Every month, I realize anew that my complete lack of energy for a week, followed by super-strength-energizer-bunny energy is actually related to my, how shall I put this, lady cycles. And yet every month I find myself wondering what is wrong with me, and why am I so tired? Last week everything was a massive effort: yoga was slow going, walking the dog was exhausting, making the beds was the wooooooorst. I could barely heat up pasta sauce and boil noodles without collapsing on the kitchen floor; then yesterday I woke up with the “I’m going to clean the house!” feeling, and found myself scrubbing that same kitchen floor, moving all the appliances and polishing the granite, and washing down all the cupboards with a homemade solution of hot water, vinegar, and dish soap. Later I grocery shopped, played Just Dance with the boys – earning myself four stars on A-Ha’s Take On Me, just saying – created a recipe for and made tomato coconut soup, and took the dog on a brisk, long walk. Anyone want some waffles? Guys? Waffles? I enjoy these energy bursts but a little less variance would be nice.
It was a lovely weekend, complete with my husband’s office Christmas party on Friday and a potluck party on Saturday, where I developed an obsession with eggplant, specifically with vegan eggplant rollatini. My friend gave me his recipe and now I’m going to attempt to recreate it. Maybe I’ll make it for Christmas Eve dinner, so I can have something to eat while my husband and children eat steak. Christmas Eve we spend at home, traditionally watching Elf and moving Jake’s bed into Mark’s room so they can have a “sleepover”. Lately I’ve been thinking that we should have a Christmas Eve food tradition. On Christmas Day we go to my parents, where my mom makes a turkey and I gorge on variations of yam and sweet potato dishes and chocolate Yule log – the best dessert ever – but Christmas Eve…well, Marilyn said it best. We asked the boys what they wanted for a special Christmas Eve dinner and they unanimously requested barbecued steak. In December. But my husband agreed to suck it up, bundle up and barbecue, so I think having a vegan eggplant rollatini for myself and for anyone else who might try it (i.e., no one) might be just the ticket. Festive meals in the Boyhouse – steak and eggplant.
The other day I was listening happily to my 70s soft-pop station and singing along. I was making dinner at the time and had my hands full, so when Baby Ima Want You came on, I called into the living room to get one of the boys to turn it up. “I love this song!” I said. “I DON’T.” Jake said emphatically. “This is a VEGETARIAN SONG. Meat-eaters like songs that are more rocking.” Out of the mouths of babes, I say. Not that I don’t enjoy some good rocking tunes myself, but it seems he is onto something. We have been classifying music as vegetarian and carnivore ever since.
I am feeling very festive today: it’s less than a month until Christmas, and last night we turned on our outdoor lights, the excitement hangover of which has caused me to hum Christmas songs all morning. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, I sang while blow-drying my hair this morning, and when I turned off the dryer I discovered the boys were also singing Christmas songs, but the kind where they were celebrating the snow turning red from dead Santa, along with Batman being stinky and Robin laying eggs. We have also been celebrating the return of the fireplace channel on TV. Nothing says festive excitement like watching the crackling logs of the fireplace channel, interspersed with the thrill of seeing the plaid-shirted guy put another log on, or poke the fire. Squee! At least once a night, at least one of the boys makes a comment about Santa coming down chimneys and becoming consumed by the fires therein.
Speaking of being burned, I was putting something into the oven and I accidentally touched the upper rack and burned the back of my hand. Then, two days later, I did the exact same thing in the exact same place. This tiny burn hurts so much it is making me extraordinarily sympathetic to actual burn victims. The thoughts in my head go something like this: wahhh, my hand hurts so much! Shut up, you baby. Think about people who have burns all over their bodies! Think of that! But my hand hurts! Wah!
Why do we keep forgetting this? The other month I was being anxious and exceedingly weepy and I wailed to my husband that I didn’t know what was wrong with me. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised, a la Magnum, and said, “Um, well, I was thinking….do you think it is possible that you are heading toward, um, you know, that regular thing that happens?” I looked at him in AMAZEMENT!
Now I have a tracker on my ipod touch that gives me warning of the lady holidays. Very helpful.
My lady moon cycle is erratic so every month is a fun filled guessing game of when I need to put on my big granny panties lest I get stains on a “good” pair.
I have a nifty little pink flowered App Nan. Imagine my joy of plotting my lady moon cycle each month and seeing it swing from 23 to 33 days at random.
Currently I’m encased in wall to wall cotton comfort with wings that twist n turn with my every move lusting over Charles Ingalls.
Men are so unlucky that they miss out on this monthly treat.
Oh I love me some eggplant. My neighbor makes wonderful things with it. My husband hates it because it squeaks on his teeth. He’s a vagina.
Wanna come to my house and clean. I’d bake you those cookies so that you won’t burn your hands.
Tiny little burns are The Worst – I totally sympathize. Also, do I need to buy a smartphone just so I can have an app to track my Ladies’ Holiday? Because mine arrived last week and for the two days prior I staggered around, horrible migraine, terrible temper, no patience, and honestly thought I was losing my mind.
OMG, I am so consumed with love for YOU ARE ALL MY PEOPLE. I’m just coming off my first lady time since stopping the pill. I want the pill back very, very badly. Every time I burn my hand I think the exact same thing about people with burns all over their bodies. And I love eggplant (no I don’t, not at all, but I love you Nicole, and they are a lovely purple).
They are a lovely purple!
I always do the same thing in the oven, my boyfriend keeps telling me maybe its time I move the racks wider apart on different shelves..but sure enough I never get around to it and am constantly burning my knuckles, I keep saying I will fix the problem with those blue silicone oven mitts…but alas I never get to that either and the burns continue on cooking/baking Sundays loll
I saw an oven protector thing that you can wrap all over the door and racks so you don’t have to worry about burning yourself. But then oven mitts have been invented and are cheaper so I use those instead. 🙂
I like the idea of traditions for food when it comes to Christmas. Of course, no one in my family would eat anything anyway. Last night, I told the kids that I was going to make mashed potatoes and gravy for Christmas dinner and they both burst into tears. This year is going to be awesome.
Yes, Christmas dinner at the boyhouse: BBQ steak, eggplant, and lots of booze for me! Because who gets BBQ steak on Xmas eve? Seems wrong somehow.
Yes, oven mitts. You would think I would learn.
I burn my hands like that all the time! I am lucky I have not had a period since I got pregnant with my baby… He was 18 months yesterday. Breast feeding keeps it away. Time goes by so fast though.
Did you make those ginger bread men? They are amazing.
I didn’t make them – they are from a store in New York – but aren’t they adorable?