Coach is in the living room watching Walking the Amazon on Animal Planet, a program about two British guys who have decided to walk the banks of the Amazon, grill piranha for sustenance, and live under a tarp. He’s riveted.

It’s a step up from The Turtle Man though; about a month ago I spent 30 minutes watching a man wrestle a family of skunks out of a Kentucky woman’s duct work, take his mother to a barn dance, brush his tooth, and take a tomato juice bath in a Rubbermaid container on the front porch.

Needless to say, I’ve had quite a bit of time to think, which is generally a bad idea. My thoughts and I bring out the worst in each other.

However, it was during one of these silly shows that we saw a commercial for Cadbury Eggs, and I realized Easter is less than a month away. I also realized my weight-loss goals might be a little lofty.

Incidentally, if anyone has the secret to dropping twenty pounds in twenty-some-odd days, I’d appreciate a tip.

So, lofty or not, I’ve rededicated myself to Weight Watchers in preparation for warm weather.

Coach is doing some sort of Paleo diet where he eats mulch and almond butter, but the rest of us enjoy human food.

In a moment of very uncharacteristic productivity Sunday afternoon, I made a menu, a grocery list, and I’ve prepared healthy meals that do not include twigs, berries, or pine bark to the Momsense home all week.

Last night we had pork with a pineapple-soy marinade and an orange marmalade glaze. I also cooked fresh green beans and wild rice.

Coach refused to eat rice because rice is a grain, and paleolithic cavemen don’t eat grains. Never mind that cavemen are no longer with us(thank you Social Darwinism), a fact that seems to be lost on my science teacher/husband.

AC balked at the green beans for sport.

And G, the one I can depend on to eat anything, announced he doesn’t eat pork.

I reminded him that he does eat pork.

“Mom,” he said, “I’m not eating pork. It’s an unclean meat. Read your Bible. WE don’t eat pork.”

If you’re new here, let me clarify something for you. We’re not Jewish.

We’re Baptist. Southern Baptist. We eat pork. We don’t publicly admit to drinking “likker” as my grandaddy used to say, but we eat pork. As a matter of fact, you’d be hard pressed to find a dish at a Baptist potluck that didn’t include Velveeta Cheese and some sort of smoked pork product.

So I replied, “Well thankfully for you, we’re walking in victory on the other side of the Cross, which means that you get to enjoy eternal life AND pork without damnation. There’s a reason we call it The Good News.”

So, he covered it with Tabasco sauce, complained that pork had a “piggy” texture, and rolled his eyes.

Tonight we’re having mulch.

See Y’all!