Perel: Dealing with holiday season's weightier issues requires sense of humor
During the holidays, we were so overwhelmed with details that we were hard-pressed to focus on what really mattered most of all, deep in our hearts at this glorious time of year ― our weight of course.
Our most common excuses for holiday weight gain. (I’d love to hear yours.)
1. We think, “I’ve already blown it by having one chocolate chip cookie. I may as well eat the whole pecan pie.”
2. “If I don’t have this entire Yule log, I won’t get the chance for a whole year.”
3. “I didn’t exercise in December because new episodes of "The Crown" were on.”
My husband, Bob, and I had a lovely, serene holiday season. Doesn’t he look great in the photo? You’d never guess he has dementia now. It certainly hasn’t changed the happiness crinkles around his big blue eyes when he smiles.
In fact, scores of you, my cherished readers, have said, “We miss your ‘Bob’ stories.” I miss those stories too. Well, what I really miss most … is Bob.
Although he no longer remembers where our kitchen or bed is, he has never forgotten to hold out his arms as I navigate my world of disability.
Those “Bob” stories? They’re still here. They live on in memories. Here’s a beauty.
The worst Christmas present he ever gave me was a real-deal big, tall doctor’s scale.
“Bob,” I said, “take it back ― now.”
“But you use our old, heavy, broken scale. No matter what it says you weigh, you lug it all around the floor until it says the weight you want.”
He had to add, “The extra weight you put on over the holidays doesn’t even show.”
“EXTRA WEIGHT?”
“Oh ― it’s nothing.”
“Is it 15 pounds? It couldn’t be 15!”
“It’s not 15.”
I sighed.
He smiled lovingly. “Around 10. Feel better?”
“Ten?!”
“Maybe.”
“Prove it, Bob.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, when you ― when you were bending over the exercise bike that you use to hang coats on, your ― your rear end ― ”
I interrupted him. “My tuchus?”
“Um, yes. It looked a little more spread out.”
“I didn’t ask for details, Bob.”
“But you insisted!”
“You should have known I didn’t mean it!”
He said, “Well, if it helps at all ― ”
“This ought to be good.”
“It is good. You see, the few extra pounds actually give your beautiful face more character. You’re more regal.”
“Oh, so I look like Queen Mary ― the ship.”
“Oy,” he said. And he’s not Jewish like I am.
“Bob, you know those pounds are all your fault. If you cared at all, you would have taken my fork away before I finished the rest of that Sara Lee cheesecake.”
“Do you know what would happen?”
“Of course. I’d say, ‘Thank you for taking my fork, my sweet husband. You always know what’s best for me.’”
He laughed so hard the cats raced out of the room.
Bob has no weight problems. He wouldn’t gain weight on a peanut butter IV.
He has Papa Gino’s on speed dial ― before 911.
He thinks burritos are a food group.
Bob’s food pyramid doesn’t have vegetables on the top; it has hot fudge.
He said, “I know it’s not fair that I can eat whatever I want.”
“Fair? Sure it is.” I was steaming. “You struggle. You want extra cheese on your pizza, but you discipline yourself by only having it on days that end in the letters D-A-Y.”
“Please come sit with me.”
I did.
“Sweetheart,” he cooed. “I love you no matter what you look like.”
“You’re as sensitive as a Lyme-infested tick.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
Oh my, I must tell you, when he said that, my heart went out to him. You see, my happiness is Bob’s reason to be. I could not be loved more dearly. I knew it then; I know it now. I will know it for whatever “forever” means.
We kissed that day. A tender, sweet kiss I will never forget.
And so, by sharing this “Bob” story with you, these memories will always be with you, my treasured reader.
You have been here with me throughout the years. You’ve laughed with me on my escapades, like that Christmas when I surprised Bob with an 18,000-pound boulder.
You’ve cried with me each time one of my cherished dogs has died; you’ve consoled me through the trials of my spinal cord injury, my strained (to put it mildly) relationship with my mother. You’ve been with me in my despair as Bob’s dementia takes him away from me. But you’ve also been there when we adopted our dogs, Benny and Mendel. And when we met Tony Bennett.
Through good times and bad, you have been by my side.
In whatever time we have left with him, may these “Bob” stories live on ― in my heart and in yours. Safely tucked away in each of us, Bob’s joyous life will be truly everlasting.
Award-winning columnist, Saralee Perel, lives in Marstons Mills. She can be reached at: sperel@saraleeperel.com. Her column runs the first Friday of each month.
This article originally appeared on Cape Cod Times: Column: Saralee hates holiday weight gain, but Bob loves her every way
