What is it about coming home for Christmas? -- or rather coming to your Mom's house -- that just calls to the pounds to coming fleeing back to my tummy/butt? After all that virtuous shedding (yes, it was heart-sick/chagrin related, but still) this fall, and my pretty successful efforts (salsa and tango helped!) at keeping them off till my arrival just a week ago....
Can I fast for the next two days? Not likely. Tomorrow I'm the appointed cook for the goose, my oriental spinach dish (recipe shortly with photos, if I remember), and -- of course -- my dark chocolate raspberry yule log (bûche de Noël). Back on US soil I don't seem to be able to get away from the kitchen. Strange, n'est-ce pas? I seem to have this reputation as the cook of the family.
Meantime, I'm having fits and starts as I recognize the way too many things I have in common with my mother. Don't get me wrong, she's a great lady. I'm reassured that she too forgets things (granted, not a small child, but still, when over-extended there are details/errands/etc., that fall by the wayside). If she could run a university with this level of over the hill multi-tasking (thinking of my daily life with 6 kids) then I'm okay, right?
However, the tendency to not listen to the end of a sentance, to not read to the end of a sentance, to jump to conclusions (not always the right ones) and to be adamantly right... Well, let's just say I've new reasons to work on my own personal tendencies towards an excess of impatience, doing things too quickly, skimming texts, etc., I don't know if perfection shall ever be in my future, but a higher level of thoroughness would be a good thing.