Dessert-Restraint: A Life-Long Challenge

For my 4th birthday, I had a Strawberry Shortcake Party. I had a pretty red dress, pretty pink decorations, and my mom was making a pretty strawberry flavored cake for the event. The day before the party, my mother baked the cake and left it to cool while she went out to do some last minute errands. It was a nice August evening--the kind where the sun makes everything golden as it sets, and the kind that makes you leave all the windows open until long after its dark. My dad was in the front yard mowing the lawn and my brother was busy going up and down the drive way Flintstone-style (barefoot--he was two and couldn't pedal yet!) on his very cool black plastic motorcycle. My side-kick and partner-in-crime, Maria (from across the street) was over at my house playing Care Bears or some other girly kid game. I remember we were running back and forth between my room--where the toys were--and the driveway--to torment my brother. The quickest route to the driveway was through the laundry room, which was located just off the kitchen and incidentally where my perfect strawberry cake lay unguarded near the side door, waiting for my mother to frost it upon her return. Perhaps on the fourth passage through the laundry room, I noticed it. The sun had set so that light shone down on the cake like a beacon, calling me to it. I told Maria we needed to have some. As usual, Maria said something like "won't we get in trouble?" (she was a much better child than I was). I probably said something like "don't be a scaredy-cat" (which always convinced her to help me). And so together, we forgot about my brother and the Care Bears entirely and pulled the step stool from the kitchen into the laundry room. We pushed it up against the dryer and climbed to the top step. Then, with our bare hands, we proceeded to eat a teeny tiny bit of cake. It probably began with rationale like, "one little nibble will go unnoticed." And then a few bites later, it was probably something like "well, the frosting will cover up the unseemly craters in this partially eaten cake." When the cake was half-gone, it was only then that I realized how this might appear to my mom. But it didn't matter...I had warm, freshly baked and summer-evening cooled strawberry cake in my belly.

I don't remember if I got in trouble with an actual punishment, but I do remember the look on my mom's face when she saw the cake. It probably meant another trip to the store and a long late night baking a new one.

Last night I was faced with a similar scenario. After a long weekend, I came home with intentions to do nothing but sit on the couch and watch Desperate Housewives. I wanted a snack, and even though I knew all I had to choose from was fruit or wasabi cashews (my fattening snack the week), I looked forlornly through the cabinets and refrigerator hoping something better would turn up. Turning to leave with the cashews in hand, I noticed a foil-covered platter next to the stove. I had forgotten! MC made yummy chocolate cupcakes!!! This would be the perfect snack.

I walked over and peeked under the foil when the thought occurred to me that maybe she made these for an event or for someone's birthday. Maybe they weren't just here for us to snack on. She had told me about the cupcakes and I had watched her frost them, but I couldn't remember any details that implied restricting my consumption of them. I stood there torn for a minute or so and even went as far as picking out which cupcake would be mine. The devil on my shoulder whispered, "even if they are for someone's birthday, what's ONE cupcake?" and then the angel said, "but if they're not for me to eat then I shouldn't have one. And what about the swimsuit you just bought for Cabo??" In the end, I put the cupcake back and reluctantly ate a cashew or two.

And with that I have proven that in 22 years, I have at least learned a little self-restraint.