273: Roller Coaster & Mothers' Day

I don't thing Roller Coaster is the best word to describe my weight loss ups and downs. Roller Coasters are fun scary, but more fun than scary. Maybe Ferris Wheel? It feels like a cycle of seeing the big picture then being in the heat of the moment and using food instead of eating it. I'll quit trying for the perfect amusement park analogy, okay?

So, Mothers' Day, huh? Hope yours was happy. Acceptable. I personally love Mothers' Day, but I know many who don't--including mothers, waiting for children, singles, you name it. The day seems to be fairly polarizing.

My mother was a blessing to me. Not perfect, but pretty darn close. My older sibs frequently comment that I had a different mother than they did--I say they broke her in, so I had a kinder, gentler Beth Crook Thurber. Mama was a great 'homemaker' which was the appropriate phrase for her generation. She tirelessly cleaned, cooked, gardened, sewed, preserved, and nurtured our talents. She created a family that was unified and supportive. She taught us to be dependable and responsible. Her word was law in our home. If she said no the first time, you never asked again--whining and wheedling just cemented the no.

Mama also taught me, unintentionally, about emotional eating. She loved a treat while she was reading in bed, fresh bread on a rainy day, and ice cream for rough times. I watched her watch her weight all my life. She was diagnosed with diabetes when I was ten, so I also saw her successfully control her sugar levels with the exchange diet. She walked every day. I should say we walked every day. We'd begin at our house and pick up friends & dogs along the way. I loved our evening strolls.

Body image lessons? Mama made most of my clothes until I was old enough to sew my own beginning in junior high school. I remember her fitting a new dress or skirt to me and patting my hips and sighing, "If we could just get a bit off here." I don't feel scarred for life or anything, but forty plus years later I do remember. That says something, doesn't it. My two-years-older-than-me sister, Linnea, was tiny. Actually, probably undernourished (I'm thinking celiac disease here). Anyway, I was frequently mistaken for the older sister which wasn't a problem until puberty hit me and left her behind. Suddenly I was 'big boned' and 'husky'. It was hard. I disliked shopping for school clothes and preferred to make my own so I didn't have to fit into a specific size that was 2 sizes larger than Linnea.

My mama loved me and did the best she could. I'm responsible for the decisions I make about food, not my loving mother.