I have worked so hard to make sure we don't discuss weight in my house that I really didn't know how to handle the question when my daughter threw it at me.
"Mom, is it bad if I eat toast and a piece of chocolate chip pumpkin bread?"
It was one of those moments, I knew, that could have a lasting impact on my 15-year-old daughter. I never wanted my girls to see food as the enemy. I never wanted them to worry about what they weighed. And I never wanted them to view fitness in terms of a pant size.
So I had to think about my response.
"Well, I'm not sure what you're asking," I said. "If you're asking me, 'Is toast and pumpkin bread good for me?' The answer is no. There isn't a lot of nutritional value in that snack."
"But if you're asking me if you can eat toast and pumpkin bread," I continued. "You can eat what you want."
Then she said something that sounded a lot like something my sister used to say to me when we were discussing our weight. (Because that is, I admit, what teenage girls do — way too much.)
"Well I ran four miles today," she said. "I worked out."
I wanted to run, far away, to a world where what you eat doesn't matter. That wondrous place where working out doesn't determine what and how much you can eat. And where moms don't accidentally pass on their phobias to their daughters.
I took a deep breath and said what I know to be true, even if I can't live it every day.
"You shouldn't work out just so you can eat," I said. "Especially, if what you're eating is junk. You should eat good food because it is really what your body needs. It will serve you, whether you're running or sleeping."
She looked defeated, which is a look I try to avoid putting on the face of my children, regardless of the situation.
"But I want to eat toast — and pumpkin bread," she said. "I just want to."
Really? Why me? I want my kids to be happy. I want them to be healthy. I stopped buying everything I love — soda, potato chips, doughnuts, even Frosted Flakes — just so my kids would never develop the food cravings that I fight every day.
Knowledge is one thing. Acting on it, as we all know, is a completely different challenge.
I know food should serve me. But far too often, I am led around by my taste buds, only to find myself trying to determine what I need to do to make up for my weakness. How long do I have to spend on a stair climber? How far do I have to run? Exactly what torture will work off a Big Mac? OK with fries?
My real fear, however, is that my girls will do what far too many beautiful women in my life have done when they feel "too fat" and that is develop devastating eating disorders.
Since I started running consistently, I do much better with this issue of what to eat. I have actually planned ahead and chosen meals that will help me accomplish my goals rather than trying to figure out ways to counteract my inability to avoid a drive-thru.
And in the last two years, I have chosen to do physical activity that I enjoy so those "workouts" feel less like punishment and more like THE reward. And lastly, I have gotten both of my daughters involved in sports so they won't see working out as a way to counteract poor food choices. They won't see it as a way to fit into a certain body size or type and they won't see it as the only way they can be beautiful. They'll participate in sports, in physical activity, because it feels good and it's great fun.
But still, some how, some way, the issue of food and whether or not we can or should eat it, has made me feel like an idiot again.
"If you want to eat it, then eat it," I said. "You know what is good for you. You know what you want to do, and you know the consequences of your choices. Do what you want."
She ate the toast. She ate the pumpkin bread.
She wasn't, however, wracked with guilt like I would have been. She didn't purge or fret or whine about wishing she hadn't eaten it.
She ate it. She enjoyed it.
The next day, she passed on sugar. She said she needed to eat better because her times at track were not what she wanted them to be.
"Maybe if I eat better, I'll run better," she said.
"Yeah," I said. "Maybe we could go to the store later and get stuff for lunches that would be more supportive of running."
She smiled and then moved on to something else.
The panic receded just a little. Maybe she won't develop an eating disorder ... Maybe she won't be a slave to what someone else thinks she should weigh.
Maybe, just maybe, someday we can talk about food without me feeling like we're on the verge of crisis of self-image. Maybe my fears, the fears of some of the women I have loved, won't be her fears.
Maybe she won't have this love-hate relationship with food.
And maybe, just maybe, someday when her daughter asks if she can eat something, she'll just answer without all the angst, whatever it is she feels, whatever it is she knows.
Maybe, for her, food really will just be fuel for whatever wonderful adventures she chooses to embark on, even if sometimes that is simply the exploration and sheer enjoyment of a seriously good slab of pumpkin chocolate chip bread.
e-mail: adonaldson@desnews.com