Cookies on Sunday

Yesterday, Daughtry and I reunited at last for a much needed rendezvous on the treadmill. It's been a while. I seem to have been hanging on to my rather indulgent holiday attitude, and I find myself suddenly a little, ummmm, squishier than normal. Now I'm sore. Very, very sore. I'm thinking I need to get back on the treadmill today and run through the soreness. Why is that so much easier said than done?

Speaking of indulgence, my family has gotten in to this wonderful Sunday afternoon habit. I'm sure you've all experienced the phenomenon of the post church binge... that feeling when you walk in the door after church that you must eat any and all things possible. Plate not necessary. We all stand around the kitchen in our church clothes, rummaging through cabinets, emptying bags of goldfish and pretzels, eating peanut butter with a spoon and drinking milk right out of the carton. Why does church make us so hungry?

So, we raid the kitchen, eat enough to take off the edge, change clothes and then return for an actual lunch. You know, the kind of eating where you actually make something and put it on a plate. We have 10:00 AM church, so that gets us home and eating lunch around 2 or so. That's all well and good until about 5:00, when we aren't really hungry enough for a full dinner, but we want to have something to eat. So we make cookies. And then we have cookies and milk for dinner. Wonderful, warm, fresh from the oven cookies and milk.

I keep thinking I should feel guilty. I ought to get up early Sunday morning and put something in the crock pot so that when we come home from church we have a nice big meal to eat. I grew up eating pot roast and mashed potatoes every Sunday, and I'm feeding my kids cookies?

Dare I wonder where the squishyness comes from?