Dinners with Dad (and I’m an emotional basket case)

I am not going to yoga this week (not enough gas), which is doing really strange things to me. I have been extremely emotional, moody, tired, uncomfortable… Basically, I need a sign that say “caution yogaless yogini, chose your words carefully abs stand 10 feet back.”

I’m also super worried about losing ground in my practice and, of course, gaining weight. “No worries” I think to myself, “we are the queen of deprivation. No yoga. No food. Simple.” Except, it’s not. I did such a good job establishing a pattern, that now I can’t turn it off! And, not only that, but… On yoga, I only want to eat tons of citrus and spinach (planet’s most scurvy proof anorexic, right here), I have tons of energy and am ready for anything. Off yoga, all I want to do is sleep or eat carbs, sugar and all kind of hollow shit foods. And tonight, the unrelenting demand was for macaroni and cheese (KD for you Canadians out there). So, I gave in- without yoga I am a pushover.

When I was little, my mom was gone a lot at night. She worked or went to school or the gym or something… I don’t really know, but most nights it was just me and dad for dinner. Back then, we weren’t very good at the whole cooking thing. We ate eggs with American cheese, grilled cheese, American cheese melted on pasta… All kinds of American cheese concoctions (this may have something to do with my aversion to almost every non-cheese food on the planet). I’d sit up on the counter so we could converse and be at eye level while he worked. Anyhow, I wanted THIS kind of macaroni and cheese.

So I made some!

Next week, it will be 13 years since my dad died. We were really close. Making and eating dad-style Mac and cheese tonight was an extremely positive, grounding experience.

Oh. I also cut my hair tonight!


It had been down, almost to my waist. I really like it shorter (so far).