It's that time of year.

I have a big family. It seemed like my mom was pregnant A LOT. Every time another kid was on the way, we would have a family meeting. "Well, it's that time of year," I remember my dad saying. "We are having another baby!" I don't know that he actually said that, but that is what I remember.

Similarly, I remember my dad standing in my doorway in a bodycast, saying goodnight after an accident had him in the emergency room for several hours. In reality, he only had a bandage on his head. But whatever. Memories are memories and I remember "that time of year" being associated with a new baby.

Until I moved to Portland ten years ago. Then my association changed. "That time of year" became associated with something much more sinister and fattening than a little baby. Yes. Walla Walla Onion Rings from Burgerville. Those seasonal, greasy, chunky bites of sweet onion, breaded and deep fried, fresh, just for me.

I think I have only missed one year of onion rings since I have lived here. I usually only have them once, or maybe twice a year. But no more than that. Too big, too messy, too fattening. But too delicious to miss. It seems like they have changed some over the years. At first the breading was thick and was easily pulled off the onion and they had a good garlicky ranch sauce that went with them. Now, the breading is thinner, adheres to the onions better and they serve an average Litehouse Ranch Dressing with them.

This year's were my favorite, though I'd wish they'd bring back the dressing they had a while ago.

I love Burgerville's seasonal menu. I have fond memories of walking my first half-marathon a few years ago, collapsing at the end and requiring oxygen (because I am weak), and having my dad buy me a fresh raspberry lemonade from Burgerville on the way home, as if I were a little kid getting a treat after getting made fun of in P.E.

So it's THAT time of year. Eat some onion rings, drink a smoothie or a shake, and then hold your breath till next year. (Not literally. We don't want anyone needing an oxygen mask.)

P.S. My mom just read this post and says that she wasn't actually pregnant every year. In case you were wondering. And we only have 5 kids, not fifteen, so we weren't like one of those reality show families. Just to clear that up.