Daylight

 

Many of you know about  my school girl crush on Maroon 5's front man, Adam Levine.  He's hot.  He's everything my husband is not (i.e. covered in tattoos, 6 feet tall, wears skinny jeans, rarely keeps clean-shaven and sings to make my heart skip a beat)!  He's just a fantasy, I get it. 

 

 

However, putting my googly eyes and tingles aside.......Adam and his bandmates come along and do this.....Daylight. 

 

This fan-made video will wrap you up and snuggle you in; like so many of our previous Confession of a Curvy Girl posts - with real life confessions of insecurities, heartache, love and more. 

 

Please watch the clip; I promise you it will make you feel good and inspired.  The world can be a better place - starting with you and me.

 

 

Thank you, Adam and Maroon 5. 

Foodie Wednesday :: Hanukkah Edition

Like every non-Jewish woman who marries into a Jewish family, I am pretty sure my mother-in-law hates me.

 

Not in an aggressive do-mean-spirited-things kind of way. More in a make-subtle-comments-for-decades-until-you-want-to-strangle-me-because-no-matter-how-much-you-do-you-will-never-be-good-enough-for-my-perfect-son kind of way. So that's been a barrel of monkeys for the past 15 years.

 

Because of this fact -- and perhaps in direct spite of this fact -- I do my best to bring a little bit of my hubby's ethnic heritage into my household...and believe me, if we left it to him to lead the charge we would have zero Jewish traditions in this house. Does his mother appreciate my effort? Of course not! But the beauty of his nonchalance is that I get to pick and choose the ones I like.

 

And I like latkes.

 

Like, a lot. They are goddam delicious and don't let anyone tell you differently. They even passed the preschooler test -- each year I make them with my classroom of 3 year olds and they please even the pickiest of picky eaters.

 

So while there is dust on our menorrah and our Christmas tree is shiny and bright, the potatoes and onions are plentiful in my kitchen. Because even though my mother-in-law would do things quite differently as far as the Jewish education of her grandkids, I rule the roost around these parts and I like latkes.

 

***********************

POTATO LATKES

 

Wash, peel and cut 3 Idaho baking potatoes

Grate them, along with 1 large white onion, and drain mixture in a colander

Mix with 1 beaten egg, 1/2 t. baking powder, 1 T. flour and 1 t. salt plus a dash of pepper

Place 2 T. of the mixture in hot oil in a skillet -- flatten with a fork, flipping when brown and crisp

Drain on paper towels, and serve fresh and piping hot with sour cream and applesauce!

The Weaving of Traditions

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, 

stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” 

― Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas

I am trying here. Really, really trying. Tearing up when I read these words from The Grinch to my kids. Much like the way we tell them size, looks, money doesn't matter- it is the spirit within them that does- so there lies Christmas. With it's size, importance of right gifts, insurance that all are happy and completely bathed in the holiday. 

In the heart of Christmas is religion for some. Once upon a time it had that draw for me and it remains the time of year when I miss going to church. But what has always been the true heart of it for me has been tradition. I remember the details of Christmas past with my family while growing up in NY. Better- rituals would be the word. I long for them now as an almost 40 year old, feeling young and worrisome because I can't have those traditions anymore. And nor should I. It is time to make my own. 

And though I DO stress about who is getting what and do I have enough and did I bake enough and will I get that picture done in time to get the Christmas card out and will I really make it to the Post Office this week??? I stress/obsess the most about the traditions.  Because though I do remember getting my Cabbage Patch doll from Santa and I do remember my first piece of grown up jewelry having slivers of diamonds from Dad, what I remember the most is the trimming of the tree. 

The setting out of decorations.

The putting tinsel on the tree Christmas Eve as my mom handed us small clumps of the stuff (a tradition starting out as managing 5 small kids and friggin' tinsel! and developing into the ritual of the night). 

Our stockings always went up Christmas Eve, and came down in the night, filled with goodies, and placed at the spot where we were to set up camp in the living room to open presents. 

Stockings before breakfast, presents after. 

My brother,Terence, handing out the presents and opening his along the way which gave a nice pause to the FRANTIC NEED TO RIP AND TEAR. 

The noise. (The noise, noise, noise, noise...) The sounds of us calling "Mom! Look! Mom!!!" even at the age when we knew she knew what Santa gave us, but she had to see us react and enjoy what we received. 

Watching Mom opening up her usuals: new oven mitts, a new timer (every few years), new spatula, a bottle of Chanel 19 (oh, the smell makes me warm and anxious to see her face) a turkey baster or oven thermometer. 

I love it. I remember and I feel small and warm and far away. And then I come back to myself and wonder- have I given my kids enough of this?

I think I have. 

I screwed myself when it comes to wrapping gifts- a huge focus on how to present gifts. In the early years I used to give each child their own paper so they knew visually what was theirs and stopped the mistaken opening of another child's gifts and the follow up wails. Then my husband weighed in on learning the whole Santa deal when he found "Santa's wrapping paper" in his own basement. Should I burn the leftover paper? Would they remember if I use that paper on gifts from me 365 days later. Together we said "Evelyn would". And one year I stopped the separation of wrapping paper and one noticed and questioned. ARRGH!!!! I don't even know my approach for this year.

But other than that shaky ground, We have it down.

We chop down our own tree- a Rob's side tradition. We bring cocoa and cookies. 

The kids decorate the tree. 

We then have to turn off the lights, turn on the tree and hold hands and sing- a Colleen tradition started when she was 4 that we kept. (My guess inspired by the Whos down in Whoville.)

The stockings go up well before Christmas Eve (which kills meeeeeeee but I move on) but I set up their camps with the filled stockings when they are asleep Christmas Eve. 

I am trying to get them to do the stockings-breakfast-presents routine as it draws out the fun that starts at an ungodly hour. I think I got my way last year and intend to get it again this year.

There is a lovely, bittersweet, difference this year. Many of the decorations that are seared into my memories from growing up are now in my home. They were handed over, much like a torch, by my mom. My children have played with them and placed them around the things they have been growing up with so far. 


My childhood is being woven into their own. I feel it in my chest when I look. It is beautiful. It comes from a great change that makes me feel wistful, but it is a true part of life. 

I have a box of some of the decorations set to go to one brother who can't be here for Christmas. I have told my other brothers to take what decorations and ornaments of our childhood they would like as they leave my house after our celebration so they can add it to their home. I like to think some day these childhood decorations that belonged to my parents, my decorations, and my adult children's decorations will all come together this time of year. The weaving of traditions and sentimental visuals continuing on long past a time I will ever know.

The Colors of the World

Color does not matter, or does it?

 

We are lucky to live in a world where color is abundant; everywhere we look the multiple hues of the rainbow reflect in our eyes.  Our words describe the latest colors of our living rooms from shades of nature:  Grand Canyon earthy tones; ocean blues; the greens of the forest pines; and the yellows of the sunshine.  Picking out something as simple as shoes becomes more than a couple of selections – no longer black, grey or brown; we select from darkest black to charcoal black to heather grey to coffee bean brown or even chocolate.

As our choices in the color palette have grown, one thing remains relatively the same:  we tend to be drawn to the colors that most attract us.  We all have personal tastes and with the umpteen choices in the color of brown, we get to pick and choose what unique color makes us happy or suits us best.

Hmmmm.  Read my last line in the preceding paragraph:  we get to pick and choose what unique color makes us happy or suits us best.  I am talking about colors, right?  Not people?  Okay, sure you say, we get to pick and choose what unique people make us happy and suit us best.  Right?  Of course!

Now add color to the mix.  As in color of people.  Yes, you read that correctly. 

I am infuriated.  I am sick.  Why in the name of potato sacks am I writing about the color of people…PEOPLE FOR GOSH FRICKIN SAKE…….in the modern year of 2012.

Racism, my friends.  It is no longer 1957; however, some fifty-five years later, racism is still alive and kicking.  I am heartbroken.

Granted, we can say our society has come a very long way since 1957 but holy poo……(why use sophisticated words when this is as simple as it gets), racism is still prevalent and more common in 2012 than one would be so inclined to think.  Am I naïve?

My father was born in 1934.  He was raised in a time where racism was the socially accepted norm.  Despite becoming less ignorant as he grew with age and acquired wisdom, he was deep down inside racist. 

In high school, I was very good friends with some black people.  In fact, I became very close with a black boy who was MVP of my track team. 

I remember my father setting his foot down and telling me that he would NOT allow any daughter of his to date a black guy.  First of all, I was friends with him.  Secondly, this particular episode was the first time I questioned my beloved father, and it sparked an all-out debate (okay, a knock down dragged out fight).  My parents had raised me to be “color-blind” when it comes to people and their different races.  Yet, here was my father being a hypocrite and telling me, a sixteen year old, that I could NOT EVER date a boy based on his skin color.  How dare he?  I remember telling myself at that time, I would NEVER treat my children in this same close-minded manner.

Flash forward some twenty-two years and my almost fifteen year old has a boyfriend.  A few weeks ago, she reluctantly shared with me that a boy asked her out and she had said yes.  (Now, our house rules on actually “dating” at this age are an entirely different blog post……..stay tuned)!  I immediately began asking questions about this boy; the teen who got my particularly picky daughter to say yes to his request to "go out" in the new and awkward world of high school “dating”.  The long and short of it is this boy is from a country in Africa, so yes, he is black.

My husband and I have discussed this before – when friends of our asked what we would do if our daughter ever decided to go out with a “black” boy.  I was shocked and asked why it would be any different than any other boy.  Racism, my friends, reared it’s big, fat and very ugly head.

A few of my daughter’s friends at school, upon finding out she was “going out” with someone, came up to her and said, “Oh, he’s black?”  What…the….fluffernutter?!?  Would you ever go up to someone upon learning of a new relationship and say, “Oh, he’s white?”  Please pause while I bang my head against the wall <bang….bang….bang….>.

A beloved family member also expressed some concern about the difference in race.  Granted, this family member is of that generation that has yet to fully come around.  Like my father, the older generations all claim they had good friends that were black; but they all have issue and discomfort with a romantic relationship of mixed origin.

Polka dot babies?  Really?  Sadly, my father referred to chocolate milk babies if I were to hook up with a black man with me being white.  <Bang.....bang.....bang......>.

You see, my daughter is not getting married or having babies just yet.  She’s nearly 15.  She's just now embarking into the wonderful world of teenage romance.  Did we not all "try on" multiple relationships to see who would be a good fit with our personalities?  My beautiful girl cannot help who she is drawn to.  She cannot help the “color” of person she is attracted to.  No ,I am NOT talking about skin color – I am talking about the color of character! 

All of this nonsense sparked a great conversation with our children – one of open dialogue and one where we all contributed; how silly it seems that there are people out there who cast judgment upon a person for something like their skin color.  We agreed that even being of the same immediate family, none of us have the same skin color.  It is true – my son has a yellowish tone to his skin and tans the darkest shade of bronze any of us have ever witnessed.  My oldest has the purest white skin and burns incredibly easy.  My youngest is somewhere in between the two.  I am remarkably white and even more so freckly.  My husband has a nice tone even skin year round.

To my joy and approval, my son brought up gay marriage to the discussion and it warmed my heart as we continued to talk about how one should be able to spend time with the one that makes them smile and laugh.  We should spend time with one that makes our heart smile and flutter.  Like the multitude of colors in our universe, our human race is filled with just as much beauty and it is, after all, our choice to have the freedom to choose which shade suits us just fine.

Holiday FAIL :: A Letter to my Kids

Dearest children,

 

We got our Christmas tree last weekend, and trust me when I say that I am sure we aren't the only semi-Jewish family in the universe that cheats a little when it comes to this particular holiday. I can poo-poo Easter, quite easily, and I can let Good Friday come and go without so much as a sideways glance.

 

But having grown up celebrating Christmas and then married into a world of latkes and Dreidels, it is just that party I don't want to miss, the vice I admit to having. Trust me, there are plenty more I deny. But you girls don't want to hear all about that! Let's talk about Holiday cheer. Let me admit something to you.

 

The honest truth is that I suck. I suck at celebrating Christmas.

 

I am always so completely broke that buying gifts for others seems like the world's most foolish endeavor, and this year is no exception.

Most years, I make all of my gifts by hand -- which is great for that new friend who hasn't seen all the tricks up my sleeve, but not so good for the sister who has been the recipient of my homemade gifts for 37 years and is getting a little stocked up on embroidered dish towels and crappy oozy bars of soap made from a kit at the craft store.

 

And it certainly isn't good enough for the three of you -- who want new shoes and clothes and the latest technology.

 

I don't even actually buy gifts for you guys -- the main reason we spend Christmas at Auntie's house is that I am always hoping that her Santa will be much more generous than ours.

 

I know you want me to be the mom that throws tinsel over every surface and has cinnamon scented candles in hurricane holders mounted in ivy-strewn sconces throughout the house. You want singing snowman music boxes and mistletoe and flags and placemats and specials kitschy signs on the door. You want blinking lights and laughing fits over power outages that occur because our lighting display can be seen from Mars.

 

Here's the raw deal:  You didn't get that mom.

 

You got the mom who is so completely frazzled she can't get out of her own way. The mom who  cheers on Dec. 26th because it's over. Who fumbles in her purse for the keys that are in her pocket simply to avoid the glance of the ringing Santa guy outside the stores. Who owns exactly four stupid little Christmas decorations and likes it that way.

 

Our Christmas cards will go out on Dec. 20th, if at all, and the pictures will probably be of you guys in your bathing suits. I will finish whatever shopping I do at the same time, and hope to pay off the credit card bill within 6 months, and I will be bitter. Extremely bitter. For most of it.

 

I suck at Christmas.

 

So one day, when you are tossing your tinsel and dusting off your porcelein nativity scene and lamenting to your kids about how your mother was a bah humbug and all-around no fun at Christmas, remember to cut me some slack.

 

And please take just a fraction of a moment to remember -- and maybe even tell your kids -- how very extremely good I was at loving you. In the end -- I hope it's the 364 other days of love you remember most, even more than what Santa has in his bag for you on that one day.

 

But Merry Christmas, all the same, little ones. I will always regard you as my greatest gift.

 

love,

me

My Whine is Peaking

Oh my lord. Oh my LORD! I am so out of shape. I went from being in shape to being not in shape anymore all because I stopped exercising. Pish! I am soooo bending over old lady style even just from lack of stretching and limbering myself. 

(Wow, it didn't spell check limbering...) 

I have been trying to grasp the difference between my bending over now to pick something up and my bending over 3 years ago. It is a subtle difference (other than the loud groan that I emit from my guts and throat) but I am not sure exactly the change. There is definitely a shortening of pants around my ankles as I bend. That feels very old in appearance, considering how long pants are these days. Where is all the fabric going? I assume it is spanning my globe. And a lot of my face falls forward as I bed, too. 

Face fallage. 
Hm.

I did three days of Jillian Michaels' power yoga (a total lie since I did only 2 days of it) and I just wanted to punch her. Ever watch her? Yes, she is totally hot and completely ripped and obviously works out a lot....but not in her videos. She keeps stopping to talk to us while we are still struggling through a side plank with stacked feet. Shut up, woman and get down and do this with us. You lazy, lazy woman. Who do you think you are? You are the biggest loser, that is who! And if I got paid a gabillion bucks, I could look like you, too!



I am being unreasonable.




I have also reached the portion of the show where I give excuses. Ready?

So, my favorite thing to do is walk. Walk walk hike walk walk. But now it is cooooold. And my face is very Irish and stays red for daaaaaaays when it is exposed to the outdoors for over 15 mins. When I go sledding, I look at the calendar to make sure I don't have any "pretty" engagements coming up because I have to give myself a 3 day window to de-beet color my face.

And then there is the whole wanting to punch Jillian so now I actually have to look for more yoga videos on line. Ohhhhhh. That will make me not on facebook. Soooooo time consuming when I could be looking up pot pie recipes, too!! Pot piiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I do miss my time at Global Fitness and I do live somewhat near it's chain, but I don't waaaaaant to pay a gym membership and be in a gym anymoooooooore. I don't want to be driving for lengths of time in my car anymore now that I live away from everythiiiiiing and always have to drive.

Stop swatting at the screen. I know I am obnoxious right now. I hate when people are like this, too.

Sooooo. I am looking at the calendar and see that stupid January 1st date that 3/4 of America uses to decide to get into shape. I refuse that date! I do! But I don't know yet what the date will be when I just take the 10 minutes to do some deep stretching. And 10 minutes to do some core work. And 10 minutes to do resistance with my own body weight. (Not the resistance I am currently practicing that involves resisting all exercise other than walking when it is 50 degrees and warmer.) When you look at the 30 minutes that way, it is honestly not that big a deal. Then why is it such a big deal??!?! Whhhhyyyyyyy???

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH.
(Am I alone in this? I know I am not.)

Thank goodness for 50 degrees to start this week! (But I have a coooooooold. Sniff Sniff.)


I am going.... I am going.... On a walk and outta this whine fest.


2 hours later....

I wasn't going to do it at all, so instead I did it the most.




















Vaughn Hill Conservation North Peak

I tried.... Guest Blogger

I'm way older than I want to admit and I feel like my whole life amounts to a series of "I tried"s....

I tried to lose weight
I tried to get organized
I tried to get _____ job that I really wanted

The list goes on...  Gotta tell you, I'm SICK of "I tried"...

Yes, I guess it's good that at least I tried...  But what really bugs me is that I feel like most of my "I tried"s amounted to spinning my wheels....  Lots of energy, lots of talk, but always, at some crucial moment, (sometimes, more than one) I chose to stop trying.  I told myself it wasn't so important, I told myself I just couldn't right now, I'd try again later...

Honestly, I almost didn't write this post.  After contacting Confessions of a Curvy Girl and asking if I could submit something (perhaps regularly) to chronicle the life change I'm (duhn duhn duuuuhhhhnnnn - here's that word a gain) TRYING to implement, I was on the point of sending a quick note, saying, "You know what?  Never mind."  It's 6:47 pm on Sunday, and after a day of referreeing two kids who seem to decide that everything they do annoys each other intolerably as soon as my husband is out of the picture (he's been away on a trip for over a week now) without benefit of backup, I feel like an utter, ineffective failure.  I do not know how single parents do it, day in, day out, 365 days per year.  In my book, they are superstars.

Right now, my youngest son is 1/2 hour over the time I alloted for him to play a video game, after 2 reminders to stop.  After spending all day yesterday fighting with both kids then investing hours of time in soothing hurt feelings and getting everyone on an even keel again, I'm dreading yet another confrontation.  And fairly certain that the tug of war that is about to happen will be time consuming and draining.  Yes, there are arbitrary things I could do (turn off the game on him, etc...) but it still won't be quick, because it'll be a fight...  He'll be off, but the issue won't be solved.  So how can take the time to type this?

Because I'm tired of "I tried".  I'm tired of almost. If I don't submit this post now, it'll be yet another "I tried" - with no success. So I'm going to leave the keyboard for a minute and once again remind my son to get off the game.  Ok, done.  And he claims that he will not freak out on me when/if I go down again in a couple of minutes and turn it off on him if he's not off...  That will be a first.

I'm on day 14 of giving up almost all sweets, sugared beverages and pre-made artificially sweetened beverages.  I'm allowing myself Stevia and soy milk in my coffee and tea, and also allowing myself fat free frogurt.  I've never been much of a cook because whenever I'm in the kitchen, I eat non-stop - mostly sweets...  My solution?  Don't cook anything that requires any thought and get it done as fast as humanly possible.

Here's the problem.  My husband's health is going downhill lately.  He's gained a ton of weight that he's having a hard time losing.  His joints are stiff and he has old injuries that flare up when he tries to exercise.  He just had carpal tunnel surgery on both wrists, so lifting weights, racquetball and biking are painful, unrewarding chores. The man who used to run circles around me is now a slower runner than I am with maybe 1/10th of my endurance. He works a ton, travels a ton, does a ton around the house, and feels guilty taking time out to exercise because he feels like he should be with me and the kids.

He hates salad (can't bring himself to eat it, as much as he tries) - says its the texture.  He's sick of chicken and steamed (pick one): broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, peas...  Clearly, I need to start getting adventurous, branch out and find savory, low cal, healthy dishes to appeal to both him and my family.  There are tons, I know.  I also am hosting Christmas this year - for the first time ever - for the whole family.  While people will bring dishes, the main burden will be on me.  Which is fine - after 20 years of marriage and taking advantage of a Christmas feast every year at someone else's house, it's past time I stepped up.  And I'm not working right now.  So the only excuse I will have for not hosting an incredible event will be incompetence.

To be able to better care for my family, I need to spend time cooking - really cooking.  And I need to be able to do it without becoming a neurotic wreck, which is what happens when my cooking attempts turn into months of unhealthy binge eating.  Yes, it's that bad.   "Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified", according to psychologists.  Yup.  I've seen those, too.  So I've decided that the simplest thing for me to do is to take the possibility of eating foods that I binge on completely out of the equation.  They need to simply be something that I just don't eat.  No fuss, no muss.  I also need to drink more water.  And I only like ridiculously sweet beverages.  So I figure that giving up eating sweet foods will serve a second purpose.  It'll change my taste preferences so that I will no longer need sweet drinks to be satisfied.

Don't get me wrong.  I've had some successes.  I've been running half marathons for the past 5 years.  Well, about 1 per year.  But I just kind of slog through them - I don't really RUN them.  Yes, just getting through one is an accomplishment in itself, but after 5 years of just getting through, it's starting to feel a bit hollow.  When I ran my first half marathon, it was an accomplishment - I NEVER thought I'd be able to do it.  But now I feel like I'm just doing it for show. After all, it's one of the few "I trieds" that I actually has consistently led to success. So if I go through the motions, it's at least one thing I can tell other people about myself that indicates I have any ability to follow through and acheive a goal. Because I never actually ended up with a career.  My house is frequently a disaster.  My hair and nails are frequently a disaster.  And while I felt confident in my parenting skills with my kids as as babies and toddlers, this middle childhood stage is hard for me to negotiate. I was pretty good with toddler discipline.  I knew when to distract, when to redirect, when to time out.  I could make cool little kid crafts with them.  Now I have to debate, persuade, enforce.  I have to help them organize - me, who can't even organize myself.  And they are old enough to see my flaws and call me on them.  So it's time for another accomplishment.  Why not this?  Research says sugar is poison, more addictive than cocaine.  Why am I eating it?  Why do I allow my kids to eat it?  Why not do something about it, at least for myself, so I can set a good example.  Maybe a very important example.

So I've decided to take to take this one step myself first, hoping that in doing so, in creatively solving my own sugar addiction, I will be better able to help my kids and husband overcome their own challenges.  And I need to do better than just "try".  I need to commit.  Just like I needed to commit to writing this post, even though it's not even close to what I originally wanted to submit.

I need to know that I am encouraging my kids and husband to lead healthy, balanced lives.  I cannot do that and be a slave to my sugar/sweet addiction.  It's too distracting.  Since giving up sugar, counterintuitively, I've gained 2 pounds.  But I still think it's worth it.  So I guess I'm getting over my weight preoccupation, too.  Sort of... I mean, I did weigh myself, so I obviously still care.

My son finally stopped playing the video game.  And with no hysterics.  He has to earn every minute of electronics time that he uses by exercising, so now he "owes" me 45 minutes.  He's working on that right now, doing various exercises of his own creation (mostly pseudo gymnastic moves).  And the night is ending without fights and hurt feelings.  When I finish this post, I'll have completed something that I said I would do.  Despite many temptations, I have not eaten any of the chocolate chip quick bread that I made, and actually managed to create a zucchini and tomato sauce dish that I really like, even though the kids don't.  Not perfect.  But I feel like I can say that, tonight, at least, I did more than "try".  And that's kind of nice.