BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Another Monday Do Over

id-like-do-overMonday again.

That means a new week, which in turn means a new start.

I get to start over with my students, and yet again tackle the daunting mountain of paperwork that their education seems to require. I get to laugh with them, lead them, and help them learn.

I get to start again with my colleagues, producing and sharing lessons so that all of our students can learn in ways that are meaningful and helpful to them. I get to explore different ways to share ideas with our students, and I have the opportunity to learn from the experts around me.

I get to start again with my family, sharing my life and my home with them with love and grace. I get to choose how I communicate with them, and what to focus on. I get to set the tone in my home.

I get to start again with my goals and dreams. Will I write this week? Will I sew? Will I make my home more beautiful? Will I lavish attention on my beloved dog? Where will the week take me?

I get to start over with myself. Will I care for myself this week? Will I nurture and love myself? Will I feed myself correctly and push myself to make good decisions, even if they aren’t my preferred choices?

I feel so fortunate that it’s Monday, and that I get a do-over. I hope I use it wisely.


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The Great Cranberry Sauce Debate

With Thanksgiving fast approaching here in the United States, the topic of the holiday meal can no longer be ignored. Oh sure, the turkey has been ordered from the butcher, and my sweetheart has decided that this year he would like to smoke it, so that decision has been made, but we aren’t done yet.

Thanksgiving dinner is probably my favorite meal, closely followed by a nice lobster dinner. When I found out the Pilgrims had lobster at their Thanksgiving I was almost jealous of them for a minute, then I remembered the other details of their story and got over it pretty quickly. Besides, they had to prepare the whole feast without the help of even a single reliable oven, let alone a Kitchenaid stand mixer.

I hosted Thanksgiving for many years when I was married, and I enjoyed it very much. I think our largest group of friends and family was 18 one year, and it was wonderful. Another year with a fairly large group we set up tables on the patio and ate outdoors. It was a beautiful day and a wonderful way to celebrate the holiday. By contrast, my Thanksgivings have boiled down to a small celebration including me, my sweetheart, and this year, my son. Still, we need all the food.

Our menu isn’t as extensive as many other people’s but here goes:

turkey- this year smoked (we’ve also done roasted and fried)

stuffing- the jury is out on which recipe (Mom used to bring Oma’s recipe, but she’s out of town)

brussels sprouts- thank you internet for your wonderful recipe with Andouille sausage

mashed potatoes- this is where the Kitchenaid comes in

gravy- you can never have too much

cranberry quick bread- from a box, but so yummy

pies- thank you Village Inn

and cranberry sauce.

Ah yes, the cranberry sauce. It’s not my favorite part of the meal, by any means, but it’s necessary. The sweet, tart taste balances the other flavors perfectly, and the color on the plate is beautiful. A little cranberry sauce goes a long way, in my opinion, like wasabi. But what kind?

When I was a kid I hated cranberry sauce so I avoided it at all costs. Then, as I got older, I began to understand its importance. This was around the same time my mother discovered that it’s really easy to make it following the simple directions on the bag of cranberries. I was hooked. I used that recipe for years, and everyone always liked the cranberries.

Then I met my sweetheart. He is a wonderful man who asks very little. When he does have some sort of request or preference I’m only too happy to accommodate him, usually with a smile. But then there’s this. His cranberry sauce preference. Yes, he’s one of the people in this country who keep Ocean Spray busy making the gelatinous version of cranberries that keep the shape of the can when you open it. Goopy cranberry rounds are a better description of this product. I don’t get it. Why not have delicious tangy yet sweet fresh cranberries lovingly made in our very own kitchen? Why open a can and wait for it to make a noise akin to a teenager’s bodily function as it slowly descends from its aluminum casing only to plop out onto a plate? Where is the beauty in that?

I’ve given in to this strange request in the past, and I probably will again, after all, it’s important to him to include this tradition from his upbringing. This year, however, I will make fresh cranberries too. I know it’s too many cranberries for three people. It’s too many for fifteen. That’s not the point. The point is that it’s Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving is about gratitude and appreciating the ones you love, while also respecting tradition. I think two types of cranberries will be our family’s new tradition.

 

If you enjoyed this article you may like these too:

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Nobody Looks at the Fat Chick Anyway

suitcaseI’m going out of town, to a family event. There are religious services involved, and at least two family celebrations. It’s back east, where the weather is colder and the events tend to be more formal. I just packed.

The last family event was my niece’s Bat Mitzvah, four months ago. It was summertime, so it wasn’t quite as dressy as an autumn event, but the daytime portion of the program was still a dress up affair. The evening party was advertised as casual, but really nobody wore what I would consider to be truly casual clothes. I wore a cute skirt and top, and was very comfortable with my choice. I didn’t even cringe when I saw the pictures the photographer snapped of me.

This weekend, however, is a different story. First of all, I don’t have a huge dress up wardrobe. A simple dress is about as dressy as I usually get, plus I have a couple of skirts and jackets that occasionally get pressed into service. Secondly, I’m currently the size of a small nation. I’ve gained weight since the last family event, and I’m dreading seeing my mother and hearing whatever “loving” comments she’ll make about it. I feel like a blob, and I feel like nothing fits me. I caught sight of my reflection in the window the other night eating dinner, and frankly I was taken aback. I’m huge. In fact, I’m terrified that when I board the plane in a few hours I’ll have to request a seatbelt extender for the first time in my life.

As I faced the empty suitcase I sucked in a breath and dove in. I mentally rehearsed several outfits, and even tried on a few blouses that I thought were iffy. Finally it dawned on me that nobody expects the fat chick to look good anyway, so why was I making myself crazy over this?

C’mon, you know it’s true. If you’re a big fat person like me, that’s all people really see. They don’t care that you’re dressed well or poorly, unless you’re off the charts on either end of the spectrum. Since I’m not going out shopping with a stylist (but wouldn’t that be great? My own personal episode of What Not to Wear!) and I’m not planning on turning into a hobo between now and my flight time, I have to be satisfied with what I have.

No, I won’t be the best dressed woman there, but I won’t be the worst dressed either, I’m sure. I put in some decent separates, and decided that I would make my final wardrobe decision just before each event. My family will be happy to see me for me, and the strangers in the room will only see the fat girl anyway, so it’s time to quit worrying.