Pass the Carob Chips, Please

by Carrie Pålsson

Deep-fried chicken strips dipped in full fat ranch dressing. French fries smothered with cheese. Brownies. Peanut butter pie. Whipped cream. Hot fudge over vanilla ice cream. Greasy pizza. Cookies, cookies and more cookies--the sweeter the better!

Just the thought of all those forbidden foods make my mouth water. All that flavor, all that sweetness, all that unhealthy artery-clogging, diabetes-inducing goodness. What could be better? That's the question I asked myself for years. Why eat healthy? Why bother? I didn't drink, smoke or do drugs, so surely my addiction to fast and fatty foods was justified. A girl has to have a vice. I deserved to eat food I enjoyed. I thought food was the only thing that could make me happy, despite the revulsion I felt for the mounds of fat around my middle.

My parents didn't model healthy eating habits when I was younger, so I didn't understand why they were important. Of course I knew that if you took in more calories than you used up you'd be fat, but the implications of that basic equation never sunk in so I never reigned in my eating habits. Food as fuel was not a concept I could wrap my brain around. Food was my friend, my enemy, my comfort and my entertainment. Eating healthy never seriously crossed my mind.

When I was a little kid one of my classmates had a "dippy hippie" mother. I didn't know what a dippy hippie was, but I heard other parents use the term and snicker about this particular mom so I knew it was something I would never want to be. The adults snickered, but the kids were even more judgemental. We hated her. She was the least favorite class mom because she brought in sugar-free cupcakes, oatmeal raisin cookies, and nut clusters. She had a serious vendetta against all things "junk" and tried to her best to educate all of us about the evils of sugar using a dead-on impersonation of a screeching harpie.

We didn't listen to her message of health. She was just the weird mother that we all tried to avoid. I always felt sorry for her little boy and vowed that I'd never be so cruel to my own children. Depriving a boy of chocolate chip cookies and birthday cupcakes was child abuse to my naïve little mind.

That naïve little mind would be horrified by the contents of my adult cupboards. Cookies are okay, as long as they are made with whole wheat flour, organic sugar, lots of protein-packed nuts and some type of fruit. I recommend pumpkin. Chocolate chips are out, unless they are made from grain sweeteners. They don't taste as good, but they are better for the body and that's the important thing.

Instead of a freezer full of ready-to-fry chicken strips and chemical-laden frozen dinners, I have cupboards full of whole wheat pasta, brown rice, cous cous, and organic canned tomatoes. The fridge is full to bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables. The only chocolate in the house is high quality 72% cocoa bars that are enjoyed an ounce at a time. The high anti-oxidant content gives me an excuse for such decadence.

After saying "never" to my health for so many years, I sometimes wonder what alien took over my body and decided to turn me into some kind of "dippy hippie" health freak. My changed habits hit me full force in the face on a recent trip to visit my family. When I woke up the first morning, I went to the kitchen to see if I could find something decent for breakfast. My mom was confused when I complained that there wasn't a single thing to eat in the whole house. There were sausages, frozen waffles, Pop-Tarts, sugary cereals and bacon. The thought of actually eating any of those items made my stomach turn, so I took a quick trip to the store for a box of granola.

Oh yes, I've changed. For the better, I hope.

Food is no longer my friend and comfort. I no longer turn to food when I've had a bad day. Instead, I talk to my husband, go for a walk, or blow raspberries on my son's belly. I have a good life and I want to live it for as long as possible. I don't want to die of a heart attack before my child graduates from college. I don't want to prick my finger five times a day and worry about my feet falling off from type II diabetes. I want to enjoy everything this life has to offer me.

I'm going to be the crazy mom who brings in naturally sweetened whole grain cupcakes for my son's birthday party. My son is going to be the poor kid who can't drink soda at every meal. Chocolate chip cookies are going to be a special treat, not a weekend staple.

I want to teach my son the lesson that took me 30 years to learn: food is fuel. I never thought I'd say it, but I take much more joy from eating a well prepared healthy meal than I ever took from eating a slab of sugary pie or cake.