Family | BulgingButtons

December 16, 2013
by BulgingButtons 17 Comments

Simple Things – Kitchen Edition

This could be my kitchen’s clean twin.

Life is made happier by noticing the simple pleasures and appreciating them. Here are some things that make me happy in the kitchen.

1. An empty sink and dishwasher. I don’t enjoy the chore of putting away dishes, so if I use a dish it’s nice to know that I can easily rinse it and put it in the dishwasher. A pile of dirty dishes in the sink isn’t so nice to look at, and a dishwasher full of clean dishes is a chore waiting to be done.

2. A well stocked pantry. I can pull a meal together, make lunches for myself and my family, and know that I can do a little baking if I want to when the pantry is well stocked. Currently it is not. Bummer.

2a. A well stocked fridge and freezer. Again, options abound and we can make healthy choices when I’ve taken the time to make a list and actually follow it.

3. Cleared off counter tops. I grew up in a home with a lot of clutter. Not dirty, just a lot of stuff. I prefer to have more space and less stuff, especially in my kitchen. I want to see those expanses of builder grade pinkish formica! Something about having less on the counter is calming to me.

4. The smell of something good cooking. I love food. This should come as no surprise. So when there’s something delicious cooking I enjoy the aroma. Of course at that point the counters are usually covered, there’s a lot of dirty dishes in the sink, and the supplies from the fridge and pantry have dwindled, but that’s what it’s all about in the first place, isn’t it?

5. The knowledge that we have more than enough and never have to face the day hungry. My mother used to tell us about starving kids in China. I thought it was a lame attempt at guilting us into eating something unpleasant, but as an adult I do appreciate that we have more than enough. That alone, is something to be thankful for each and every day.

December 13, 2013
by BulgingButtons 13 Comments

Use Your Words

“Sticks and Stones my break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Surely you’ve heard this phrase before, maybe it was one you used yourself as a child when some horrible bully called you names like fatty, Godzilla, or, my personal bane, Pillsbury Dough Girl. Fine, you thought, call me names, but Karma’s a bitch and she’ll get you. Ok, you probably weren’t thinking that at all, since you probably had no clue what Karma was. Also, if you’re anything like me, you probably didn’t have a very thick skin when you were a kid. My whole life my brother has told me I’m too sensitive. This is the brother who has zero recollection of ever calling me “fatty” but it’s ok, we’re good now.

The thing is, words do hurt. To this day a careless word from someone close to me can be cutting. I try to let it slide, I try to look at the big picture and know that these people who sometimes hurt me with their words don’t mean to, but even now that’s difficult for me. Do I have low self esteem? Is the pope Catholic? Of course I do. I’m a fat girl. That doesn’t make me a pitiful creature unable to function, but I do get my feeling hurt a little too easily.

Here’s my rallying cry. Let’s try to use our words for good and not evil. Let’s try to build one another up rather than tear each other down. The internet is a big wide world, let’s choose our messages carefully because they don’t go away. Lofty goal, I know. I put as much crap out into cyberspace as the next person, but I hope to at least offer some messages of encouragement and hope to others. I challenge you to be mindful of the words you choose, as a careless comment can have a lasting negative impact. We teach kids, “use your words,” but maybe we need to add in the word, “kindly.”

December 12, 2013
by BulgingButtons 8 Comments

Jewish Gingerbread and other Christmas Memories (Throwback Thursday)

Let me start by saying that I was raised Jewish. We did not have a Christmas tree, Santa Claus never made it to our house, and we had no illusions that Christmas was for us in any way, shape, or form. No tinsel decked our halls, no lights twinkled from our house, and December 25 brought no gifts, unless it happened to fall during Hanukkah that year. Still, I have many warm Christmas memories from my childhood, and they all seem to stem from my dad. Here are a few that stand out.

1. Driving around to look at lights. My father especially enjoyed a pretty light display, and I remember riding around the neighborhood in his car, listening to Christmas music on the radio, and taking in the glow of the multi-colored displays. Nobody had white lights in those days.

2. Shopping at Park Edge. Again, this was a dad thing. He would bring me along to this large grocery store that had items from all over the world and he would pile the cart with treats that wouldn’t enter our house any other time of year. He was born in Germany and especially liked the German cookies. I thought they were disgusting. He would also buy lots of liquor as gifts for his many doctor colleagues. It’s just what they did in those days.

3. The giant gingerbread house. One year my father got the idea that we should have a gingerbread house, so he designed and built one. It was quite large, maybe one foot by two feet by one foot, and decorated with a bunch of those nasty German cookies and some candy. It was beautiful and spent the Christmas season on the coffee table in the living room.

4. The Santa candle holder. This little ceramic candle holder appeared one season as a gift from one of my father’s patients. It was small and cute and 100% Christmas in the way that a holly wreath or evergreen centerpiece wasn’t. I loved it. It was on our kitchen table every night at dinner that season. I don’t think it lasted more than one Christmas.

5. Christmas in Bethlehem. When I was a kid our family, along with my grandmother, took a trip to the Holy Land with a group from our synagogue. On Christmas Eve two kids had B’nai Mitzvot. Everyone in the group attended this event, but my dad and me. We hopped a bus to Bethlehem and entered the small city amidst heavy security (and this was in the 1970’s, I can only imagine what it must be like now). It was magical. There were choirs from all over the world in Manger Square singing to celebrate the birth of Christ. It was peaceful and holy and I’m eternally grateful to my father for letting me experience it, rather than sitting in a hotel ballroom listening to 13 year olds mumble their way through their Torah portions. He took some heat for that move, but he didn’t care. It was Christmas in Israel, and he knew where and how to spend it.