All of this social angst was directed at me the family smoker. To be clear about this, understand that when I
smoked, I went outside, no matter what the weather. If the need for a cigarette break hit me when it was two in the morning and it was thundering and lightening outside, I'd climb out of bed and stand on the deck in my
pajamas with an umbrella over my head, puffing away. I was a dedicated smoker not a very smart one. But that would soon change.Every time I lit up, my daughter lectured me. She told me how my lungs looked, how I
smelled, how I would die young. Eventually, I gave it up. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to find a place where I could indulge my habit without developing pneumonia. Besides, the S.G. had the full court
press on and I grew increasingly tired of explaining to my child that, "No, Mama is not going to hell simply because she has a cigarette," no matter what her preschool teacher said.
Looking back on my
decision to quit smoking, I'm grateful I did. It's saved me a lot of money and I do feel better. But I would like to make just one healthy decision on my own without the government launching its secret weapon my
daughter to ensure enforcement.I'm afraid she has me in her sights once again. This conversation took place at dinner the other night.
S.G. (Looking at the pasta dish on my plate): That is not a serving.
Me: OK, I'll bite. What is it?
S.G.: It's too big. A serving is about the size of a deck of cards. (She holds her hands out to show me.)
Me: That's for chicken.
S.G.: (Shaking her head) Oh, no it isn't! It's for
everything. And this
(dramatic pause while she points to my food)
this is at least four servings.
Me: Servings are relevant to what you happen to be eating, Elizabeth. Eat your dinner.
S.G.: OK, but I'm telling you this is too big to be a serving.
During the evening she shook her head and rolled her eyes as every dish was served. Apparently I the one cooking for the entire 12.8 years of her life
am not smart enough to know the size of a portion. My daughter the former tobacco police has now evolved into the food sheriff this from someone who microwaves lettuce. And that's OK with me. Because I'm the one
who knows how to turn on the stove, the one who buys the groceries, the one who hides all the good stuff, the keeper of the pantry. And the next time I fix cheese cake, she'll need a microscope to find her
"serving."
As I always say all's fair in love and eating
