Tag Archives: food

Give the Lettuce to the Fat Girl

  By Rebecca | October 29, 2013 - 7:19 am |
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Date Night

Date Night

Sitting in a  romantically lit cafe during a  long-awaited evening out with my husband, it happened.  We talked easily,  sipped our wine and waited for our dinner.  My handsome, effortlessly thin husband ordered Mediterranean lettuce wraps.  I ordered a cheeseburger. The waiter (someone different than the one who took our order)  swooped over and.. you guessed it… set the lettuce wraps down in front of me and gave my cheeseburger to Thinny McThin.

I’m not that sensitive about my weight.  Really, I’m not.  I live somewhere between wanting to drop about 30 pounds and trying to learn to be happy and at peace at whatever weight I am, since I know being thin isn’t the key to happiness.  Yeah, I’d like to be a couple sizes smaller, but I also know that there are pretty features about me.  My husband loves me, and I know that constant obsessing about my weight doesn’t make me sexy to him.  You can’t be married to a chef and be shy about enjoying food.  They aren’t really into that.   Plus, there’s sugar.  And I ain’t talkin’ about the kind you give your Granny on the cheek.  I can’t give up hope that there’s a way to be healthy without totally sacrificing bread, cookies, and cake.

At the end of a long, emotional week, the cheeseburger thing just rubbed me wrong.  I know that magazine covers are airbrushed, that stretch marks can’t be erased, and that a woman’s weight and shape don’t define her value.  I really wish the rest of society knew it too.  There are still enough smart remarks, fat jokes, and judgemental looks out there to make a girl feel like a less-than because of her weight… especially in a weak moment.  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at the waiter’s assumption that the fat girl needed the lettuce wraps.  Couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed at his quizzical expression as my husband corrected him and handed the cheeseburger over to me.  Couldn’t help wondering if the guy walked away shaking his head at why a handsome, thin guy would be with a Mrs. Sprat like me.  Depressing, huh? I know.  AND a little crazy.  AND I totally projected my feelings onto the poor, unsuspecting, stereotyping waiter.  It was enough to ruin a perfectly good first-date-night-in-a-long-time with grumpy sighs and over-obsessing defensiveness.

When I was a little girl, my mom and dad used to sing a song about how God made me special.  They believed that, and still do.  I do, too.  Most of the time.

The cheeseburger was great, by the way.  I ate about half and took the rest home, a normal part of my attempt to practice balance and moderation every day.  My head’s still held high, and I know I’m loved.  My shape’s not perfect but it’s me, and no one else can be my husband’s wife, my kids’ mom, my parents’ daughter better than I.  There’s so much more to life than bodyweight and so much more to me than my physical appearance.

The Salad We Had TonightI’ve recovered from my temporary insanity and remembered that other people don’t get to dictate whether I enjoy my life.  I shall continue to laugh, love, and eat sugar.

Lettuce is nice.  Thanks for the gesture.  But stereotypes just don’t fit me right.  I’ll have the cheeseburger.

 

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Lime-life

  By Rebecca | May 29, 2013 - 7:21 am |
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It all started with three fateful words, texted to me by my friend, Janet. (That’s Janet, of butt blowdrying fame to any who have been reading for a while…) Anyway, back to the text:

Key. Lime. Pie.

From the moment I read the words on the screen of my iphone, I knew. I would be making a key lime pie.

To set the scene for you, about a week ago someone gave an industrial size bottle of key lime juice to my husband, the chef. I was thrilled. Overjoyed. I have a thing for key limes.

Just try. Try to think of something that doesn’t benefit from a twist of lime. I know! You can’t!!

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Is that KEY LIME in those glasses?

Then over the weekend while walking through Walmart minding my own business, I happened to pass a sale on bags of adorable little key limes. What good fortune! Those would go perfectly with everything I intended to mix with my lime juice. So I bought them, of course, and some coconut vodka just in case.

Can I just tell ya’ll that limes are totally one of my favorite things God makes? I just love ’em.

So I’ve used my juice over the last few days to paint a lime-ey ribbon through cocktails, homemade salsa, water, and tea and fed these lime laced labors of love to anyone who put their feet under our table.

And then of all things, Janet texts me about a key lime pie she was having and, not one to be outdone, I knew it was time for the pie. At first I got out my favorite cookbook, going for a “busy days pie” using ready made crust, whipped cream, condensed milk, and lime juice. Then I realized I had no ready made crust on hand, neither did I have whipped cream. A younger, sillier me would have given up, but nah…

I simply made my own graham cracker crust! It was easy!  I have a three-year-old, so graham crackers are a given.

Then I went for a recipe I found here, and it too was easy. PLUS it still called for condensed milk and who doesn’t love that stuff?? I may or may not have dumped a little lime juice in the bottom of the can after I poured most of its contents into the mixing bowl and eaten the lime juice and leftover condensed milk with a spoon. What? You know you’d do it too!

Anyway, I also didn’t have whipped cream, but I DID have whipping cream. (There’s a difference.) So after I picked up my Mackenzie from youth group and while my darling little pie was cooling in the fridge, the whipping cream lived its dream… fulfilled its destiny… it got whipped.

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Mama's piece of pie

So now I sit, alone, all others in the house slumbering peacefully. But I made a pie. And I ate the first piece. You know, out of good will toward the rest of the pie eaters that may come along, I willingly took the always-misshapen, difficult-to-cut first piece upon myself. Don’t tell, but it wasn’t misshapen at all. It cut like a perfect custard pie with all the preservatives in the world. You’d never know it was haphazardly homemade by a silly girl who is lime-crazy.

Limes, especially ones of the key variety, remind me of Florida. They have their roots, their history in Florida and so do I.  I love a bunch of people in Florida so limes make me cry in a happy/sad/lovely sort of way. (What? You don’t cry over fruit that reminds you of people you love? Then I won’t mention the various levels of emotional breakdown I have over green beans, corn, home canned tomatoes or fresh navel oranges.) So I can’t have Florida (you know, the people I love that live there) but I CAN put key limes in everything possible and know that the salsa on my chip, the wedge in my tea, or the pie on my plate is smiling back at me, reflecting a little bit of who I am.

I love limes, ya’ll. And pie. And my mama and daddy.  Lime Life is good.

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Lime life photo by Caleb, age 3

 

 

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Bad Drug

  By Rebecca | January 4, 2012 - 1:56 pm |
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I use food for comfort, stress relief, and even expressions of anger. In other words, much like a drug addict turns to drugs for all of the above, I turn to food.

Not just any food, mind you. It has to taste good. In other words, I don’t console or reward myself with plain tuna or unsalted popcorn. (Ewwww) Think chocolate truffles, macaroni and cheese, or Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. Think Doublestuf Oreos, Ruffles chips and French onion dip, and loaded cheese fries. Think cheeseburgers, chocolate mousse cake, and cookie dough. But, I digress…

Why do I do this? FOOD for thought… (hahaha)

I was raised a VERY good Southern Baptist. We don’t smoke, drink, or chew, or go with boys who do…

But we EAT.

I can give you a very long list of the “don’ts” I was taught as a child, those sins to be avoided at all costs. Funny, but eating isn’t one of them. I’m sure somewhere along the way, some preacher preached against overeating, but it musn’t have been very memorable because I have zero recollection. I have to wonder if overeating had been as taboo as say, smoking weed or premarital sex, would things have been different? If bingeing on junk food were treated like a bad behavior like going to a bar, seeing rated R movies, or getting a tattoo, would I have developed this habit? Now some of the “bad behaviors” I just listed are things I’ve done, some aren’t, but NONE of them are habits of mine. Then again, there are others who experienced a very similar upbringing and they DO struggle with things like drugs, alcohol, gambling, or sex addiction. That would mean I can’t totally blame my upbringing for my dependence upon food. It still wouldn’t change the fact that I use food much in the same way anyone uses a vice for consolation.

There’s one problem with this method of comfort, of soothing my sadness:

It doesn’t work.

Sure it tastes good while it’s going down. But I eat too fast (read more about that later) and so even that part isn’t as enjoyable as it should be. Then afterward comes the guilt, the frustration, and the stomachache, not to mention the extra pounds and sluggishness. Food is no more effective than vodka when it comes to solving one’s problems, and it’s nearly as harmful in the longrun.

OK, so I’m turning to an inadequate outside source for comfort. What can I do about it?

Here are my ideas:

1) Realize that food isn’t doing the job I’ve assigned to it. It isn’t a good enough provider of comfort and solace. I’ve simply given food a task it can’t perform.

2) Find something else to which I turn for comfort. (Hear God going: “ME ME ME!!!”)

3) Figure out what’s bothering me so much and see if I can eliminate or solve any of those issues.

What do ya’ll think???

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Speaking of resolutions…

  By Rebecca | January 3, 2012 - 5:50 am |
1 Comment

Alright.  It’s a new year and I can’t help my infatuation with the idea of a fresh start.  I love starting over every new year, I just hate failed resolutions. 

I’ve been tempted to make a weight loss resolution, but I’m not.  Honestly I’m more than frustrated with my body’s sluggish reaction to my weight loss efforts, and my own inability to “stick to it” when it comes to diet and exercise.  I’m not ready to try and fail again.

However, I read an article this morning that made me think.  The article pointed out that (as we all know) a lifestyle change is necessary to maintain weight loss.  A restrictive diet or rigorous exercise regimen will pull the pounds off but they come right back once the diet or exercise stops.  The article suggested that at some point, some introspective investigation needs to be done to discover the “why” behind one’s eating and exercising habits.  That made sense to me.  I don’t want to start another diet, but I don’t want to become a type 2 diabetic either, so it’s worth a try to think this over.

My friend, John Frady has been blogging about his weight loss, and knowing his wife, Kathy’s weight loss success, I’ve been inspired.  John’s decided to publish his daily eating choices as a way to keep himself accountable.  Admirable, but in an effort NOT to appall my readers, (though it probably would amuse you as well) I’ll spare you my dietary details.  I will, however, bare my heart instead of my stomach.

Why do I eat what I eat?  Why do I do what I do?  How did I get this relationship with food? 

I promise not to turn this into a health and weight loss blog.  I’m not going to obsess about food or fitness.  I’m not going to start eating salad with no dressing, and I probably won’t run a marathon.  But maybe my own exploration of my emotions, my habits, and my feelings about food and fitness will help someone else, and maybe me too, to discover exactly what’s going on behind those “bad” habits and maybe if we find the “why” and address that issue, well, maybe the bad habits won’t be so hard to break. 

Stay tuned, and we’ll see…

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