I

t doesn’t happen in one day but it happens. Slowly yet very very steadily my husband’s beliefs in a healthy lifestyle make their way into our home affecting more than just his own eating habits. Most products that are off his food plan are off my food plan as well simply because I don’t care to dirty a pot to produce a meal which will serve just me. And my husband with his years of Gemara analysis is so logical persuasive and convincing that I allow his arguments to win me over more often than not.

I am afraid though. I fear turning into a stereotypical “health nut.” I don’t want to be the “nutty mother” on the block who doesn’t allow her kids to eat this that or the other forcing them to beg the neighbors for “illegal” food items. I don’t want to be the parent who sends alfalfa sprouts for lunch that the kids discreetly dispose of before begging their classmates for goodies. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of pointed judging looks nor do I want to turn into the neighborhood conversation piece due to my “nutty” practices.

“I’m not planning to turn into a health freak” I tell my husband.

He nods.

“There’s no mitzvah in being different than everyone else.”

He nods again.

“We’re absolutely not driving the kids nuts. We don’t need them developing fears and anxieties and emotional issues because we’re being healthy.”

“Which issues come from eating healthy?” My husband seems puzzled.

“You know how many teenagers are struggling with eating disorders because their parents pushed them into diets?”

“I’m not putting them onto a diet; I’m telling them ‘yes to eat’ — but to eat healthy.”

 “You’re not supposed to talk to kids about food. Period. Don’t tell them yes to eat; don’t tell them not to eat.”

“Long before I ever started thinking about all of this you’ve been running after Shaindie with a plate and spoon in hand. Isn’t part of parenting getting kids to eat? And while we’re getting them to eat they might as well eat healthy!”

He’s so rational it’s frustrating! Doesn’t he see how things can get out of hand? Or…maybe I’m getting too worked up? After all he is right; running after picky eaters with food is almost a universal part of parenting in civilized countries. I’ve watched parents at picnics and Shabbos tables and bus stops threaten convince cajole and beg their picky little eaters to ingest something.

“Fine but they can’t be different than everyone else; at home we can offer them healthy food choices. But I’m not even going to try to control what goes on outside of the home. They’re not going to start taking weird stuff to school and all that.”

He nods yet again. I’m glad he’s on the same page — even if he hasn’t gotten all that worked up about this.

“What is that?” I ask my husband as he pulls a text-filled sheet of paper out of his pocket.

“My blood test.”

“What? When did you take one?” Why are you looking at blood tests? These things belong in doctor offices and hospitals! Which sane healthy people go around reading blood test results?

“We actually both did. It was required for our insurance policies remember? There’s yours.” My husband points to a sealed envelope on the table returning to his own results.

I turn back to the salad I’m dressing; who cares about a dumb blood test? I feel perfectly fine thank you very much.

“Fructosamine refers to groups of proteins and lipids that have sugar molecules…” my husband reads from the lab guide attached to the blood test results.

I plumb the depths of my memory in attempt to recall whether I’ve heard any of this before. I favored English and History in high school; I don’t recall much of Biology. How does he know all of that? His secular education was so scarce...

I know the answer — and it disturbs me. It disturbs me to know that the reason he is so knowledgeable in this area is because it is very very important to him. And that I know means that this is for real: There is no going back.