Weight Watchers Weigh In...The Relapse

I have good news and bad news.  We closed on our house and moved.  I am a stress eater.  It's been a stressful week.  So there I was...amongst a mountain of boxes and wrapping paper, panicked and indecisive over every single thing I unpacked...where do I put it all?  I'm hungry...there's nothing to cook on...no groceries....no fridge even! (Except the one in the garage that came with the house - empty.) We order Dominoes. And that's when it happened.  I don't remember how the first Parmesan Cheese Bread Bite got into my mouth, but I came back to my senses around #14.  It was so good and carbohydratey.  The grease covered my lips...the little flecks of Parmesan cheese laid gently on my chin.  I wiped them off with my finger so as not to spill any on the new carpet and then sucked my finger dry.  I had an out of body experience.  

(I shared them with no one.)

"Oh no.  What have I done??" Immediately I cut a zero point cantaloupe and devour it in its entirety.
"Maybe, it will soak up the cheese and starch and cancel out the bread bites," I reason.
Then the next day, we were so exhausted we went to Whattaburger.  I vow to eat only a little.  But their onion rings...they call to me....and I answer.
I ask my honest, young son if I'm getting skinnier.  "Well, your butt is getting smaller," he says and my heart leaps with joy. "But it's still not small," he adds quickly as I go in for a hug.
So, today at our meeting I stepped on the scale and did the head hanging walk of shame back to my seat.  Two ounces.  I lost 2 ounces this week.  I wondered if they wanted their WW charms back that I got two weeks ago.  They didn't.  Two lousy ounces. That's the bad news.
Here's the good news.  A few months ago I went shopping for some blue jeans.  I found a pair and went to try them on.  I couldn't get them over my calves...without great effort.  And once they cleared my calves, I couldn't get them passed my thighs.  I sat in the dressing room and beat myself up.  I peeled off the jeans and looked at them with their cute little white stitches.  "I'm going to buy you anyway," I said to them - vowing that I would fit in them eventually.  
No piece of denim is going to tell me what to do or how to feel...
Today I wore those jeans to my meeting.  Like a boss.

The Sacrificing of Henrietta

In my ongoing endeavor to learn one new thing about my mom every time I call her....I give you: Henrietta's Sacrifice.

My mom told me a lot about my grandfather during this particular conversation.  He worked for the railroad like her father.  He was from Virginia and fell in love with North Carolina when he laid eyes on her majestic foothills.  He brought his family to live there.  He used to give my mom a nickel for every bucket of acorns she could gather.  He used it to feed his hogs.  Sometimes he would carve the acorn into a ring for her finger.  
"He would peel it like an apple," she said.  "It had the most beautiful colors. Red, orange, gold, brown...but the next day it would turn dark brown and shrivel away."

That's not all he made for his grand daughter, my mother.  Out of the branches of a sugar gum tree he would use his knife to whittle her a tooth brush with bristles.  
"We'd dip it in baking soda," she informed me.  (Side note: she still has all her teeth :)
One day my mom was at her grandparents' house and it was nearing dinner time.   Henrietta, one of their hens, had stopped laying eggs.  So...she was to become dinner.  Her grandmother enlisted my mom's help in chasing Henrietta around the back side of the house.  Her grandmother used her apron to scare it out and get it on the run....when my mom came around the corner, she witnessed her grandmother going inside the back door...with a limp Henrietta in her hands.  
"She didn't want me to see her wring her neck. She plucked her and boiled her and made dumplings too," my mom recalls.  She was devastated that sweet Henrietta who had given all she could had now paid the final sacrifice for the good of her family. She was Sunday dinner.  In comes my mom's grandfather to eat.  They are all seated around the table when her grandfather bows his head to say the blessing and as he gives thanks to God for the food on the table and for all His provisions, he weeps.
"I knew, in my little girl mind, that he was crying over Henrietta.  So I joined him in protest and refused to eat her," she said.  
It was years later that my mom realized her grandfather wept a lot when it was time to pray.  "I only thought he was sad over Henrietta that day.  He was just overwhelmed with God's goodness.  Now, I understand."
And so do I.  I had to pack and move house this week.  We found a great deal and great, selfless friends helped us pack and move.  I know how my great grandfather must've felt.  So many blessings surround me.  

I am thankful for an army of allies who swooped in to take my kids to school while Rob was out of town and they missed the bus while I was at work (twice).
I am thankful for a great grandfather who was strong enough to farm the land and meek enough to weep in front of his grand daughter.
I am thankful that grand daughter was marked forever by his prayers and passed it along.
I am thankful for Carolina acorns and homemade dumplings.
I am thankful that I don't have to chase my dinner before I cook it.
I am thankful for tooth brushes that are NOT homemade and memories that are.

James 1:17 ^"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."