fudge-pops

The Schwann's man rang our doorbell today.  My mom had left for a seminar, my brother had band practice,  and my dad and I were home alone - which just spells trouble.  We saw the butter-yellow truck pull into our cul-de-sac and did a mad dash around the house in desperate search of the Schwann's order book to pick out some things that we didn't need.  We ruffled through piles of mail, newspapers, and random recipes but struck out.  Fortunately for us, we knew we had little use for the frozen chicken nuggets and ready-made lasagna.  We knew exactly where to zone in: Ice Cream.

After a very informative conversation with Mr. Schwann's Delivery Man ("The double chocolate peanut butter is my personal favorite."), we decided on not one, but three (three!!) delectable flavors.  Raspberry Rumble, Mint Chocolate Chip, and a total blast from my past: Fudge-Pops.

Since my birth, I have been fortunate to have a multitude of grandmas, great-grandmas, and great-aunts that have baby-sat, spoiled, and just generally taken care of me when needed.  I have many a memory revolving around my Great Grandma Emma and the refrigerator in her garage.  Every time I would visit, we would make a trip to her fridge.  When I opened the freezer-side door, it was almost like I could hear angels singing - top to bottom, there were popsicles, cartons of ice cream, Klondike bars, and my favorite: Fudge-Pops!  I would stick my head in the freezer, feeling the contrast of the hot summer and cold, frosty air, and come out with a delicious prize.  I couldn't wait to take the five steps to get inside the house and instead ripped open the fudge pop and chowed down.  The melty fudge would drip down my hands and I would finish with a brain freeze and a feeling of pure joy.

Today, waiting for the Delivery Man to walk to the truck and walk back with the fudge-pops in hand, I felt like the 8 year old version of myself again.  As soon as the door shut and the icy box was safe in my dad's hands, we both ran to the kitchen (chanting "Fudge-Pops!!"), ripped into the box and pulled out a pop.  We stood there, grinning like idiots, passing one perfectly frozen pop between us.  We scrunched our faces as the Fudge-Pop made our teeth tingle and giggled when our lips stuck to the white, extra-frozen parts.  It was just fun, standing there, eating desert before dinner.  We are such rebels.

It is moments like this one that bring a smile to my face for weeks.  And I am thankful that my dad teaches me life lessons almost every day - without even realizing it.  Today, it was a lesson about what life is really all about:  Enjoying it!  Spend time with people that you love and people that make you smile.  Do things that make you happy.  Eat dessert first.  Make memories.

My dad and I - just a few years back.

half the battle

 Today's post is dedicated to my mom. If I had a penny for every time she has told me: "Half the battle is just showing up," I would be a rich woman. Actually, since it's just a penny we're talking about here, it would probably be more upper-middle class woman. But you get the idea.

The thing about it though, is that it's so true:

Last weekend, I ran in a 5K with a group of amateur runners - mostly including my parents and their friends (cool, I know) - along with about 500 of my closest friends.  It was called the Hecker Tiki Trot and it was absolutely the most unique race I have ever run in.  Completely opposite from most racing events, the Tiki Trot started at 8pm instead of the usual, crack-of-dawn morning races.  Also setting it apart, and keeping people from smacking into each other, were the hundreds of tiki torches lining both sides of the dark country roads during the 3.1 mile event.  It was gorgeous, and totally worth a visit if you haven't been.  (They even have a Facebook group with some pictures and all the info!)

I have been running off and on (mostly off) since my Freshman year in high school.  Since last January, when my mom talked me into signing up for a Half Marathon, I have gotten a lot more serious about the whole running thing...which is really only half serious compared to most runners.  Anyway, I had worked up to my longest run being about 8 miles, so I got a little cocky and thought this 5K was going to be a nice and easy run followed by a possible corn dog from one of the food stands.  Boy, was I wrong.

Strangely, I have a little bit of a competitive streak that only comes out during board games (I cheated at Candy Land when I was 4 - sorry, Grandma) and racing events.  I must have been born with the board game thing, but the racing thing was hard-wired into my brain during my senior year Cross Country season.  I wasn't that great time-wise, but I killed myself during every race to try and get a personal best.

Although I have tried to forget that compulsion to run as fast as I can for as long as I can, it seems to pop up at inopportune times: when the buzzer sounded and the couple hundred people in front of me and behind me started running like bats out of hell, I told myself that I was just going to stay with the group, keep a slower pace, and finish strong.  Then out of nowhere I got a little fire in my belly and I started passing people.  Why I can't push myself like that in a practice run, I will never know (but it might have had something to do with the thoughts of a corn dog at the finish line).  I felt good - going much faster than my long runs and gaining confidence with each stride and each person passed.  After the first two miles though, I hit a very hard brick wall.

The last mile was me holding on and limp-jogging while making over-dramatic breathing sounds.  Not fun at the time, but kind of funny now.  I crossed the finish line, with my mom - God bless her for talking me through that last bit, and with a time of 30:24.  Not horrible, but not my best time and not really competitive.  Needless to say, I was exhausted and mad at myself for going out without a plan.  And to top everything off, they only had burgers.  I really wanted that corn dog - it was half the reason I even ran!

After grabbing a bite, we headed home, me in the back of the van doing what I do best - pouting.

A few days later, the race results were up online.  I am not as interested in seeing the winning times as my mom and dad are - I don't want to know how much faster everyone else is.  But as we were scrolling down the page, we stopped on the Women's 20-24 age group.  I read the results and blinked a few times.  I HAD FINISHED IN SECOND PLACE FOR MY AGE GROUP.  At first I felt a little silly for all that pouting I had done.  But then I got over it and smiled for about ten minutes straight.  And when my medal came in the mail a few days later, I wore it around and pranced about the house like some sort of Olympic Gold Medalist.

"See," my mom said, "Half the battle was just showing up.  You can't win if you don't show up."

Showing up at that race, with the temperature a balmy 90 degrees and the humidity skyrocketing, the last thing I thought I could do was actually place.  Little did I know, I had the confidence of someone much wiser than me on my side.

She knew, half the battle was just showing up.  You never know what might happen unless you do.

      

ocd and pumpkin scones

My brother knows how to work the system.  Yesterday, I needed to take his picture for one of my school projects and he would only oblige under one condition: scones.  To be honest, I wasn't too bummed out at having to agree to this trade, because for me, it was totally win-win.  I get homework done and I get some tasty scones.

I love to cook and bake, but me in the kitchen is like a scene from an SNL skit called the Anal Retentive Chef.  It is old-school Saturday Night Live, with Phil Hartman as the host of a cooking show who likes everything to be just right.  As he is about to prepare a pepper steak, he gets caught up in a number of things: the chopped pepper not being in uniform cubes, water on the counter, the stove being dirty. (It is hilarious and if you haven't seen it, here is the video)

Although I am not that intense (my mother might argue), I do sometimes have a problem with being a little bit of a control freak and a perfectionist when it comes to cooking...but I am working hard to accept imperfection as an excuse to make those chocolate chip cookies/scones/dinner rolls again, and keep making them until they are just right.

And now, without further ado, onto the scones!  There was no particular flavor that was requested when the order was put in, and after deciding to try something new instead of the ever-fabulous chocolate chip buttermilk variety, I was excited to expand my horizons.  I LOVE baking with pumpkin - it makes everything stay so wonderful and moist - so I decided a fall spin on some scones would go over well.  So here they are: Pumpkin Spice Scones.  Enjoy!!

Pumpkin Spice Scones

Recipe adapted from Brown Eyed Baker 

For the Scones:
2 cups all-purpose flour
7 Tablespoons granulated sugar
1 Tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 heaping teaspoon of pumpkin pie spice
6 Tablespoons COLD butter (cubed)
½ cup canned pumpkin
3 Tablespoons half-and-half
1 large egg

For the Spice Glaze:
1 cup powdered sugar
4-5 teaspoons milk
A few dashes of pumpkin pie spice (to taste)

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.

2. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and pumpkin pie spice in a large bowl. Use a fork to cut the butter into the dry ingredients until mixture is crumbly and no chunks of butter are obvious; set aside.

3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, half-and-half and egg. Fold wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and form the dough into a ball.  Don't work the dough too much - it will make your scones tough!! Separate dough into three sections.  Take one section at a time and pat out onto a lightly floured surface.  Pat the dough into a 1 inch thick circle.  Cut circle in half with a knife/pizza cutter/dough divider and then cut half circles into triangular pieces. Place on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 7-8 minutes, or until light brown. Place on wire rack to cool.

4. To make the spice glaze, mix the powdered sugar and milk together until smooth. Add the pumpkin pie spice and combine.  When scones are cool, use a brush to spread glaze over the top of each scone.

the heart wants

This picture has become my answer of choice for many questions.  For instance, "Why did I eat a Hershey Bar today after a very nutritious breakfast of left-over pizza? The answer: The stomach heart wants what the stomach heart wants.

After pondering over this bit of wisdom, I started to get some frightening (or brilliant?) ideas.  Example:  My heart needs exercise...but is that what it wants?  Or: My heart probably needs a low-fat, healthy diet...but I can guarantee you that is definitely NOT what it wants.  

Need and Want.  Two four-letter words.  Two very different meanings.  As I get older, the lines between needing and wanting have become much less blurry.  But actually acknowledging that I only want those new teal pastel pumps and not that I literally have no other shoes to wear unless I bought the teal pastel pumps is where the lines start to blur.

I can easily name five things that I want right now that I don't need.  Or I can remember a moment when I wanted something so bad that all I could think about was that slice of cake/that dress/that running gear until I thought I was going to go crazy without it.  And then a day passed.  Two days passed.  I forgot all about the cake/dress/running gear.  Because it was a want.  Not a need. 

Although my heart (and head) has had its fair share of wants, the things that really feed it and make it grow are the needs - the things that are a little more challenging to obtain.  My heart needs love.  My heart needs patience.  My heart needs thoughtfulness.  My heart needs comfort.  My heart needs laughter.

What can I say?  The heart needs what the heart needs.