Don't Eat Bad Meatloaf

I threw away an entire meatloaf this evening, which makes me extremely proud.

I added real mayonnaise, not the light stuff. I put it on a real hamburger bun, not low carb, or gluten free. It tasted like cat food smells. I hesitated and considered eating it anyway, then remembered I don’t have to do things I don’t want to anymore. I am a recovering magical thinker.

When my son was young, I protected him from things I felt were dangerous.  Cereal and Hamburger Helper were two of them. I was in my low carb stage and knew these things would contribute to a lifetime of cravings for lucky charm marshmallows which was an entry drug to more vile items from the gas station like honey buns and those little powdered donuts that come in packs of six. I did not want his goal in life to be unlimited gas station trinkets which somehow elevated themselves to the most cherished and luxurious of treats. I did not want my son to be a magical thinker.

I’ve always been a magical thinker. I can take the absolute worst situation and tease out a silver lining with ease.   I love my optimistic nature. I’m cheering people on and pointing out “things will always work out for your highest good”. As a child I ate toast, lots of toast with pounds of butter. I would eat four slices for a meal. For a meal, not with a meal. We were so lucky to have so much bread in the house. I would change it up and get fancy with cinnamon and sugar. I was lucky to be able to create whatever I wanted from the bread in our house.  I was blessed with a magical relationship with bread.

My granny bought dozens of fried pies from the local day-old bread store and put them in the freezer. Past their expiration date, she paid one dollar for a dozen. These crescent shaped fried pies would stay in the freezer for years. In her mind, frozen meant frozen in time, expiration date was not relevant piece of data. In the summer, my cousins and I were allowed to have as many as we wanted. I put them in the microwave for a minute or two, and anxiously awaited the magic ding. The insides would bubble up, crust popping open from too much heat or too much freezer time. We loved the taste of the gooey sugary fruit flavored insides and luxuriously ate all we wanted with zero thought to potential food poisoning. Pie was much better than toast with butter. Expiration dates mean nothing to magical thinkers, of course we should eat unlimited pie! Recalling the piled up frozen pies with a smile, I still did not want my son to be a magical thinker.

Magical thinking adults forget what decent food tastes like and stop trying new recipes because those are for other people, people that recognize gas station treats and expired fried pies are not delicacies

My son’s father and I moved into a new house when my son was six months old. We lived in various iterations of that house for 17 years. First as a family of three and then a family of two after an overdue divorce and an agreement for shared custody. The family of two was the low carb stage, limiting his exposure to the gateway treats would limit the need for magical thinking.

My second marriage was full of bad meatloaf. Each time I experienced something marginally good or palatable I would cheer myself on, “Now that’s not too bad, is it?  The next bite will surely be even better,” it wasn’t.

My son watched from a distance, uncertain what to say. “Are you sure you are happy?” I was a magical thinker, he was not. “Mom, why are you eating bad meatloaf? There is so much out there that will be better for you.” There was no need for him to create stories to ease distress.

Last night I threw away a meatloaf, warm out of the oven. My son’s voice quietly in my mind “Mom, there’s so much better out there for you,” and he was right.

What are you magically thinking about today? May you find the courage to see things as they really are because truth is where the real magic is.

Naked.