On Patrol

Over the last 2 years of losing weight, I’ve aquired a large amount of knowledge about micronutrients, macronutrients, man-made ingredients, chemicals, and so forth and so on. I’m really savvy at reading ingredients and nutrient labels on the backs of boxed/canned/processed food packages and how these numbers pertain to the diet that I keep. It doesn’t take very long for a warning light to flash in my brain when I read the words “hydrogenated” anything or “high fructose corn syrup,” now disguised as “corn sugar” (hardy, har har, corn syrup manufacturers, you can’t pull a sly one on me). Once my eyes scan over these various toxins, the product goes back on the shelf where it came from. Not in my house! For this purpose, I realize I’m always on food patrol, whether my family likes it or not.

For example, my mom still keeps a food storrage in her basement. One room is designated for such a purpose- filled to the ceiling (wish I were kidding) with cans of soup, boxes of stuffing, bottles of syrup, and bags and bags of freeze-dried fruits and meals-in-a-box. On occassion, she’ll venture into the depths of this room and bring up a product to try out to see if it’ll have any valuable use when we’re having a disaster (either nationally/family or financially or geographically). Last week, the experiment was with “potato pearls” she wanted to try out with Sunday Dinner. She rips open the bag and begins pouring the “potato” dust into a pan of boiling water. I browse by the empty bag on the kitchen counter, scanning over the back until -bam! – I reach “partially hydrogenated.” I let my Mom know what I found, much to her delight (not!) and tell her the risks associated with the intake of trans fats. She bellows out a surprised “hmmm” and goes back to stirring her new creation. I know. It’s got to be pretty annoying feeling like you’re being watched 24/7, afraid to move a fork.

Yeah. This happens on a pretty regular basis. I can’t help it. Chris, my husband, is generally pretty understanding and heeds my warnings and tries his best to follow my advice. (Who, by the way, is now down 20 pounds in the last month, thanks to sticking it out with Power 90. I am so proud.) He’s still a living, breathing carnivore (or burger-vore) and lives it up 2 or so times a week. It’s frustrating, but I realize that I can’t control every. single. morsel. I look on the bright side- at least he’s not pairing them with serving of french fries. Blessings…blessings…

Anyway, I spent some time thinking about why I do this, why I constantly am on patrol, looking for something else to protect myself, my husband, and my family from. I like to think it’s not entirely because I want to be a control freak. I hope that my main motive is to somehow inspire a change in process that leads them to bettering their lives.

They’ve witnessed me watch my calories, watched as I’ve left sweat, blood, and tears on my living room floor, giving my heart to my workouts and being truly dedicated. They’ve watched as I’ve victoriously taken of the weight. I know, deep down, that I want the same success for each of them. And I know I want them around for as long as humanly possible.


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