Wine + Baking = Vagina Cake

These pictures are from last month when we went to visit my family in Texas. My sister Emily and I decided to bake a raspberry layer cake while we sipped (ahem, chugged) Merlot, and as we slathered on the icing one of us decided that what the cake really needed was a vagina. It was so very very delicious, that vagina cake we made. It made all the men in the house blush, and after I exclaimed This vagina is DELICIOUS! for the fifth time, my mom's fiance couldn't take it anymore and had to go upstairs. Hilarious! We're going back next week for Thanksgiving. Maybe we will make a penis cake to even the score. I'm not sure a penis cake could ever be as tasty as a vagina one.

::

Isn't Ethan a DOLL? I mean, yes, I am his mother, but admit it... he's adorable. People often mistake him for a girl because I can't bring myself to cut those curls again. I don't care. His hair is golden and fine and soft and shiny and always smells great. I don't care if he looks like a homeless boy, like an orphan who has no mother to cut his hair for him. I LIKE IT. What do you expect from a mother who bakes cakes with great big icing vaginas on them? I promise not to go all Kate Hudson on him, though. Even I have my limits, believe it or not.

::

I do believe that in almost every picture of myself that I post on this blog I am wearing that same damn green t-shirt. It's a threadless.com tee, and on it is a cherry saying fairy, a pear saying care, an apple saying chapel, a grape saying escape, a banana saying montana, and at the very end is an orange crying a stream of tears. Why? You would not believe how many people do not understand this shirt. BECAUSE NOTHING RHYMES WITH ORANGE, people. And that makes the orange very sad. (Poor orange.)

::

The non-diet. I am still non-dieting. I can't believe I am still non-dieting. Not only that, but I've been non-dieting for nearly 2 months and have only had a panic attack over it once. About two weeks ago I decided that this was ridiculous, absolutely absurd. I need structure! I am not eating any fruit! I'm not eating very many vegetables! I cannot go on this way! And then I went to bed and woke up and ate what I wanted for breakfast, and decided that I was never, ever, ever going back to dieting again. It was just a thought, a minor freak-out, and it lasted about 30 minutes. Other than that things have been great. I'm doing other things, like working and thinking about work instead of working and thinking about eating like I used to. I read a book and let time slip away instead of reading a book and watching the clock for my next carefully timed meal. My grocery cart is looking interesting these days, with an even mix of the good and the bad. I'm finally to the point where I am not afraid of any food. Anything and everything can be consumed in moderation. I really believe that! And if I want crackers and cheese or a bowl of cereal for dinner, then that's what I have. IT IS PURE HEAVEN, this non-diet diet.

D and I had a conversation the other day about how bad my diet-binge-diet-binge cycle really was. It was bad. My husband has never known a Sara that eats what she wants. Quite frankly I haven't either. I'd been struggling with this long before he met me (long before meaning for my entire life). He knew 2 different Saras: one that would snap after eating one cookie and spend the rest of the day piling food into her mouth at the speed of light before she had to diet (punish herself) again the next day (which would often leave me feeling so full at the end of the night that I would be too sick to spend quality time with my husband), and the Sara that would carefully and miserably plan and time and measure her authorized food, deprive herself, and put herself down. Both Saras revolved everything around the size of their ass. Both Saras were bitchy and bitter and unhappy. So now this new Sara emerges, this Sara-in-the-making, and I'm so very glad to meet her. My husband is, too. It's great to be able to cook together and eat together. I like getting hungry because it is a sign of life, of living. I didn't realize before how much being hungry scared me. The tiniest rumble of my tummy would send me into this weird panic, and I don't know why. I believe it has something to do with the feeling of never having enough. So when you finally have enough, when you can finally eat 1 chocolate kiss and truly not want another one because 1 was enough (I had to check myself for fever when that happened. I actually grabbed a couple of kisses, ate one and put the rest back because that one single chocolate kiss was all I needed. THAT HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE.), it leaves room and time and interest in other non-food/diet/body related things. I notice changes in myself every day. Stopping eating before I am full is finally becoming natural, it's finally starting to take much less effort. When I get hungry I really try to tune into my body to see what I truly want to eat. I can't remember the last time I ate something because I thought I should. The struggle is gone. The desire and drive to binge has vanished completely. The last 6 weeks have been scary and unfamiliar and new and wonderful and freeing and completely necessary and, in a nutshell, the last 6 weeks have been the key to the first day of the rest of my life, if that makes any sense at all.