A different kind of bang

Since the move I’ve taken more of a ‘why not?’ outlook on life with trying new things. I think to myself how can it hurt? This is why I tried handgun shooting with my husband, something I could never see myself doing. I tried it and it wasn’t for me or my husband. Which is why when we recently went skeet shooting I was a little apprehensive and maybe a tid bit scared.

The sound of multiple shot guns going off for the first time in my life combined with the empty shells that flew at you from all sides was like stimulus overload. Holding a gun didn’t feel right, trying to figure out how to shoot it without hurting myself was a lot more complicated than I thought.

We went to a skeet shooting range seeming to be abandoned except for a man and his son. The shotgun was much bigger, heavier, with huge bullet shells. I put in my ear plugs expecting the noise to be just as loud as the indoor handgun shooting range but it wasn’t. The sounds of shots being fired echoed outside with the skeet shooting and didn’t put my nerves on edge as much. Of course, my husband went first and I got to control the clay pigeons coming out of the brick house.

It seemed simple enough to arm, and even simple enough to put the safety on. I’m guessing my husband was prepared for me not to want to shoot but I did. He loaded up the gun for me, and I shouted out pull! He’d ask me high or low, which basically meant left or right, but I said whatever way because I wasn’t going to hit those fast moving clay pigeons. I started to really get into it and didn’t even mind the kick back of the gun hitting my shoulder.

I loved trying to hit the flying targets and immediately got how to put the safety on even with no bullets left. It was just such a difference between my first time with handgun shooting indoors and outdoor skeet shooting. The rifle is definitely a powerful weapon but it was really a great experience for me and my husband and I’m glad I gave it a try.

I hope that we can find more new things to try out and enjoy. I will be doing my very first byob painting class this weekend and I’m excited about that too. There’s so much to experience in life and the only thing that can hold me back is myself, so I definitely say bring it on and try it out.

Cookaholic

I don’t know if it’s common to get as excited about cooking food as I can get with cooking my husband dinner. My guess is that it might have to do with the fact that I was deprived of cooking for all of my life. There was also that terrible fear of messing up and giving myself food poisoning with raw meats.

I have decided to name myself a Cookaholic because of how much I’ve been cooking combined with my excitement for not killing myself or my husband.

The day before I did something that I totally in a million years thought I would ever do because I thought I had to throw it up in the air like you see in the movies and that just wouldn’t work. I’d toss it up in the air only to have it be stuck on the ceiling or stuck in my hair when gravity would take over and bring it back down.

What is this mystery meal I’m taking about with throwing it, tossing it, and spinning it with the agility I know I don’t have in the kitchen? Why, I am taking about making homemade pizza. It wasn’t exactly from scratch because I bought the dough but I am still giving myself brownie points because I did not have a clue what I was doing!

I have always either gone to a restaurant, ordered in, or bought a frozen pizza. I never even imagined making it myself, it just came to me when this lady was doing a food demo with the pizza dough and ingredients. With my husbands encouragement that I might be able to do it myself I bought the pizza dough, sauce, cheese, and pepperoni slices with a silent wish that I wouldn’t burn it to oblivion. The cost of everything was even cheaper than getting a frozen pizza and much, much cheaper than getting it delivered for sure.

I used a type of cookie sheet, let the dough rest, and then started to play with it. Pizza dough has one of the strangest textures that is even more pronounced when you are stretching and pulling it. I wondered if I was doing it right, slapped on some sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, and shoved it in the oven. I stood with my head inches from the oven as I watched for it to be ready and timed it on my stop watch to keep track of the time.

What was the result? Did I fail my culinary challenge? Why, believe it or not, I so passed it! That homemade pizza was amazing and I got enough dough to do it all over again when my husband is out-of-town. Hopefully the second time will be just as successful and it wasn’t just a fluke.

Fast Food Kid

My mother never really cooked when I was growing up, mainly when I was like 4-5 years old I remember having a few home-cooked meals. We had an asparagus patch right outside our door in our own garden, and berry bushes that you could pick and eat yourself. We had an acre or more of land and I remember mainly just playing in my sandbox instead of exploring too far away. Even back then I knew I was a picky eater and refused pretty much everything.

I mainly ate grilled cheese, hot dogs, chicken breasts, anything without veggies or fruit. I even remember refusing to eat cheese ravioli and how I couldn’t stand the slippery texture of it as a little girl. Making a stand at the dinner table that I just wasn’t going to eat it.

My grandmother and I got into many fights about my finickiness as a kid. If I ever stayed over at her house, which was only a few times, she would try to force feed me the food and I’d just stubbornly keep my mouth shut. She told me that her daughter was just as picky as me, so maybe my grandmother was trying to relive the dinner fights they used to have. She kept on saying how she’d break me of my finickiness just like she did with her daughter.

My grandmother wouldn’t allow me to leave the table until I ate everything … which, hours later, I’d still be sitting there. I was a quiet kid, but extremely stubborn, with a vivid imagination so even when my grandmother tried to ‘punish’ me by keeping me at the table until very late at night, it didn’t bother me at all. I was making up stories in my head and chilling out letting the food chill down even more.

Not loving it so much now...

Obviously, I say this to state I was a damn picky kid. So, when we moved away from the one big house and into another, and as I got older, I mainly ate fast food. My mother stopped cooking because she was too busy, many times she’d leave me home alone in the afternoon until late evening because of her job, and of course my father was working. I had many, many times where I ate McDonald’s for dinner. Or, any other kind of fast food, it was definitely very common.

When I was homeschooled through mainly high school this diet definitely wasn’t the best. I don’t think I knew how to eat healthy, I didn’t have any concept of it. My mom doesn’t really eat any vegetables, fruits, so we never had any of them in the house. And, of course, I was still very picky so I’d probably keep my hands off them. My brother and I both ate the same so he wasn’t exactly the most careful with what he ate either. But, the problem was he was not as picky at eating than I was, so he’d make fun of me constantly for what I did or didn’t eat.

My whole family made fun of me when I ate. How I ate, how I picked the things I didn’t like out of the food that was given to me, how I refused to try new things. With them making fun of me, and my brother and I constantly fighting about this, it made me even more stubborn to stay in my ways. I’d have a fight almost every night and would be teased relentlessly about it. Of course, this gave me a bit of a food complex that is still with me today.

I smile now-a-days going with my brother to the healthy food market for his groceries and watching him throw organic milk and everything healthy in his cart. I smile because he used to eat pretty unhealthy and didn’t care. Even though he was never as picky as me, he still was never being careful until recently. I smile because now I’m getting my groceries from a healthy food place too. I’m still very finicky about what I eat, but I’m more willing to try new things.

I’m more willing to try fruits when before I’d basically just run from them or toss them back at you if you made an attempt to get me to try it. I definitely don’t go to a fast food place every day, I’m cooking food at home, and trying my best to watch what I’m eating.

So, I’ve grown out of a fast food kid and into hopefully a healthier adult.