The one time of the year I eat meat

Some of you may remember this post, where I briefly explained my path to vegetarian/flexitarian-ism. And while it's safe to say that I am now a wholly-committed vegetarian, there is still one time a year wherein I partake of a minuscule amount of meat. In my case, meatballs. (And only three.)

Said day is my family's Easter (or, in this case, week after Easter) feast, in which my aunt makes all of my great-grandmother's Italian recipes. None of which are even remotely vegetarian. Thus, while my husband and daughter thoroughly enjoyed their sauceless homemade pasta, I partook of the sauce that is marinated with meat and my three meatballs (while abstaining from the ravioli), partially to ensure that the ghost of my great-grandma Rose would not haunt me what forever and ever amen, and partially because I still want to participate in my family's Easter ritual.

Behold, the holy feast.

Which all gave pause to some serious introspection about the cultural/emotional value that we all assign to food, but since I want to keep this light, I won't go into it. Though let it be said that this whole inner conflict would not exist if my aunt didn't make some damn good meatballs.

And somewhere, Rose (with a picture of Karl Malone clasped in her hand) is smiling.

Amen.

Reticent vegetarianism, the holidays and why I spelled my child's name with an "f" and not a "ph"

Time seems to be passing at an accelerated rate these days. Which, in my mind, is pretty bat sh*t crazy. Which shouldn't be confused with ape sh*t crazy, because, let's be honest, that's soooo 2007.

Anyway.

Did you know that BYU-Idaho just banned skinny jeans? I. mean. really. This is one small step toward totalitarianism, one giant leap to ridiculousness. And is also bat sh*t crazy. Or maybe ape sh*t crazy since it took them so long to ban something that has been on-trend for at least two years.

I digress.

Some monumental changes are afoot. First off, I, after reading this book, have decided to become a vegetarian. Well almost. Let's just say I'm a flexitarian for the time being, with the aspiration to one day achieve vegetarianism. Unless salami is involved. Or bacon. Kidding. (Kind of.)

A couple of holidays have also transpired since last I wrote, and since I have a kid now, I guess I need to be making a bigger deal about them. Though Halloween has always been a fav of mine. Let's just say my child was a darling little witch, and that the included photos were actually taken on Thanksgiving because I didn't get a decent photo on the actual day. But hey, better late than never, right?

Is she posing for this one? I'd like to think so.

Thanksgiving also happened, turkey-less this year. (But, to be honest, I have never really cared for turkey that much anyway. I'm more of a sweet potato/stuffing/pecan pie girl myself.) It was held at my parentals home, and was quite the event. Thankfully, my sister captured this pic, because I am terrible and didn't break out my camera. Or iPhone.

Sporting Missoni for Target, because she can.

Since we're on the subject of Italian designers (you know, because of the caption above?) I guess this would be the appropriate time to discuss the spelling of my daughter's name. It's S-o-f-i-a. Not S-o-p-h-i-a. The reasons for this are simple really. We (meaning the husb and I) decided to give her the Italian spelling of the name that we decided suited her best. I've loved this name since high school, probably because at the time it seemed both classic and unique (re: Bella). In my mind's eye back then, I thought I would have two little dark-haired girls and name them Bella and Sofia. I realize that in recent years there has been a resurgence of popularity with this name, but honestly it was a perfect fit. And you can't beat an alliterative name. (Coming from someone with a formerly alliterative name, I can assure you it's amazeballs. Which should not be confused with "amazenuts" because that's just crass.)

And now I leave you. Because there's some mushroom risotto leftovers with my name on it. With a side of bacon. Kidding. (For reals this time.)