Talk to the Hand

My brother Dwain once said that I belong to a strange, yet powerful subculture of Americans: Americans who write on their hands to remember things.  I am proud, card-carrying member of this subculture.  It has sure helped me remember many an important to-do.

I may have the shortest memory in existance. 
Wait, what was I writing about again?
See?  Told you.
So, I have to write things down in order to remember them.  Sometimes I write these very important things down on a notepad. Buy yogurt.  Call dentist.  Don't forget  your daughter at the babysitter's again.
But sometimes, even though I write it down on paper, I still forget.  (Sorry Lily.)
So, if something is really important, and I just can't seem to remember to do it, get it, or show up for it on time, I write it down on my hand.

It's not very pretty, I'll admit.  But it is effective.  I realize I look like an idiot, but I'm an idiot who remembers stuff more readily if it's written down on the back of my hand where it's sitting as a constant, nagging reminder that I need to pay attention to something other than myself for a change.

So this morning, I really wanted to write something down on my hand.
(Yes, there is a point to this.  I'm getting there.  Be patient.)
This morning I really wanted to write the numbers
2
5
2

because when I stepped on the scale this morning, that's what I saw.

I squealed.
I did a little happy dance.
And then I think I peed my pants a little, I was so excited.

252
Could it really be?
Is it just a glitch?
Is the scale lying?
Do I own a dishonest, masochistic scale that deals in falsehoods and untruths?
My poor scale.
It had to endure me weighing 5 times, just to be sure.
I'm sure it did not appreciate that I was questioning its integrity, but I couldn't help it.
252
That's a big difference from 259 at the beginning of the week.

Now, I realize that my scale and the Weight Watchers scale do not weigh me the same.  The Weight Watchers scale truly is masochistic, because it's always 2-3 pounds heavier than my scale at home.  I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that I weigh in the glorious buff at home, and that seems to be frowned upon at WW, so I have to get all dressed up in clothing when I weight there.  Some people and their high standards for hygiene.  Sheesh!

So I was pretty excited to see that number this morning.  I wanted to write it down on my hand so that I would be mindful of it all day long.  I knew today would be another day of difficult choices with the Valentine's Day party and then Parent-Teacher conferences.  But, because of Parent-Teacher conferences, and the need to fool people into thinking I look professional, I decided not to write the number on the back of my hand.

I still thought about it all day, though.

I thought about it when I received 6 heart-shaped boxes of chocolates.
I thought about it when I chose to eat my bland and boring delectable  Lean Cuisine fish instead of the school's hot dog lunch (with cookie).
I thought about it when one of my students from last year delivered a canister of his grandma's homemade brownies.

I even thought of it when I had a big ol' salad and a piece of Hawaiian pizza for dinner.  (Subs and pizza! I knew it!!)  It's what kept me eating only one piece of pizza instead of 5.  That's progress, my friends!

So tonight I'm very happy to say that I stayed within my points.
I counted everything I ate.
(In fact, a fellow teacher caught me counting points in my head before I went into the lounge to get dinner.  I was trying to figure out how many points that I had left for the day.  I must have looked like some dazed opium addict or something, because she asked if I was doing okay.)
I didn't let the food control my choices. 
I let my choices control my food.

That's a good feeling.
I think I'm going to write, "Go me!" on the back of my hand now.