BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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. the-pillsbury-doughboy-new2My 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.”


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.

GingerbreadHouse_LizClayman_13. 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.


15 Comments

More Simple Things – Car Related

These are some of the things that, while not huge, make me happy. I try to be mindful of all the simple pleasures life has to offer, but there are simply too many!

1. Finding the perfect parking spot. It is a pleasure not to have to drive around a crowded parking lot or worse, a crowded parking ramp. Sometimes the perfect  spot is just waiting for me to arrive, and it makes me smile when that happens.

2. The HOV lane on a busy morning. I’m not a morning person, and budgeting my time is not my greatest strength (those of you who know me personally can stop snorting now). That being said, sometimes, very occasionally, we leave the house slightly later than we perhaps ought to. On those mornings, when the right three lanes are crawling, I’m grateful for the HOV (or carpool) lane on the left. It moves along swiftly so I can get my son to school, then myself to work, on time. Of course on the days I don’t have him I’m in the other three lanes with the rest of the suckers, so that leads me to the number 3.

3. Sharing part of my commute with my son. On most days we ride together to and from school, and I really enjoy and appreciate the time we get to spend together, one on one. We may not have a deep conversation, but that’s okay. Just being together is good.

4. I’m thankful each and every time my car starts and takes me from place to place safely. It has about 123,000 miles on it, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it will get many more before it earns its retirement. Hey, it’s a terrific car, and it’s paid for!

5. Singing along to the car radio makes me happy. I don’t pick the songs, they just show up, and they sometimes surprise and delight me. I’m not shy about singing along, even though I have a lousy singing voice. I turn it up loud enough so I blend in (at least in my mind). If I’m going to be stuck in traffic, I might as well enjoy it.