35

Posted on July 8, 2012 by 8junebugs

30 years ago, I could read, write, and pronounce “psychologist” well enough that people thought I must want to become one. I was surrounded by family and hickory trees.

25 years ago, I spent my weekends slinging snowcones and my weeks buried in books or running around the farm with my cousins. At Branbury Beach, I was allowed to swim out over my head…but I still wasn’t old enough to bike on the “main road.” (“Main” = paved.)

20 years ago, I was new in town, with one good friend, one cute little summer boyfriend, and a whole new future.

15 years ago, I stalled. I got to where that new future was supposed to be and flailed; not only was it not sitting there, waiting for me to arrive — it didn’t even exist yet. I dated and had fun and did a couple of remarkably stupid things. I rallied.

10 years ago I was quietly uncertain and sometimes unhappy. Also a little sick.

5 years ago, even with a good job and great friends to lean on, I was vehemently, dangerously, predictably unhappy. I dreaded my future.

Today

Today, I woke up next to the love of my life.

I slept a little late and ran a couple of miles (in running tights!), then we walked Rodney to the ferry dock and back.

Today, we came home with peaches and cherries and tomatoes from the Farmer’s Market and fresh mac & cheese from the local pasta shop. (Also — ahem — in running tights. Wevs.)

We took the ferry to the city for a long walk we’ve been meaning to take. We stopped for a snack and a drink and were home in time for dinner on the patio at a local place (puppies welcome).

Today — well, tonight, really — we sat in the hot tub for 15 minutes, then, as we were leaving, showed some 20-somethings the trick to get the jets to start.

Today, at 35, I’m more myself than I think I’ve ever been, and more thankful for that than I can say.

***

I have this thing about not doing Big Party stuff on my birthday…even the big ones. Part of it is that I hate being the center of attention (in person…clearly, being the center of this space is my choice) and have had good and bad celebrations in equal measure over the years.

The other part is that I kind of like spending my birthday the way I’d like to spend the coming year. Last year it was a simple trip to the beach. This year it was a pretty active day; if I hadn’t lost my Fitbit months ago, it would’ve reported upwards of 24,000 steps today. It was also a pretty local day, which I always like.

I can’t wait to see what the next year brings.

P.S.

I just found out that the treadmill has been under-reporting my Calories Burned by about 100ish per run. For weeks. So THAT’S why I was so hungry…

I’m not actually counting or watching calories, but 500 extra calories secretly burned per week seems like a birthday gift no 35-year-old US woman can turn down, you know?

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Home, Runaway, Waist Management | 6 Comments »

Soup, and grand theft small appliance

Posted on January 18, 2012 by 8junebugs

What’s the statute of limitations on stealing crap from your parents’ kitchen when you move out?

Nearly 15 years ago, I moved into my first apartment. As I left my dad’s house, I took with me everything in my bedroom, his our copy of the Gingras Family Marriages, and his immersion blender.

I cannot for the life of me recall why I wanted that blender. Was I still drinking Carnation Instant Breakfast (better blended than stirred, which is not to be confused with “good”)? Did I think moving in with a boyfriend meant late-night milkshakes? No idea.

I would like to note, though, that my dad (a) had an immersion blender 15+ years ago (although I don’t know why) and (b) is the primary source of any skill I have in the kitchen. Sure, it took me a while to get started and there was immeasurable influence from other families over the years, but my dad was the cook in my family (and KidBrother is a much more thoughtful, creative cook than I).

In the interest of fairness, my mom made better scrambled eggs. On the whole, though, she preferred bologna sandwiches and potato chips and left the roast beef to Dad.

Fifteen years later, that immersion blender, an early (earliest?) version of the unfortunately named Sunbeam Stickmaster, is a valued member of my kitchen collective and continues to perform valiantly. There was a time a few years ago when I thought it was not long for this world — it was a 15-year-old small appliance, after all, and I’d started making a lot of pureed broccoli soup. It seemed reasonable to plan for its replacement, but it’s still going strong.

This weekend, it handled:

Baked Potato Soup (Smitten Kitchen)
Graham calls this Potato Sludge, possibly because that makes it sound like junk food. I don’t care, as long as “Would you like me to make more potato soup?” continues to be answered with a “Fuck, yeah!” and he’ll eat it without toppings.

Carrot Soup with Miso and Sesame (Smitten Kitchen)
Better without the sesame oil, to my taste, and Graham is not a fan (although he is to be commended for trying something so fantastically orange and smelly). A commenter on the original post substituted miso soup mix and soy sauce for the miso paste, and I did the same, because I didn’t care enough about miso to walk four blocks to the nearest Asian market. I’m pretty sure this was a one-time soup for me – it taught me that I like soups to taste more like the veggies I put in them than like an added flavor. Also that I prefer miso in small doses.

Chickpea-Tomato Soup with Fresh Rosemary (Orangette)
Seriously good. Molly describes this soup as part of her formulaic lunch, and I could eat this daily for a really long time. In fact, I just might…I certainly will this week. My only regret is that I didn’t have any cheese in the house with which to make a cheese bread.

(I didn’t take any pictures. Imagine, if you will, comforting rows of single-serving bowls in red, white, and orange.)

I wasn’t a fan of soup at all until a few years ago. I just don’t remember soup being worth the effort it took to eat it, maybe because soups and stews came out of cans in our household. I mean, my grandmothers made stews and those were awesome, but my parents came of age as the Campbell’s Condensed generation, the generation that tried to make cooking and baking easier and less time-consuming than it had been for their poor mothers. I mean, why peel potatoes — much less peel, simmer, and puree with other things — when you can just add water to some potato flakes?!

Which leads me, again, to wonder why the hell my dad needed a stick blender in the first place, but that’s water 15 years under the bridge.

(My generation may be noted for kickstarting the current foodie movement, once we had the cash to develop our palates, but we have our shortcuts, too. Bagged salads, pre-chopped ingredients, and technology are our time- and work-saving crutches; e.g., we’ll bake bread at home to avoid preservatives and HFCS, but we’ll damn sure use a breadmaker if we can get our hands on one.)

(Which is not an indictment, although I do still prep my own stuff most of the time. Mirepoix is the weekly exception. Thank you, Trader Joe’s, for elegantly, evenly chopped mirepoix.)

So I didn’t realize soup could be yummy until I experienced a decent minestrone and a truly top-flight lobster bisque. It took years for me to make soup at home, and I did so mainly to save money, eat healthfully, and avoid the terrifying amount of sodium in prepared soups.

Instead, I have a terrifying amount of soup-serving-sized storage containers.

Soup! It’s what’s for dinner. Lunch, too. Thanks, Dad!

Filed under: Book of Me, G-Clan, Home, Rearview Mirror, Suzy Homemaking, Tastes Like Chicken, Waist Management | 1 Comment »

Breakfast, revisited

Posted on September 19, 2011 by 8junebugs

It’s been almost two years since I made Breakfast Pies and swore that I would be adding them to my “Cook a bunch on Sunday and eat for the rest of the week” routine. Yesterday, I made them again for the second time. Twice in nearly as many years! This may be a personal procrastination record.

But I need to wean myself off my (multigrain-)waffles-with-peanut-butter habit and get back to the Second Breakfast model that served me so well during my last running phase. Breakfast 1: Le smoothie (which I’ve decided gets the male pronoun because of the frightful amount of spinach in it. As with most other nouns, I cannot explain why French spinach is male.). Please don’t assign any particular vegetarian virtue to the amount of spinach in my smoothie — you can disguise the taste and color of nearly any amount of spinach with a handful of frozen blueberries and a squirt of honey.

Breakfast 2: Oatmeal. Booooring.

Enter the Breakfast Pies. Or, Breakfast Cups. (Or, “Breakfast Yum-Yums,” if, instead of a Pie/Cup, you get a buttermilk biscuit with meat and cheese pressed into it.) (Which looks like a Pie. Whatevs.)

Looking back, that Breakfast Pie recipe seems ever so much more complicated than it needs to be. Here’s the quick version:

  • Buy a roll of pre-made buttermilk biscuits.
  • Gather together stuff that sounds like it’d be good with a biscuit. Bell peppers, sweet italian chicken sausage, minced onion, shrimp, mushrooms, pepperoni, leftover chicken…the world is your oyster! (Hmmm, oysters…?) If you’re trying to balance the fact that you’re shoving it all into a buttermilk biscuit, stick to lean protein and veggies.
  • Chop and brown/saute whatever you’ve selected. Set aside to cool.
  • Press each biscuit into a muffin pan and spread the dough up the sides to create the cup. If you have 8 biscuits in the roll and only 6 muffin cups (curse that fancy silicone pan!), generously decide to split the biscuits evenly with your partner, because 4 and 4* on the counter looks less stingy than 6 and 2, even though you’re pretty sure that screws with your “Eat for the rest of the week” plan. (Note to self: Buy more biscuits.)
  • Spoon your mixture evenly into the muffin cups…about 3/4 full.  (Got some leftover sautéed stuff? Who needs biscuits? NOMNOMNOM.)
  • Sprinkle a little shredded cheese on top of the mixture en biscuit.
  • Drizzle a little egg substitute (or basic omelet mix) over each. Even just a tablespoon or so will help hold all your sautéed stuff in.
  • Bake using biscuit directions + 2 minutes or until “egg” looks set.

For anyone worried that Buttermilk Biscuit = Diet Buster, these things net out somewhere between 250 and 300 calories each, depending on what you stuff into ‘em (1 biscuit from the Trader Joe’s roll is 190 calories). I’m pretty sure you could cut and reshape the pre-made biscuits and double the batch pretty easily, too — the biscuits are more substantial than they really need to be for this “recipe” — but I haven’t tried it yet.

Actually, I should do that next time. It’s only Monday, and I’m out of Breakfast Cups. Back to oatmeal…

(more…)

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Tastes Like Chicken, Waist Management | 2 Comments »

Mom’s best mothering

Posted on April 29, 2010 by 8junebugs

The greatest thing my mother ever did for me was something she didn’t do.

Me and Mom, circa 1978, in Memere's kitchen

She never, ever, talked about dieting, being skinny, or working out.

Ever. At least, not to me and not that I heard about, and that’s good enough.

I mean, it was easy for her not to talk about it. Her metabolism didn’t appear to slow down until her late 40s. She ate like crap by the usual standards — she was the woman dieters hated, all full of burgers and chips, macaroni salad and light beer. She was an easy size 8 for a good portion of her adult life. (I can’t speak for her beauty pageant days…the pictures speak for themselves.)

She was active, in that she was always doing something. She worked long hours on her feet, she played softball and bowled on a ladies’ league, and she enjoyed yard work (our yard in Cornwall was not an easy mow). Averaged out over time, she swam far more laps than anyone else in our family because she loved being in the pool.

And then she got out of the pool and ate two egg salad sandwiches. On white bread. With a metric ton of Miracle Whip.

But she never, ever pushed me to be a certain size or be an athlete (she lettered in basketball in high school), or to make my hair do what other girls’ hair did. I was a dancer instead, and that was me pushing myself and Mom braiding my hair for recitals.

Her only commentary on my appearance was consistently this:

“Wow, you’re beautiful!”

(Occasionally: “Man, I wish I had some of your curves/curly hair!”)

(Or: “Thank god you got my nose and your father’s ears.”)

I didn’t always believe her — I was a teenager for a while, after all. But I always knew that I looked like me, and “me” was exactly who I was supposed to look like.

I didn’t understand the value of this until much later, when I found out how much pressure mothers can put on their daughters (and sometimes their sons, but mostly their daughters) to meet society’s beauty standards. I didn’t know how common that was because it wasn’t my experience, and I didn’t know until I was in junior high that the size of my…anything mattered to anyone.

Because of this, I’ve never been comfortable with dieting and working toward a particular size or weight — the numbers don’t have any intrinsic value for me (and I get REALLY testy when I see young adult lit harping on the “perfect” size — I’m looking at you, Sweet Valley High). When you hear about me running or cross-training or having smoothies for breakfast every damn day, it’s because I feel crappy and running makes me feel better (yay, endorphins!) and smoothies are tasty, tasty treats that don’t make my belly hurt in the morning.

It’s not in preparation for swimsuit season. That’s just not how I was raised.

I do know that it’s a compliment when someone notices and remarks on weight loss, and I try to take it as such. I don’t know it instinctively, because my mom never connected any dots between body size, effort to control body size, and personal worth.

For that, I’m more grateful than for anything else Mom did…or didn’t do.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, If it's not one thing, it's your mother, Waist Management | 4 Comments »

You are what/where you eat

Posted on March 30, 2010 by 8junebugs

Y’all know I try my best to eat local food, support local restaurants (especially if they cook local food), and grow what food I can manage during the summer. When I buy stuff that isn’t grown or made around here, I try to buy it from shops that are committed to pure and/or well-made food. (lalalaILOVECHEESETIQUElalala)

I try to support Vermont farms and businesses, even from 500 miles away. Sometimes that means buying products here to make sure there’s a market for it, ordering online if that’s an option (hello, King Arthur Flour), or driving home with maple syrup in my trunk. If I could get Monument Farms milk (and could still drink more milk than what goes in my coffee), I’d be a happy girl. But I know and trust those farmers, and those companies, to keep it simple.

It’s a choice — I recognize that. And I know I can make the choice because of where I live and what I do, and because I’m to only person eating off my food budget (and I know Graham couldn’t identify half the stuff in my fridge…).

I do this for a couple of reasons, but the biggest one is that knowing what’s in my food is important to me. You buy from a small farmer and you get a product of their connection to and respect for their land, their livestock, and (often) their family history – real farmers don’t mess around with that. You might get blood, sweat, and tears in your honey, but you won’t get corn syrup. I appreciate that — it may just be food, but it’s honest food. It’s only food, and not some food product designed to increase volume or change a color or disguise something I might not actually want to eat.

I don’t know about you, but the FDA’s approach to food labeling/safety — roughly: “If it ain’t killing anybody, we don’t have time to deal with it” — doesn’t really work for me. In the absence of robust federal oversight, I’ll just stick with food sources I can trust and ingredients I can control.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, A Votre Sante, Waist Management | 2 Comments »

“Your pants are too big”

Posted on March 26, 2010 by 8junebugs

It’s true. McFunkinstyle said it the other day, and it’s true…although those pants weren’t the worst example. Her statement was more welcome than the “Are you losing weight?” question, because the truthful answer to that is “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Or “Probably not,” because my doctor’s office weighed me last week and there was no loss, not even if my clothes and shoes weigh five pounds. Plus? I haven’t been trying to lose weight.

But the response to “Your pants are too big” is easy: “Yeah, they are.”

Here’s the thing — it took my stomach a while to rebound from the California bug. I was eating pretty healthfully before then, but I got serious about it when I got back because I needed my stomach to just NOT HURT. At all. So, the stuff I sometimes eat even though I know it’ll hurt my tummy? Yeah, banned for the foreseeable future. I’m also watching portions really carefully — feeling too full is too close to feeling like I need to throw up. (I mean, it’s never been comfortable and hasn’t been a habit in almost two years now, but the change in perspective has made it a deal-breaker.)

As previously noted, I’m on a mad smoothie kick. This week, I’ve made a smoothie for breakfast every morning.

Which has been awesome, you guys. Seriously. Smoothies kick oatmeal’s ass, and I loves me some oatmeal.

I also got serious about the running, once I felt better and my fitness room opened back up — they closed for a week to paint and replace all the machines (and add a goddamn stair-climber, which I have been eyeing suspiciously). Before the California trip, I hit the milestone of running for the full 30 minutes without slowing to a walk, and I’ve kept that going. I’ve been playing with intervals and working on form and breathing, and it’s going GREAT. I’m still under even a 15-minute mile, but it feels fantastic and I keep getting a little better and a little faster each week.

The running creates a feedback loop with my eating habits. This happens whenever I get on a workout kick — I start preferring “clean” foods that my body processes well and easily turns into fuel. Here’s what a day in my diet looks like right now:

Breakfast: Stupidly thick smoothie with fruit, vanilla soymilk, flaxmeal and/or coconut milk. Coffee (duh), but later and less than usual.

Second breakfast: Whole wheat English muffin with yuppie butter substitute. (Last week I grabbed whole wheat cinnamon raisin by mistake. That was a nice surprise.)

Lunch: Still leftovers, but probably fish + veggies or a giant bowl of fiber-packed homemade soup (bean and bacon, for example). Light string cheese. An apple.

Snack: Dry-roasted, salted almonds (weighed out, because I could eat those suckers nonstop), carrots, or a granola or fig bar.

Likely dinner: Probably fish, chicken, or a turkey burger + veggies. Maybe a red potato, baked with or without butter. /or/ Shrimp tossed with angel hair pasta and Italian dressing. /or/ Salted tuna mixed with sweet white corn (excellent for nights when I have a class). /or/ Chili from the freezer with corn chips crumbled in, or on a baked red potato (small portions required — that chili’s really hot).

Sometimes I just throw stuff in a pan because it sounds (a) yummy and (b) like a good idea based on what I’ve eaten and done that day. Last night after yoga, it was sliced baby bella mushrooms, some Canadian bacon, and fakey eggs with a sprinkle of cheese, started on the stove and set under the broiler.

Sometimes, it’s a burger and fries from a local restaurant. What’s the point of running and being all healthy if you can’t have a burger and fries sometimes?

Dessert: If I’m still hungry, fruit. If I’m not really hungry, a small wedge of dark chocolate. I try not to eat after 8 pm, too, but that’s tricky with classes so I don’t stress about it. If I don’t eat a decent dinner, I can’t run in the morning.

Other stuff sometimes gets added here and there — fruit at a breakfast meeting, cookies from a bake sale, a small bottle of orange juice. There’s just a lot less of that stuff than before, because I’m not really interested.

With all this and yoga once a week (or more) and the two to three liters of water I drink anyway, my body’s changing a bit and my pants are too big…except for the pants that were too small — those fit. Sadly, I went clothes shopping right before this started, but at least the only work pants I bought were part of a new suit, and the suit was a liiiittle tighter than I would normally buy something, so that should be fine. The running pants I bought were a little saggy by the time I put them on again and are saggier still now. If this continues, I’ll have the pants taken in and consider shopping again in the fall. (Not the running pants. Those I’ll probably replace sooner rather than later.)

I’m a little amused to see the changes — historically, my pants-wearing bits don’t shrink much. At my smallest, I still usually wear double-digit sizes to accommodate my French-Canadian ass. Then again, historically, I don’t gain weight in my waist, either. Turning 30 changed the course of my bodily history, I guess.

Which is fine. Gaining a little weight in my waist and losing a little below it should make it a hell of a lot easier to find pants that fit. You know…when I buy new pants.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, A Votre Sante, Deeee...TOXIFY, Waist Management | Leave a Comment »

Making do in a Jamba-free city

Posted on March 20, 2010 by 8junebugs

As much as I’m tempted to ditch my rewarding career and research Jamba Juice franchising, I’m making do with this:

And some of these:

Also:

  • bananas
  • pineapple
  • frozen berries
  • kiwi
  • vanilla soymilk
  • flaxmeal
  • light coconut milk
  • tiny ice cubes

Not all at once. Most, but not all. :)

That little blender is brilliant, by the way. It’s as powerful (thus far) as my old smoothie machine, but with way less fuss and clean-up. And that purple band on the cup has a “jacks” pattern, which is also on the straw. How cute is that?

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Conspicuous consumption, Deeee...TOXIFY, Waist Management | 2 Comments »

Today’s horror stories

Posted on June 15, 2009 by 8junebugs

First, Do No Harm

I clicked over from Shapely Prose, lured in by a link in Notes from the Fatosphere feed: “That number on the chart means everything else I’ve said is a lie?” It’s stories–lots and lots of stories–of people in various stages of subjective fatness and how they’ve been treated by doctors. And nurses.

Most of them know they are overweight or obese. The problems they’re trying to solve (or the babies they’re trying to birth), though, have nothing to do with their weight. One woman spent years trying to get doctors to figure out her severe pelvic pain. “You’re fat,” they said. “That’s why you have back pain.” Even a doctor who listened in the beginning eventually decided it was really just back pain and she should lose 100 pounds.

She had extreme endometriosis, which had shown up on the scans the first doctor did. Instead of investigating that “shadow” and treating the problem, she was told to lose weight and she’d be fine. By the time she found a doctor who would listen to her, who went in for exploratory surgery, her fertility was cut in half.

Some of them aren’t overweight at all, in the same way Cal Ripken, Jr., isn’t overweight, regardless of his BMI. One is quite fit, and her experience with the doctor was fine until the doctor saw that she weighed 190 pounds at 5’7″. Suddenly, the knee problems were the fault of her fatness…indeed, the doctor stopped talking about her knees and focused only on telling her to diet and exercise. Eventually, a physical therapist helped her, after watching her skate (she’s on a roller derby team) and evaluating her posture and the development of her leg muscles. He never even weighed her.

She got better.

(An added bonus? Some of these doctors are fatter than the patients. It’s like the doctors who smoke…they just lose credibility with every puff.)

These stories just made me cry. I’ve had a doctor or two mention weight loss, and sometimes I’ve brought it up myself, mainly because I struggle with being active–I’m a bookworm, yo…an indoor cat. I get up and move, but exercise is exercise, not fun. I do it because it’s good for me, not because I love sweating.

But the fact remains that there’s nothing physically wrong with me because of my BMI; my blood pressure, cholesterol, triglycerides, organ function, etc. … all good. I have no joint pain. My resting heart rate is perfectly healthy. I can run a mile or so (I won’t like it and I’ll whine about it, but I can do it) and walk quite a few at a clip. I seem to be holding the line against colds and flus, although the DC allergies have finally caught up to me.

I can relate to these women not just because my BMI tells only half the story, but also because I’ve had doctors ignore me. The worst…well, I wondered if she just got sick of me. I kept going back because her prescriptions didn’t seem to be working, and the antibiotics that nauseated me finally gave me colitis (which had to be diagnosed in the ER). Really, I’m just such a whiner.

The moral of the story? Even doctors are just people, and people sometimes–even frequently–judge you on how you look rather than what you say. Doctors, though, take an oath to do no harm. Don’t let them get away with harming you.

Filed under: Internets, Pop goes the culture, Waist Management | Leave a Comment »

Scale tales and renewed commitment

Posted on May 7, 2009 by 8junebugs

I’m currently engaged in an experiment with my digital poundage measurer. I know that the surface beneath the scale can affect the results, so I measured my weight on the four different floor surfaces in my apartment the other day: linoleum, carpet (which I highly recommend), and in two places on the bathroom tile.

Results? A 7-pound range.

Yesterday morning, still amused, I tried weighing myself before my shower, then after, with the scale in roughly the same spot on the bathroom tile.

Results? A 4-pound gain in the shower.

Clearly, this is why Day 2 of the Avon Walk was so damn hard — I stood in a shower for HOURS.

Now that Avon is over, I’m back to normal levels of exercise and healthy eating. Carbo-loading is only appropriate when you plan to burn 2,500 additional calories in a weekend.

Diet? No. Just trying to stay healthy and fit.

A hundred years ago, when I was working for UPS (in the regional office, so no automatic workouts), I was in the gym all the time. It was nearby, it was women-only, and G. had just moved to New York for his master’s…it was a great way to blow off steam, counteract the kind of partying you can only do at 21 or 22, and maintain some kind of focus while I was trying to figure out my next steps (I was deciding when, how, and where to finish my bachelor’s degree).

I’ve never been small and I’m not trying to be small now, but I do miss that level of fitness, and I was happy with how my clothes fit. So, if I have a goal, there it is.

Between the changes in my diet and the exercise that I’m not going to talk about until I’ve managed to make it a habit, I suddenly have a metric buttload of extra energy. I’m enjoying it, even though it’s messing with my early bedtime.

The Basic Food Rules

There’s one foundation beneath these rules: I like food and I like to eat, but I like to eat simply. My favorite meal really is grilled salmon and roasted asparagus (with hand-cut fries, which is where I get ahead of myself). I like fish and vegetables and fruit. I don’t eat much red meat (once a week, if that). I don’t do cream sauces. I hate gravy.

I just get a little lazy sometimes. And I have some weaknesses: pizza (and oh, sweet pizza rolls…), bread and cheese, ice cream, chocolate…

There are also healthy things I eat when I’m out that I could easily eat at home. (I’m looking at you, grilled portobello sandwiches.) I just have to put a little more effort into it.

Kind of like how I have a fitness center upstairs, but I have to actually go upstairs to use it. (I am.)

The point, though, is that it’s worth the effort. Eating good food and feeling fit and healthy is worth the time and effort.

So here’s how it works, food-wise:

(more…)

Filed under: Waist Management | Leave a Comment »

On Meghan McCain and The Weight Issue

Posted on March 16, 2009 by 8junebugs

There’s a minor skirmish going around the interwebs about conservative radio talk show host Laura Ingraham’s comments about Meghan McCain’s weight. If you haven’t heard of or about Meghan McCain (and I hadn’t, until last week), she’s John McCain’s daughter and a blogger at the Daily Beast. She cut her teeth blogging on her dad’s campaign.

Last week, I quietly applauded Ms. McCain for (a) having the courage to go on Rachel Maddow’s show (they can’t get many conservatives to come on), (b) being a young Republican in an unfriendly political environment, and (c) approaching politics respectfully and openly. I was completely charmed, especially when Maddow asked her about the bailouts and the economy and she said, roughly, “You know, I really don’t understand all the details. I read a lot and I’m trying to understand economics better, but I try not to comment on things I don’t understand.”

Amen to that. She’s young and she knows she’s still learning, and she’s not afraid to say it.

I also thought, “Aw, she’s beautiful. Also curvy. Oh, damn…I hope no one calls her fat after this interview.”

And so “they” have. She has responded with more grace than I might muster. I hope her comfort in her healthy curves continues.

I have a problem with on so many levels that I’m having a hard time knowing where to start.

First, ad hominem attacks are a waste of airtime. I sincerely believe that the Republicans would have had a better shot in the 2008 election if they’d had a substantive alternative to Obama’s platform. When they (and I mean the pundits as much — or more than — the campaign proper) couldn’t find fault with Obama’s plans, they tried desperately to find fault with his person.

And the few who could find fault couldn’t get the headlines. “OMG HE’S A MUSLIM” pulls more hits, and more hits = more advertising. Hooray!

If Ingraham really believes that Ms. McCain is just “a valley girl gone awry,” why encourage high-school-hallway behavior? Seems counterproductive to me. If you want her to rise to the level of talk radio punditry (har!), engage her in a conversation at that level. If you were watching Maddow’s show, you’d know she’s perfectly capable of it.

Second, a suggestion for the GOP: This is your future. There aren’t a lot of young Republicans out there these days — listen to the ones you have. They are more valuable to you, in the long run, than Limbaugh. Grow in the direction of the younger generation that will carry you forward, or you’ll spend the next election cycle wishing you had.

Second-and-a-half: For crying out loud, people, she’s 24. She’s exploring the world and learning and developing her beliefs. She’s not a threat, unless you’re a washed-up talk radio harpy. She’s not advocating violence or treason (as opposed to Chuck Norris). She’s trying to have a conversation. So let her have it — what are you afraid of? Would you rather be the party of conflict than of curiosity and compromise?

Third, I desperately hope we’re moving toward a society that cares more about health and wellness than sizes and scales. There are “fat” people who run marathons and “skinny” people who sit on the couch and eat Doritos. According American expectations, I’ve been overweight since about the fourth grade. The slimmest I’ve ever been since then was probably The Dumb Year, and I wouldn’t advocate that as a long-term lifestyle (thank god for an early-20s metabolism, am I right?). At my fittest, when I was working out five days a week and getting frequent compliments, I still weighed 175 pounds.

I’m curvy. I will always be curvy. Even at that slimmest point? Still curvy. Genetically, I take after the curvier side of the family…even the skinniest of us still have “child-bearing hips.” When it comes to my overall fat-ness, I try pretty hard to care less about the numbers on a scale than about the following things:

Am I eating when I’m not hungry? Why?
If I am, there’s probably a bigger problem. I’m at my current size (which I like to think of as the far side of voluptuous) because I deliberately gave myself a month-long pass after Mom died in November. Yes, really. Not a pass to stuff my face with every brownie and cookie offered, but a pass on being less mindful about the eating than usual. I figured I had enough to worry about, but was still committed to not sabotaging my own health to deal with the grief.

Do I generally feel healthy? Am I getting sick a lot?
I haven’t gotten legitimately sick in a long time. I’m getting more rest and I’m happier — I haven’t had a proper cold or flu in about a year. I’m able to do the 10-mile training walks at a good clip and carry on a conversation without too much huffing and puffing. Generally, I feel pretty good.

Does the way I look make me feel bad about myself?
Most of the time, I’m pretty confident. I’ve been going through a lot of old photos and getting a little wistful about my fit (though still curvy) 18-year-old self, but I’m much happier working toward a consistent level of health than I am working toward an arbitrary dress size.

Note: Being in love with someone who thinks I’m beautiful inside and out doesn’t hurt, either. I highly recommend it.

So I applaud Ms. McCain’s confidence in her appearance in spite of the criticism, assuming she’s as healthy as she seems to be. I hope we take the lesson to heart instead of continuing the playground Point-at-the-”Fat”-Girl game.

Filed under: Boobtubage, Pop goes the culture, Waist Management | 1 Comment »

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