning me of a sudden and pending implosion. There is little room for charity when I am struggling with resentment and bitter frustration.

So the minute class was dismissed, I herded the husband and kids, raced the entire block back to the house, boxed everyone out to be the first through the back door, and found myself eye-to-eye with a forbidden pantry shelf. Before my rational self could offer protest, a bag of chocolate chips had been ripped open, a piece of sugar-filled Amish bread was stuffed into my mouth, and my old buddy Mac was in hand. How I love thee, Mac. You have seen me through the good and bad times of life, never judging, constant and dependable, always comforting me and reassuring me that life is not as bad as I think it to be. And so, in honor of my good buddy Mac, here's a little ode to old blue.

For all the times of tempest
Through seasons of distress
You have been my constant companion
A guardian angel promised to bless

Your goodness cannot be measured in pints or cups or quarts
For however poor I am feeling,
You sooth my anguished parts.

I love your creamy texture
Your rich and cheesy taste
Who knew such pleasure and comfort could be found
From a processed, grainy paste?

So come what may
The storms may rage
But in my heart I know
Old Blue will come to save the day, my wise and dependable sage

So much for resolutions. This one lasted a whole six hours. That's okay though. I thoroughly enjoyed my two bowls of Mac N Cheese. Leave it to Kraft to make me feel better. Thanks for always being there, Buddy. You warm a fat girl's soul and tummy. Keep making the goodness 'cause I'll keep finding reasons to need you. Now I think I go find my other good buddy, Coca-Cola. Something tells me an artificially sweetened Cherry Zero is in my future.