Four days ago, I sent my husband a link (yes, I may have been sitting on the couch with my laptop while he was working at his desk a mere three feet behind me) and asked, "How much would you hate me if I said I wanted to try this?" Used to this kind of craziness from me, he didn't look too thrilled, but he also refrained from offering too much negativity. Still, I wasn't quite sure I was dedicated enough for the task.
Yesterday, after a weekend of the entire family feeling kind of crummy, he finally admitted, "Maybe we do need to try that Whole 30 thing. My body would probably appreciate that."
And, thus, it began.
So, after a day and a half of research, I now have a meal plan in place for 22 of the next 30 days (figuring to fill in those final eight as we discover what works and what doesn't). And we're doing this thing.
Thirty days of eating nothing but the basics. Meat. Vegetables. Fruit. Healthy fats. Nuts. The end.
So, of course, we've spent the evening digging into the Blue Bell "Christmas Cookies in July" I bought on Friday, before I realized what we would be doing to ourselves only five days later. My rationale, as I dipped into the half gallon for my afternoon snack was, "In a month, I won't even want ice cream and I'd hate to pass up the opportunity to at least try this." See? I'm totally thinking clearly right now.
We'll see what a month of "whole" eating does to that clarity of thought.
721. The comfort to splurge
722. Taking my health seriously
723. Planning a trip to the museum
724. Dreaming of the future
725. Wildfires drowned out
726. The promise of rain in the dry heat
Photo from the Weekend: Driving to Tulsa on Friday, the smoke from nearby wildfires attempted to blot out the sun. Eerie, but beautiful.