...I don't look a bit different except my face is less puffy. Which means I likely have more weight to lose than I thought.

... a pair of pants that could not close around my waist just months earlier, now fits so nicely that I will not need to buy myself a new pair of jeans when my honey gives me $100 o go buy some new clothes when I reach the first 20 pound milestone.  

... I am still eating a lot of romaine. Every day. Usually once a day. And, oddly, day after day, it gets more unsung; these days, I almost prefer it straight up. First, I took away the tomatoes. Then I started eating my cucumbers on the side. I left out the green peppers altogether. Fat free salad dressing tastes funky so I let that go as well. I eliminated the salad shakers and fakin bakin bits because, though I love them, they contain hydrogenated fats and that seems to defeat the very purpose of this lifestyle.

And now I am left with, primarily, romaine. Though, if I have it, I do add baby spinach. And prepared gated carrots; if I had to peel them and grate them myself, believe me, I would let them go. Top it off with about 2 times as much guacomole as Dr. Fuhrman recommends (about 2 ounces) and a small handful of sunflower seeds and I am set. Pretty au natural, if you consider where this journey began.

I have never, in my whole adult life, been able to lose weight. I was only thin once in my life. It was the summer I lived with my history teacher, Sal. I was 17. She got me a job at the public library and I walked to work, about a mile and a half each way. Though it was the best job I have ever had in my entire life, bar none, it did not pay particularly well and I remember not having enough money to buy food. I ate oranges, crackers with peanut butter, and - as I recall -  not much else. My weight dropped to my lowest recorded weight in memory: 117. And, of course, I still thought I was fat. 

It was downhill from there. College brought 4 years of unrestrained eating and food availability. Then came a real paycheck and money to buy only, and as much of, that food which was beloved (it wasn't romaine, I will just tell you that). Then came a husband who contributed amply to the food budget and also brought me new and unexplored ways of unhealthful eating. And I did my loyal best to keep his stomach happy also. Together, we gained weight together for almost 20 years now.

And, in the whole of my entire adult life, though it seems like I have been dieting forever, I honestly cannot remember one single time that my weight has decreased because of a purposeful change that I made in either my eating or my exercising habits. I have only grown.

There have been 5 small exceptions to this rule. With each pregnancy, I lost weight. Inevitably, I would be overweight when I became pregnant but then I would not gain weight, or I would lose weight, during the pregnancy. After each delivery, I thought that - this time - I surely will be able to maintain the trend of losing weight, but I never could. Something happens to my metabolism when I am pregnant. And, as soon as the baby is born, my metabolism goes quickly back to its ordinary sluggish ways.

So, 14 pounds may not sound like much, but it has been encouraging to me. I think maybe I could envision eating this way for the long term. Primarily vegetarian, with a tendency towards veganism, but also an eye towards minimal indulgence in the name of long term sanity.

God is good.  

I have achieved some markers.

First, I lost 10 pounds in 4 weeks. It seems like abysmal progress to me. I still look too heavy. My clothes are still tight. I still have about three too many chins. I would like it all over with right now please. The magic pill. That is what I have always been holding out for all of these years.

Another marker: I have learned that I do have a small amount of self control when it comes to the food that I consume. I can, of all things, chose to eat well. It is certainly hard to do it consistently. Right now, I find that if I give myself little small treats throughout the day, or when confronted, I do okay. Usually a low fat trisquit or two and my need is quenched. Last week, daddy brought home pizza one night for the kids. I didn't have any. The next morning, though, when everyone was having my favorite breakfast, cold pizza, I stumbled. But instead of eating a piece or two, I cut a small sliver off of one piece and was content with just that amount of thrill. 

The childrens eating habits are still my biggest challenge. I have to find a way to pull them along not just for their own health, but for my sanity.  I would say that we are seeing a positive turn at breakfast. Except for the two boys, the girls would be happy to eat fruit with us for breakfast. Good bye sugared cereal. Perhaps if I learn how to make healthy muffins or something, I could convince the boys to eat a healthier breakfast also. Dinner is the hardest for them. It is not that they don't want salad. They just don't want salad as the main entree every single night. And a side of bean soup really doesn't improve their view of things. I have to work on that. 

But here is the big news. Tonight, I learned that I am coming to know romaine as a comfort food.  : )

Sundays are hard for me. After church I am starved so I usually run to Panera's. I choose pretty well there, but the food still likely has more oil than I would prefer. But the 12 grain bread splurge is worth it. Anyway, for dinner I made chicken nuggets and onion rings for the kids and I admit, I picked too much. I didn't really enjoy it, especially the onion rings, but I was hungry so I had more difficulty with my self control. Finally, I decided to make myself a salad so I would stop picking chicken nugget crumbs.

And you will never believe this. When I sat down and ate my romaine, I was happy. Content even. The way I normally feel after I have a warm cookie with a hot coffee. Well, maybe not that content, but pretty content all the same.

Romaine is wooing me. What do I do? What do I do???

daily updates. Just so you know. I would never be able to keep up.  But, it is a daily effort for me, you can be sure of that.

My food rage passed after about a day and a half. I had a couple of days of accomplished veganism, with no seamy distractions. I lost 5 pounds. Then, Zain got sick and we had to go to the hospital for four days. There is one thing that my vast hospital experience has taught me. Well, I have learned a lot of things, actually, about hospitals, but only one thing is relevant here. Hospitals are not the best places to go if you want meals that are tasteful or healthful. Vegetarians fair poorly there and vegans, who don't want their vegetables laden with oil/cheese and their fruit processed with sugar, are particularly in trouble. And, if you eat for emotions and comfort, like I do, then hospitals are surely a place that is not conducive to self control. I knew it going in and I didn't bother to even try to maintain any sense of my new eating plan while we were hospitalized. Bagels with cream cheese for breakfast and I didn't feel bad because I knew it was silly to add stress by trying to eat well while at the hospital.

Each time I step out into radical thinking, my God tempers me into balance. He is very dependable that way. It almost seems that He wants me both radical and balanced.

I ate my old normal way while in the hospital and lost no additional weight, but I was pleased that neither did I gain any. Yesterday, I started "living well" again and lost a pound. I am back on track but the road looks less familiar.

I am not sure how God would have me proceed. Balance is not in keeping with Eat to Live. Of course, I am inclined to listen to God first and Dr. Fuhrman second, but God has spoken to me about a lifestyle that, at minimum, looks toward   vegetarianism and I don't believe that He would have me ignore or even forget Dr. Fuhrman. So, I don't know. I am praying about this.

Is it radical thinking/committment, but practical application?  I know it is more than turning away from gluttony, though that is part of it. Self control? Leadership? A demonstration of fruit? Holy dependence? All of it, probably, which seems quite overwhelming.  I am just one girl, God.  So many days it feels like I can not do the (big or little) things which You have asked of me. I am unable, but so blessed to be Yours. 

But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and God has chosen the base things of the world, and things which are despised, and things which are not, in order to bring to nothing things that are;
so that no flesh should glory in His presence. But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who of God is made to us wisdom and righteousness and sanctification and redemption; so that, according as it is written, "He who glories, let him glory in the Lord."  1 Co 1:27-31.  

Title possibility 1: "Honey, get out of the room; you are not funny. I don't like you."

But, a title like that would only be appropriate if you also could see the whole picture of me, immediately after spewing forth my angst, as I fall into his arms a sniveling, quivering mess. Looking for that faded shoulder spot, but not finding it. Crying and whining and complaining like a big baby. And him laughing himself silly. At my expense. The meanie. Why is it so easy for him?

Zain, who is not funny either, nor is he very nice, chirped in while my very teeth were still gnashing, "What do you expect, Ma? You are eating like a .... GOAT!"

Title possibility 2, a sound byte: "maah maaah maaah."

The hysteria was uncontained.

My friends tell me that I am experiencing detox. It is probably true. I thought I was preventing detox by hanging on to my coffee. But, apparently, even with that beloved vice holding tight, I still have the food to detox from. 

I suddenly have a lot more empathy for heroin addicts. I thank God my addiction is only to food; I know that but for a twist here, or turn there, my life could have easily taken me down a different road to a better addiction. If heroin had been my inclination, I would surely have been dead long before I had the strength to deal with the problem. I am a girl who can take an addiction and run well.

I would have been quite content to let the whole stinky plan die yesterday. I mean, really, who would know of my failure? Just a few of my closest friends. They would understand, again, right? God already knows my weak and sorry self. He would find me another way. Wouldn't He??

Then, as if to pound me on my head, my husband. "I think we should stick with it for at least a week. Come on honey; we can do anything for a week." He gave me a little, and expectant, squeeze. Yeah, right, honey. Keep dreamin'.

"Oh, really? Do you know what I am going to do with that saveeah (his favorite Pakistani desert) in the fridge? I am going to throw it out." I pushed him out of my kitchen and shot him the meanest, most unequivocal, glare I could manage.

"It is not on the plan anymore," I grinned with unrestrained sarcasm.

To drive it home, I forage through the refrigerator looking for the left over Pakistani beef and potatoes (also his favorite) to serve to the children for dinner. They are, after all, not on the eating plan. And they sit right next to him. That will get him. I know it will.

Title possibility 3: Raving Lunatic.

This whole detox thing has left me crabby. Rage, with a propensity towards violence, would be more apt. 

"Yeah. You're right," he said. "It wouldn't keep for the week. Or, certainly, six weeks. You my as well get rid of it."

What on earth is he talking about, six weeks? I cleave my sugar snap peas thinking of all the many ways I could hurt him.

"I could do this for six weeks," he gloats. Mister I can control my eating.

"It just like during Ramadan. I kept the Rosa every day for 30 days this year just like I have for the last 5 years. I could do this. Piece of cake."

Oh, he swaggers so. I am surprised he didn't enunciate with a manly belch; I am sure his chest was flagrantly puffed. I couldn't look, though. I was desperate to tame the scarlet rising up my neck. I start screaming to God.

"Oh, do You hear that pride he has about fasting? What is up with that? He is so stinky arrogant and so self righteous. I hate that kind of pride. Don't they see that the attention is on themselves and not even on their mistaken god? Have You seen how he mopes around the whole entire month that he is fasting? Please. He can't walk with out shuffling his feet, he sleeps constantly, and, I swear, he is getting downward lip wrinkles for all his frowning during Ramadan. On top of all that, his breath smells. Is that fair God? And, let's talk about fair. I have to do each and every little thing around the house because he is so wicky wacky weak from his lousy self denial. Jerk. It is like a vacation for him, the whole fasting thing. It is all about him and his pretty patty perfection. And God, we know, he is wrong in his thinking. So wrong. He thinks he is going to heaven just because he is a nice guy. Hmmph."

Title possibility 4, soundbyte 2: "Thwapp."

That would be me, walking smack into the pantry door which had been hidden from view by the board in my eye. The board still confronts me now; it seems to glow even as I reach around it to scratch, maul, and yank the speck out of my husband's eye.

But the frank whiteness of the pantry door startles me. I touch my forehead, sensing blood, but when I look at my fingers they are clean. Then, in that inconsiderable pause, I hear the rush of moving water. It pauses at my feet but then it continues up and up and up until I am standing, waist deep, feeling the strength of the undertow. It surrounds me now and quickly overtakes me.  I want to linger but there is no time. I hear a child's voice and the tide moves out again.  

I stand, limp, and purposefully shake loose the swoon. I find my husband and make a point of smiling in his direction. I work my way slowly and secretly to the thought that I could tolerate his touch again. I wipe the counter and carry the salad to the table. I turn away from the hint of distant braying and, instinctively, close my eyes. My Brownie prays. Though my muscles have still not found their full strength, I walk, stilted and lurching, to the gap, and then stand.  This time, though, I groan and prostrate my own supplication with continued, only softer, cries.

I can let it go. I can only beg for mercy. And rejoice for redemption.  

"Hey, Zak. Bud, could you pass Mom the vinegarette?" 

Tomorrow. Day three.

I read this morning, in my daily bible, which I am enjoying,

And if you go to war in your land against the enemy who fights against you, then you shall blow with the trumpets. And you shall be remembered before Jehovah your God, and you shall be saved from your enemies.

That is Numbers 10:9. And it came before the verses where the Israelite's were begging God for meat when they had already been given miraculous manna on their way out the door of Egypt. Even in the midst of my vegan day 2 despondency, I had to laugh. Manna oh manna, who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? 

But, there it is. Just like the stiff necked Hebrew, I am already complaining for the meat that comes only from the sweet land of bondage. Though knowing where my strength is, I still fear impossibility and failure. Already faithless, I question the Call.

What could I possibly want? Why do I have such loathsome need for fun and fulfillment and love from ... food? What rampant evil manifests so deeply in me that the promise of even the unattainable cannot sway me? Disease around me is a fugacious annoyance. Yea, even the promise of risen children seems bland and insignificant.

For what?? For a daily happy ration of rye toast with butter? Oatmeal, but only with honey? Bagels and cream cheese? Pulled pork on the sly? A can of Pringles?

Are you kidding?

How could I be so shallow?

It is a war, baby. And, the silly thing is, I fancy myself a warrior.

Oh, Lord, hear my trumpet. Please forgive me. I pray Your mercy.