All Because I Fell in Love ... With a Fruit

It all started with me finding the fruit I discussed in the yesterday's blog. After scouring the internet, it seemed the main use for it was salsa. However, I decided that since it tasted like pineapple, and I've had apple and pineapple pie before, I would use it to make a pie!

So I channeled my inner Martha Stewart and began to gather my ingredients:

First, I had to peel the apples. I don't have a peeler, and have never peeled an apple before. So this became an adventure. 

The easiest part was putting the refrigerated pie crust in the pan. Sure, I could have made one from scratch, but it took so long for me to peel the apples, this was my way to save on time. 

After peeling and cutting the apples, I mixed them with my ground cherries and coated all the fruit in cinnamon and flour. 

Then, I mixed quick oats, brown sugar, flour, and melted butter ...

... then sprinkled that on top of my fruit. 

After baking in the oven at 375 for 40 minutes, I had this beautiful guy!

Topped with some ice cream, this pie is becoming the reason that I'm hitting the gym double time starting tomorrow. 

I Got Crazy Jewish Momed

If you haven't heard of Crazy Jewish Mom, you need to do a Google search and enjoy.

(Go ahead, I'll let you find it before we continue...)

For those of you who don't want to Google, CJM is literally texts from a mom to her daughter. She wants her daughter to get married, and has become famous for her "no ring on the finger, you must not linger" mantra.

My mother, while not Jewish, sometimes tend to show some great concern on the fact that I'm not married, and really have no prospects. To be honest, I haven't been looking for prospects. Being a single mom with a career that requires working long hours, nights and weekends, doesn't lend itself for the opportunity to look for prospects.

Then I decided to buy a fruit I had never heard of at the Farmer's Market...

The culprit

I was at the Farmer's Market this morning, and this little beauty intrigued me. The woman selling them told me they tasted like pineapple, but she and her son weren't sure what to do with them. 

In the spirit of trying new things, I bought a bag of them. I came home and did some research into what it was (it's a ground cherry or a pineapple tomitillo depending on where you look). I then decided to make an apple and pineapple tomitillo pie. (Currently in the oven, full scoop on that to come!) 

This sweet woman told me her son didn't know if it would be worth it to bring any since they didn't really know what to do with them. I was sold. (Let's prove him wrong!) 

I was telling my mom this story, and the conversation went somewhat like this: 

Mom: How old was the son?

Me: Probably around my age.

Mom: Was he married?

Me: I don't know. I didn't feel it was appropriate to ask. 

Mom: Did you see a ring?

Me: No, but I also didn't look for one. 

Mom: Just think, if he's not married, the two of you could get together and that would be SUCH a cute story to tell people when they ask how y'all met. 

Me: ........

Let's hope when she comes with me to the Farmer's Market next week that she doesn't ask this poor guy about his personal life.  

Christopher Robin Was Right

I've found a new stride in this whole Fitness Adventure of 2015. Not to steal from Dolvett's 3-2-1 diet (I haven't read the book, and honestly don't know what it's really about), but I've adopted sort of a 3-2-1 fitness method that is totally working for me. 3 days of C25K, 2 days of strength training, 1 day of yoga/flexibility training. The rest day is a given, plus 3-2-1-1 didn't sound near as awesome. Unless Dolvett had a  3-2-1-1- diet, then it would sound cool.

These past two days have shown me just how far I've come on this fitness journey.

This is the week in C25K where they throw in running for 3 minutes straight. (Because the man wants you to hate yourself.) I told myself that if I couldn't run for the whole 3 minutes, it was ok. I prepared myself for failure, because that's what I do. BUT I didn't need to prepare myself for failure, because I dominated those 3 minute runs.

Next, part of my strength training regimen has involved planks. I decided to get a little crazy and do a 30 second plan to go with each of the four rounds of weights I was doing. I expected to maybe get through two of them, and then give up in the middle of the third one. Guess what? I planked like a boss. (Real planks, not even the modified planks!)

But the thing that made it all real? When I put on the dress I was planning to wear to graduation. I've bought plenty of dresses that have come with a belt attached to them, but have never been able to wear the attached belt. Knowing this, I still buy the dresses and I still attempt to belt them. Then this happened:

That's right! I was able to easily put the belt on! Now, does it look fabulous? I think so, but you might not. I know I've got more work to do, but this is a huge accomplishment to me and nothing is taking it away from me. 

Moral of this story? Fictional children's character's are always right. Listen to them. 

What You Don't Say Can Hurt More Than What You Say

The hardest part about moving for me is church shopping.

Church shopping - attending multiple churches until you find the one that is right for you
(I may not have made up this phrase, but any time I use it, people seem surprised to hear me refer to it as such.)

Church shopping is difficult for me. What most people don't know about me, is that I have major church anxiety. Like, freak out in the parking lot if I get there too early and then run away, church anxiety. Many a panic attack has been had in church parking lots across this country by yours truly.

My anxiety doesn't stem from meeting new people, or large crowds, or most normal things that people associate with it. My anxiety comes from feeling like I don't belong. There are many times that I feel like a fraud when I step into a church.

Most of this is in my head, but some of it is from being told as such multiple times during my life. I know I'm far from perfect, but whenever I attend a new church, those confrontations replay in my mind like a bad dream I can't wake up from.

This morning, I attempted to go to a new church. I put on my motivational playlist. I prayed that I wouldn't freak out. I put one step in front of the other and did some major deep breathing and mantra spewing as I walked in the doors. Step 1 - Make it in the door - Accomplished.

As I sat down, I took it all in. This church is bigger than what I'm used to, but I still don't think it's going to be too bad. People come and sit near me, and I smile, but nobody seems to notice that I exist until they need to get by me. The service starts and I've successfully accomplished the second step of my church shopping experience - Don't Bolt Before the Service.

The service started and the people sitting by me ask if they can get out and move seats. This didn't happen once, but twice. Now I'm the only person on my row. I'm beginning to wonder if I smell. I know I put on deodorant this morning, and I'm dressed decent enough. (I think) This is when the doubts started to creep in.

Next up is the greet your neighbor portion of the service that always makes me nervous. While nobody else is on my row, the row in front of me is entirely full, and there are plenty of people across the aisle from me, so I'm sure someone will say hi.    *crickets*    Nobody tells me hi. In fact, nobody even acknowledges my presence. People talk around me to other people, but nobody actually speaks to me. I sit down halfway through because I feel myself about to break down in tears. The anxiety starts to hit hard, and I'm getting to a point where it's difficult to breathe.

I made myself stay through the song service, but spent the last part of that texting my best friend about how I didn't think I could sit through the rest of the service. Once I completed step three (Stay Through the Song Service), I bolted out the door before my tears could start. As soon as I stepped outside the building, I started crying.

It was the first time I've been a church that large, surrounded by people, and felt so alone. I would rather have relived the nightmares of being told I wasn't welcome than to sit there and have nobody  acknowledge me. I cried my way home, and ate my feelings in McDonalds french fries and cheesecake. (Then totally regretted it and went for a run.)

While I may not have heard a sermon from a preacher today, I feel I learned a very valuable lesson from a greater teacher. Sometimes what you don't say to people can hurt much more than what you do say. It's one thing to not speak to someone, but sometimes just a smile or a wave or a quick "hello" can go a long way to making someone feel welcome. Being the new kid is tough, so all of us who aren't the new kids in the situation need to step back and remember what it was like for us. It can never hurt us to be too nice to someone. You never know when that may be exactly what they need.

Why Not?

I had forgotten that I had pre-ordered this book, so when I pulled my Kindle up on Mother's Day, I got an amazing surprise for myself!

(You should just go ahead and order this one now...)

While I didn't laugh out loud with this one as much as I have her other memoirs, there is a sentiment from the book that has stuck with me. 

What if the reason that we can't do things is because we tell ourselves we can't do them. 

Mind blown. 

I've been telling myself that I can't run. Before I got pregnant, I had gotten into running. I didn't enjoy it like I enjoy cheesecake, but it was a nice escape and gave my Pandora ap a good workout. I'll always be slow, and my running will always be more of a jog/walk combo, but I liked participating in road races. I even ran a half marathon while I was pregnant. 

So where along the way did I decide I'm no longer a runner? The point my brain told me I wasn't. 

I decided to stop listening to my brain and started running again this week. I've actually been excited to wake up in the morning for my runs. 

Proof that my brain doesn't always know what it's talking about. Maybe I should stop listening to it in other areas to so I , like Lancaster, can regret nothing. 

Social Media Time Out

Many people use social media as a break from reality. We come online and look at other people's lives through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, blogs, Tumblr, etc. However, we often spend more time on these sites than we realize. (My dad is a Facebook addict, but don't tell him that. He's a little touchy about it.)

During our move, I took some time to transition off of social media. I deleted the Facebook, Twitter and Instagram aps from my phone. I limited the amount of time that I was in front of the computer during non-work hours. And I realized just how addicted I had become to social media.

"Mommy, put your phone down and play with me."

That's all it took to make me realize that I needed a change. I ripped the internet voyeur bandaid off, and I haven't regretted it.

My productivity in all aspects of my life has increased since I've given myself a time out. I've been extremely productive at work. Kiddo and I have spent more quality time together. (I've learned so many Wiggles dance moves, that I feel I could be a fill-in if needed!) I've spent more time reading my Bible. (I've spent more time reading in general.) I've even gotten back to a regular exercise routine.

For a brief moment, I lost sight of what was really important. My life isn't measured by the amount of times I post to this blog, the amount of tweets I send out into the universe, or the amount of pictures I take to make everyone think our lives here are perfect. The person the internet perceives me to be doesn't matter. What matters is the person that my daughter perceives me to be.

My new job will have me travelling a good bit, and it's more responsibility, so my time away from her will be greater. I don't want her to remember me as the mom who was always on her phone when we were together. Sure, I can still be the mean mom who won't let her watch Dorothy the Dinosaur on repeat ALL DAY. But I want her to remember me as the mom who was with her (REALLY with her) during the brief time we get to spend together.

I'll be back to play more than I was this past month, internet friends. But I'll be spending a little more time paying attention to The Wiggles. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sing one more song before bedtime.

Behind the Mask

I love mascots.

Not in a fetishy kind of way. There's nothing sexual about my love for mascots. I just want to be around mascots all the time. Mascots make me happy. In an ideal world, I would be a mascot's handler.

Mascots are the brand ambassador for their band. Mascots can help you fall in love with a team that you never thought you would love. Sometimes, you may not fall in love with the team, but you fall in love with the mascot.

My love (obsession) with mascots is what led me to watch Hulu's original series Behind the Mask. It allows the fan a glimpse into what the job of being a mascot actually entails. If you think these guys have an easy job, think again.

As someone who works in sports, mascots remind me of something that can be easy to forget, especially on a game night. My job is to bring other people entertainment. Sports are fun. Working in sports in fun. (Sometimes stressful, but mostly fun.) Working in tickets, I don't always get to see the joy that my fans have when they attend one of our games. But the games I'm not working, I get to see the joy in my daughter's eyes as she anxiously awaits for the mascot to come visit her.

If you have Hulu,watch the show. As Season One reminds us, players and coaches change, but the mascot is always the same. They are a brand ambassador for your favorite team, just as much as any player. Next time you're at a game and the mascot goes in for a high five, hug, or to use you in a gag, let them. They're just tying to do their job, and like all of us, sometimes they need to be reminded that they're doing an awesome one.