A few months ago, in an early Christmas-ish spirit, I gifted myself with the loss of baby weight and gained a once again semi-quasi half-baked hourglass figure (OK, so who am I kidding, this hourglass is more of a half-hourglass since the middle is not as slender as it once was).
Then Christmastime's visions of gluttony, overindulgence, and splendorous insatiable wolfing filled my head. In all fairness to moi, I have been on a bit of a fast these past 4 months (I use the term fast loosely, and only when it fits my agenda). Rosemary told me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to lay off the sauce, chocolate sauce that is, and anything resembling chocolate sauce.
Earlier this month, one of the young women wanted to make brownies from scratch. We decided to make peppermint bark brownies. I made a batch pre-activity for the girls to eat, then the girls made their own batch which continued to bake at my home even after the young women had left. As they cooled they sat fragrantly, immodestly, seductively. I indulged and betrayed my babe. Oh how I payed.
There was a crime.
There was a victim.
And there is punishment.
Onto my point, for Christmas, I gifted myself with at least 3 pounds of butter, and all of butter's mothers, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins and kitties. Oh glorious dairy, thou art beautimous (I thought I'd try out that word, Lu's OT LOVES it and uses it frequently). I suppose one could say my binge was brought on by my abstinence. I don't really know, all I do know is that I am now 5lbs heavier, 10 minuets slower, and at least 3 IQ points dumber. And it feels good.
For Christmas Eve, we made this.
Not to be outdone by Christmas Eve, Christmas morning we made this.
For Christmas day dinner, my father asked me to make something with brussels sprouts. Brussels sprouts are the 13th member of our family, right there in between a dog and a newt that sacrificed itself to a century old radiator. So, to keep up my momentum, I made this.
You may be asking yourself, "Is Christmas all about food?". Of course not, it's about the 'stuff' right?
So I am now the envy of all foodies with my array of kitchen scissors. Would you like to see me cut the backbone out of a chicken?
Before my husband and I ever had a first date, he purchased 4 children's story prints that coincidentally happen to feature 3 girls, and one boy. Brad had them framed and they now adorn and brighten the children's play area (would you like to place bets on how long they last?).
My good husband also took the children sledding and tubing at the massively hill laden park down our road.
Whatever you do, do NOT ask Abram about his pink snow pants and his pink boots.
I believe he is on the road to recovery and we do not want a relapse.
In an attempt to distract attention from my butter bum I have been wearing a felted red rose in my hair. See?! You can't even tell that I have been overindulging, right?
Santa gave me the cardigan of my dreams (my husband would tell you it is the 15th cardigan of my dreams, but cardigans are like butter, you can never have enough, and one taste just makes you want more).
Abram bears the unfortunate burden of being the middle child who has nothing of his own. That is until this Christmas, now his bedroom shelf holds little reminders that we do love him (nothing says I love you like toys, right?), we do know who he is, and we do understand that he is a boy.
We also thought you might like to know that we are no longer Godless. Brad finally gave me the painting of Christ that I have been wanting since we've been married.
Christmas was bright, joyful, and delicious. There is so much to be grateful for and humbled by.
In mourning the passing of 2008 and in celebrating the birth of 2009 I believe I will make this*, and declare it the year of butter, for what is better than butter?
*Just in case you think I always cook like this, I don't, only special occasions. But if I could, I totally would!
