“This is really good, I love it, but it has too many colors, so I will not eat it again.”   Twenty simple words that have come to define my insecurities as a homemaker.  My husband was just being honest. I asked, didn’t I? Well, even if I hadn’t asked, he would have pushed the enchilada around his plate for another 15 minutes, trying to make it look more “eaten”.

The chicken enchiladas were fan-freakin-tastic. I was so excited. I actually tried the, gasp, healthy recipe while my sweetheart was on the road. I knew it was good and could not wait to serve it up when he got home. Unfortunately,  I had not yet heard the color rule.  Apparently, foods with more than two colors are strictly prohibited on the plate of my mister. In order to keep things simple, a good reference is simply the color of beef. If the food item is beef or beef-like, and combined with few other colors, it is going to be a hit.

Potatoes are also acceptable, provided they are only garnished with butter, sour cream or some other healthy, full-fat natural dairy product. Don’t get me wrong, I love the man. I LOVE him, but he is a healthy eating nightmare.

He has always supported my diet attempts. It has to be exhausting. Honestly, I get confused. Carbs, no carbs. No fat, good fat. No Dairy Queen, step away from my Blizzard or I’ll cut you. The most dangerous of all is actually deciphering if I am trying to lose weight, or in one of my, “I’m 44, and lovin’ me the way I am” moments.

What I really love is the adaptation of rules. My husband really should write a diet book of his own. I especially loved his whole concept of bread and pasta being okay at dinner when I was doing South Beach. I really love the cute way he will comfort me with Cold Stone Creamery or a big fat Blizzard when I am at a weight loss plateau, or to celebrate reaching a goal.

Honestly, the best thing my husband has ever done for my attempts at getting to a healthy weight is ask, “do you want to do this, or not? Just tell me what we are doing and stick with it.”

I know, right?!  But, it is only fair, after all. He laid it all out on the line for me. “Too many colors.”  That is that. If I ever need clarity, it is easily attained. When I pick things up at the grocery store, like quinoa,  I can just show him a picture on the package, and he will say, “I’m not going to eat that.”  It is helpful. I do think red quinoa looks a little like beef, but he did not agree.

So I say quinoa (keen-wah) and he says pickled ring bologna. I say tomato, “he says, oh, I don’t eat tomatoes, except in ketchup.” But we make it work. I just cook a pice of chicken and a steak and make a very monochromatic salad and some half buttery/half olive oily potatoes and watch my portions.

I am down two pounds this week. It ain’t rocket science. It ain’t too many colors, either.