It's Monday: step away from the fig bars

I am a cosmopolitan woman, busy with lists of things to get done each day in my little world of kids and culture.  I like to start the day thinking I have it all under control.  At 4:45am, Dub and I were working out with Tony Horton in the basement.  It's not my happy hour, but Mr. Dub's understanding, and doesn't expect me to answer back or smile at that time of day.  When I packed the kids' lunches, I cut extra carrot sticks and pepper strips to put in baggies for my run-around car snacking.  I know myself.  If I didn't do this, I might find myself desperately emptying the glove box in search of old gum or chewing on bits of stale granola bar pieces the kids dropped in the back seat, and a wad of grocery bag; because let's face it:  isn't there something almost desirable about the smell of a paper bag from the grocery store?
I digress.
After my visit to the home of a talented friend (she is a whiz at cabinetry, remodeling projects, mouse extermination, basement flooding trouble-shooting and plumbing) I ran off to accomplish many tasks, feeling like I needed to at least walk down the aisles of Home Depot so I could make myself feel more competent.  Instead, I excelled at using coupons to finish up some Christmas shopping.  When I burst through the door a few hours later, parcels in hand, I went down my mental list of things to get done at home before the kids started trickling home from school and piano students knock on the door:
-put wood on the fire
-put groceries away
-put wet wash in the dryer
-hide Christmas gifts I just bought
-return borrowed items to the neighbor before she heads off to work
-listen to phone messages
-check email
Before I knew it, I was famished, and needed lunch STAT.  My choice? A can of diet cherry Dr. Pepper, a bag of ripple potato chips and some ranch dip.  With a chaser of Daddy Ray's low fat fig bars.  I feel like I just went from respectable member of society to desperate college student during finals week needing a food intervention.  Who even buys Daddy Ray's low fat fig bars, anyway?  Sick.
I have until dinner time to redeem myself.