Love and Sacrifice

As a mother, I am doing what I can to instill proper values on my children. I do my darnedest to make sure they are always showing respect, mannerly, honest and always, always full of love and compassion for those around them. With toddlers, it’s more just getting them familiar with how the rest of their life under my authority will go.

As any mother or father would, I want to see my children succeed. I never want to see them struggle, but I want them to know what it’s like. I want them to know that in order to get what they want, they have to work  and work hard for all their desires. And by working they can achieve anything. I don’t want them to feel privileged or entitled. Not that they ever could since we don’t have much and surely don’t come from a family of riches but if they ever seen the day that they established a lavish lifestyle for themselves, I want them to remember their roots and how they got to be where they soon will stand.

Being someone who has grown up in a life of struggle, from a young age living with my parents to trying to find our own place in life as adults, I’ve learned that these endeavors are exactly what I need to stay grounded and humble.

When I was younger, I thought the world was unfair and in many cases it seemed to be. My family, with my stay-at-home mom and stepdad who worked hard at all his jobs, could still hardly afford food. The bills didn’t stop coming just because we were broke and that left us with no choice but to accept food benefits, however we never abused them as there are many who do today. My brothers and I weren’t able to sign up for the sports we wished to play and going out to eat was never an option. It felt unfair that I couldn’t have a normal life. I couldn’t go to the mall buy all the “fancy” new clothes that all the cool kids were wearing. Going out with friends was rare as we never had enough money for me to spend. It was all unfair. I never understood how others seemed to have it so easy and could always afford nice things.

It wasn’t until my first job as a gas station clerk that I truly understood what being an adult is all about. It may not have been the most strenuous of occupations and most definitely not a permanent career choice, but it opened my eyes to many things. I put in many hours, taking any overtime I could get. I helped maintain a friendly atmosphere and bonded with all of my regular customers. Loved each of them like family and still continue friendships with them outside of Shell. I helped manage the appearance of the store and cleaned undesirable things that would make you gag at the sight of, among other responsibilities of the job.

Working at Shell taught me punctuality, responsibility, initiative and how to be a team player. Then came motherhood. While I was still working up until the birth of my second child, I still had to balance a work life with parenting. That in itself was a struggle. I had to learn sacrifice. I sacrificed my precious and valuable time with my girls that I can never get back, all to ensure they had what they needed and we could afford our own roof over our head. Even with both, my husband and I working, we still couldn’t afford a middle class life. We thought we were well on our way up to being “comfortable” since my husband had a new job that he loved and was quickly climbing the ladder earning raises until one day something unfortunate happened and he lost his job. All after I had already quit mine to take care of my girls while he worked.

At times, I still felt moments of resentment toward the rest of the world but I didn’t let it get to me. I had to learn that things happen, even to the best of people. I learned to live with it and instead of wallowing in the unfairness of life. I learned to make it better in the best ways I could- from baking and selling my own baked goods, painting and selling my paintings to doing photography all on the side. When I started doing that and no longer passed blame on others, I felt myself drifting into a happier, less bitter Samantha. A self that I could live with. One that pushed me to want to do better because I have little eyes staring up at me and watching my every move. All things you want for yourself become meaningless to what you want for your children.

My girls were my inspiration to finally stop with procrastination and get my butt in college. Even if I don’t get far with my newly acquired degree, at least they got to see me succeed. They got to watch me spend many late nights doing homework, sacrificing our playtime. They watched me come in the door super tired from putting in a long day in the kitchens, going straight to work at home to try and keep the house up and then back to cooking so that they and my husband have full bellies. As hard as it gets, I try to keep in mind that my sacrifices and all of my husbands will be well worth it all the in the future.

I try so hard to be a good role model for them in hopes they will never see me fail and if they do, I want them to see me getting back up and pushing forward no matter how great my obstacle. For me, that means never letting them see me break down and cry. For me, that means keeping my head up and for me, that means always being strong- if not for myself, then for them.

If we ever want our children to succeed we need to show them the way. We have to show them love and kindness. My days of parenting are nowhere near finished and I still have lots to learn. I know that I will make plenty of mistakes along the way but in those mistakes I will learn at what I need to do to be a better mom and role model. I can only hope that as they are observing my actions, that they too will learn as I did as a kid.

“It’s not what you do for your children, but what you have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings”- Ann Landers

 

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Up to Speed

My golly goodness- it has been way too long since I last posted. I feel like I’ve left you all in the dark these last few months. True be told, I kinda did. So… for those of you who aren’t in my family or are following me on facebook, I dropped some major news about three months ago… Are you ready?

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Yep. Preggers. My little family is growing by two more little feet and would you believe it’s another little lady? Three girls, well four counting myself, living under one roof. My poor husband! Outnumbered. Even our little Yorkie, Cinder, is a girl. Deep inside I can’t help but laugh at his situation. Does that make me a bad wife? Nah. Those girls are quick to have him wrapped around their fingers anyway so I don’t think he minds too much. 😉

You’re probably wondering why being pregnant has kept me from writing. Well, let’s just say these past couple months have been no walk in the park. Who ever came up with the term “Morning Sickness” has lied. It should be more like “All day sickness” or “never-going-to-enjoy-food-again sickness”. Let’s not even get started on the insomnia, Braxton hicks, and non-stop bathroom breaks along with MANY other conditions that take place in the baby baking.

Pregnancy- the only happy reason for feeling like crap.

With all that being said, imagine trying to write a blog about food when you can hardly stomach the smell of or look at anything consumable. Not fun. I’ve only just managed to start finding relief. Now that I’m almost halfway through my second trimester, I can somewhat start cooking again. Yay me!

Tums and grilled food have been my life saver when it came to finding foods that I could eat without later having to hug my toilet like we’re the best of friends (sorry, bad memories). And good thing too because I LOVE anything pulled off a charcoal grill. The smokey aroma that surrounds me every time I lift the lid just screams summer time and it’s the perfect way to end an evening with my family. These last few weeks I’ve been getting pretty creative and putting my culinary skills and advice from the grill master himself, my Grandpa Gene, to use. Ribs. Chicken. Grilled corn on the cob. Brussel sprouts. You name it, I made it. My little 17 inch charcoal grill has served me well.

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Caribbean Jerk seasoned whole grilled chicken-  Bomb dot com right there!

Oh, and did I forget to mention that I finally graduated from ACTC’s Culinary Program in May? No? Well, that’s right, I am now a college graduate! Cue the clumsy, sad excuse for a victory dance!

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Yes, the short girl in the middle is in fact, me. 🙂

Not only did I graduate but my sassy little preschooler did too and now I have to prepare myself for her 5th birthday and get her ready for kindergarten. Excuse me while I go cry. Is it too early to blame it on the hormones?

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#ProudMomma

I hope I brought you up to speed on my crazy life and hope you continue to follow me on my journey of being a mother of three. Yes, there will probably be lots of posts about my journey.

Please continue to keep an eye out for new culinary creations (when I get the chance). I may not have to opportunity to post weekly, but I will do my best to post more consistently and more often.

Now, enough about me… How have you all been? Anyone else have some new and exciting news to share? I’d love to hear all about it in the comments.

Muah! ❤

Ol’Glorious Naptime

Who’s ready to pull their hair out? This girl! Terrible twos have struck in my house and I’ve been dealing with a double dose of attitude for about three years now. I don’t even know why it’s called terrible twos. It should be more like -Terrible One and forever. Both of my girls, who are two and four, contracted it when they started walking and I don’t think they ever got over it. Just my luck. The sad thing is, I thought I didn’t have to deal with attitude problems until the girls hit their bratty, teenage years. Boy was I wrong. Don’t even get me started on the potty training.

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See the sass??

I blame all of my parenting endeavors on my mother. You know that thing your momma used to say that we thought she was insane for even bring up? You know what I’m talking about. We’ve all heard it, “I hope your kids turn out 10 times worse than you!”

Sound familiar? Yea. I heard it a thousand times but I never once thought I would ever see the day where I actually sympathize with her. I’ve been foredoomed (Thanks Mom!)!  The Hell we must have put her through must have been enough to send her over the edge to make say such mean words.

“Get that out of your mouth!”; “Don’t kick the dog!”; “Pick up your toys!” “Eat your-Halynn, DO NOT THRO- Dang it!”. I swear I feel like a broken record as much as I have to repeat myself in this house. Can anyone else relate? Surely I’m not the only one who deals with this craziness.

My favorite part of the day used to be nap time, ol’glorious naptime. Let me tell you a little about the most wonderful part of my day. I’ll start by saying- it wasn’t for me. I would be lucky if my body let me fall asleep at a decent bedtime, let alone take a nap. It’s the only time in my day that I was able to catch up on much needed “me” time.

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Crappy Ipad image but look how sweet she is when she naps!

Like any mother who waits patiently for their kids heads to hit the pillow, those 30 or 40 minutes I had to myself allowed me to breathe and catch my thoughts. I was able to finally wash those dishes that have been in the sink for three days or to restart the wet laundry that’s been sitting for who knows how long. I loved taking advantage of the free time given to reassess myself before hitting a new level of “Crazy Mom Status”.

When the girls would wake, all of us in our good moods, we would do fun things together whether it was watching a movie, coloring, reading or baking. Those are the things I looked forward to after each nap. Little did I know those days were short lived. The naps ceased and there went my sweet, temporary sanity.

A child without a nap is just blasphemy. When my children skip their naps it means ear splitting tantrums and breaking up sibling rivalry. It means listening to Peppa Pig’s stupid snort on repeat ( I despise that cartoon) or Adele’s Hello blaring in the background. It means cleaning the fourth cup of spilled juice that day. No naps for me, means hearing your name 50 times in a two minute time span, answering, and hearing your name some more for the same exact question you just answered. It means floor stomping, couch jumping mouthy kids who refuse to eat anything with any nutritional value unless they find it on the floor from last night’s dinner.

Days like these, I welcome bedtime. I long for those moments when you hear the last big thud from the bedroom after the girls have finally worn themselves down from jumping on their beds. I await the silence that fills the house and the chance to finally sit down with my husband and talk about the boring highlights of being an adult. When my husband and I can actually sit down, our hardest decisions are no longer “should we let her eat that?” or “You can either take on bath-time or Crappy Diaper duty and I’ll get the other”. It’s now, “are you feeling Bates Motel or Dexter?” and “Water or wine?” (Decisions. Decisions.)

I love my kids and I would do anything in the world for them but I have GOT to have my quiet time, too. We mothers (and fathers) do so much for our youngin’s that we deserve that every now and then, right?  I gave birth to them. I’ve wiped snotty noses with my pretty, new shirts because I didn’t have anything else on hand. I’ve been pooped on, peed on, spit on and even colored on. I am a pro at speaking the the language of Toddler- chink shoes (thank you), cutchies (covers), and  pihtah bihtah (peanut butter) on a shoon (spoon). No monster is too big and no boo-boo too small for Momma to tackle.

So when your kids realize how important naps are to you and make the day more interesting by refusing to take them, how do in the world do we handle these situations? My answer? Lots of patience! And I mean LOTS of patience (and plenty of coffee, if you’re into that).

Since nap-time is no longer an option (unless for some crazy minute my kids are lullaby-ed  by songs on Pooh and happen to fall over asleep) I’ve learned to take these things with a grain of salt and to sit back and just let it be. They are only young once and as crazy as today may seem, tomorrow is not promised and one day these little ladies will no longer need me.It will be the other way around, me needing them. For my ladies, I put my sanity aside to be the best parent I can be.

Whether I am ‘Strict Momma’ or ‘Cool Momma’, they can guarantee I will be what they need at that given moment (until they understand what it means to abide by the rules My husband and I have set up, they are getting pretty familiar with Strict Momma 😉 ).

-Side note… The movie, Home, gives me the feels!

Are you a parent who can relate? I know I’m not the only one! I’d love to hear some of your stories.

Naptime

I hate you but I love you

 

 

It sounds contradictory to confess one’s hate and love for another but that’s exactly what I’m doing. No! I do not hate my husband (well, not always). Mainly just the quirky, little things he does to constantly annoy me (all of which he admits to doing). That man literally drives me insane on a daily basis and I can’t help but to still love him at the end of the day. Isn’t that how marriage is supposed work? Despite my annoyance, he is the poster boy for imperfectly perfect husbands. A couple days ago, I was reminded of just how lucky I am to have found myself such a man.

For the past month and a half I have been struggling to gain control over my kids. Fighting, screaming, mess after mess, attitudes and now the stress of potty training my two year old has got me pulling my hair out; Add all of that to the homework I’ve got piling up and my lack of transportation (crazy mom status hits a new meaning). I feel like I have mastered the art of talking to walls and I can honestly say I get more of out them then my own children. Sometime’s I feel like giving up. It’s those moments that make hiding out in my bedroom, buried under a blanket fort with a glass of Moscato and my favorite tunes blaring loudly in my ears, hard to pass up. Trust me, the thought’s crossed my mind a time or two.

It was Tuesday that I really found a new appreciation for my husband. With Rasputia (my jeep) down, I’ve had no way to school so he switched his schedule to let me take the car while he stayed home with the girls. He made no mention of his plans for the day. Leaving the house looking disastrous, I came home to a spotless living room and kitchen and the kids sitting quietly on the couch with sweet smiles stretched across their faces (knowing they had just made Mommy happy) watching their daddy play the Xbox.  My heart literally melted at the sight of a clean floor.

You wouldn’t believe how the little things can turn a person’s world upside down. Heck, you wouldn’t believe how it’s the little things that make a crazy Momma a little less insane. To me, it’s little things- like a clean room that I didn’t have to scream at top of my lungs just to get movement from my sassy little ladies- that bring the most joy to my soul. That Tuesday, my husband’s spontaneity showed me just how much he cares for me and that he hears my crying pleas.

As if spending hours cleaning (yes, at my house to clean just two rooms it literally takes hours) wasn’t enough, he even agreed to cook for me. He told me the day before about his plan to cook me a dinner,  but you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to get him to stick to his plan. He begged me to take over and cook (after already spending a work day at school on my feet in the kitchen). The excuses he threw to sway my descision, “I can’t cook”; “I don’t even know what to cook”; and my favorite… “But we don’t have anything in there to make” after just going to the grocery store two days prior. His confidence was lacking.

I wasn’t having it. I was sticking to my guns. I wanted that homecooked meal I was promised and I was getting it! Plus, I was curious to see what he threw at me. Sure, he’s cooked me dinner before, always chili because it’s his go-to that he knew how to make (and it’s delicious), but I wanted to see what else he can do. “Mase, you got this. Do what I do when I can’t think of what to make. Find a cookbook and if that doesn’t scream out to you, search Pinterest!”

With a little huff and puff, he finally marched his happy butt in the kitchen and threw down- Mase style! He made us an awesome Creamy Cajun Pasta! I wasn’t the least bit shocked he produced something so delicious, I knew he had it in him the whole time. Besides, anyone can follow a recipe. 😉

Sometimes I feel like I forget to tell him just how much I appreciate him, which is the whole point of this post. While I am sure it’s his daily intent to drive me absolutely berserk to the point that I hate him (if you are a married person, you would be lying to yourself to say that you’ve never hated your spouse at one point in your marriage), he’s someone I can count on at the end of the day to continually love me through all of my meanness.

Marriage is hard. Like- really, REALLY hard. Maintaining a happy relationship throughout the years requires a lot of love and patience and a mix of emotions and nuttiness. Mase and I learn this everyday. We are not your perfect couple. We don’t kiss in public (if we have time to do that), We don’t hang all over each other. We make each other mad. We make each other kooky. And I would even go as far as to say we’ve made each other cry but we also make each other laugh and smile and even fall back in love with one another. At the end of the day, we are back in each other’s arms going over what the day has been for us and how we can make tomorrow better. We laugh at the funny things Hadleigh said or how Halynn reminds us of his Granny Dean by the way she throws her hands behind her back as she paces the living room. We reconnect and build on the struggles that have brought us dark times.

With that being said, my imperfectly perfect husband is perfect enough for me. Mason, as if you didn’t know this already…. I hate you but I love you! Mwah!

a housewife confession

Thanks For a Great Year

Alas, it’s that time again. We are three days away from saying goodbye to 2015 and I feel this year has went so fast. Didn’t it just start like three days ago? No? Ok, maybe not but it does feel that way. 

Before ringing in the new year, I want to end 2015 with a thank you to all my clients that I gained in my first year of photography. You all have, legit, made it worthwhile and super enjoyable. Next to culinary, I have found love in something that I can see myself doing in all my life.

 Since getting my camera as a gift from my husband last January, it’s been one heck of an new adventure. So much I had to learn; between figuring out my camera and learning how to properly edit images to scoping out the perfect location. From beginning to end I would spend countless hours thinking up posing ideas, finding a location, setting up whatever props were needed (if any) and after the session was over, I would stay up into the next morning editing.  As with any photographer, a lot of love and time went in to each session.

From family sessions to Seniors, each client brought their own personality to their session. I couldn’t count how many times I left with my “abs” (ha, yea we’ll call them that) hurting from laughing so hard. Because of my clients, I was able to grow so much in the past few months and I hope to grow even more in 2016. 

So, to all you awesome people, who have given me the opportunity to photograph you,

Thank you and have a Happy New Year!

 

Still Not Offended

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were talking about his job. While he may not enjoy the job or better yet, the expectations of the job, he is particularly fond of all of the people he works with. I’ve never seen him light up the way he does when he talks about the friends he’s made since he started. He brought up that one of the ladies he works with has taken an interest in my blog and how it’s “The Hungary Pollock“. It’s my understanding that there is another lady that works with him who is also Polish. As Mason and his friend were conversing about my blog, the other lady took offense to my blog name to which he replied, “Um my wife is Polish and she’s Hungarian. Hint the name The Hungary Pollock!?” and she turned away. It’s weighed heavily on my mind since our little trip to the store when he revealed all of this. I’m sure the girl didn’t mean anything by expressing how she felt. After all, we are entitled to our opinions, right? But it occurred to me that there may be other’s who aren’t fond of my choice of words used to name my blog. So, here is me, explaining the name behind my blog.

It’s no secret that I have “Pollock” as the title of my name, but why would anyone think it is “offensive”? Growing up in a politically correct world, it seems like people take offense to anything these days. If you’re not a Pole (person of polish origin or decent), most likely you wouldn’t understand. A Pollock (Polak; Polack; Pollack- I’ve seen it spelled many ways, including Pollock) is meant to be offensive to a polish person. The term was first used in 19th century as a non-offensive way to describe the Poles. Later down the line the tables have turned and it was used as a way to reflect the Pole’s intelligence. Poles became the butt of many jokes, so maybe that’s why some take offense?

If you’re a fan of my blog, heck… if you’re around me enough, you would know I am really proud of my heritage as everyone should be. I’ve let it be known from the beginning of The Hungary Pollock that I am of Hungarian and Polish decent. The Hungarian side is from my mother’s and the Polish is from my father’s side. While my mother was proud to be Hungarian and she let us know, it was when visiting my dad that I would be “forced” (and I use that lightly- I may have secretly enjoyed it) to appreciate the festive sounds of polka blaring in the kitchen as he bobbed his body up and down to the rhythm while doing what he loves-cooking (would you imagine that?).The smell of tomato sauce that smothers the Golabki (cabbage rolls) weaved its way from room to room in my grandma’s house. I can remember him hanging the Polish flag from my grandmother’s porch for all to see. I haven’t been to his new place, but I can imagine that same flag hanging tightly from his new porch. Can you say, “Polish Proud!”?

Lorain, Ohio, the town I first lived in and where all of my family resides, is very ethnically diverse. In fact, Lorain has been recognized as one of Ohio’s most ethnically diverse regions.I mean, they host an International Festival with people of all ethnic backgrounds coming together to offer their foods and traditions to the public. In fact,  two of my dad’s girlfriend’s nieces won the Hungarian queen for the International pageant. Sometimes, I wish I could say that I grew up in this community that takes pride in their ethnic background but I finished growing up in a little town in the Appalachians, where less people take an interest in their background and more of an interest in how country they can be. This isn’t a knock toward anyone, just stating that I’ve been on both sides of the fence and these are my experiences.

So how does where I lived pertain to the offensiveness of the term “Pollock”? Well, because it’s the people who surrounded me that made me who I am. I grew up visiting my dad during my summer breaks and being around my Polish grandma who, along with her siblings, is the true Pole of the family. I often heard the term “pollock” being thrown around a lot and it was never offensively. The most I’ve ever heard it being used for was to say he or she was polish. Shoot, I’ve been described as a pollock by many . I never once thought my intelligence was being challenged… but then again,  I have never been one to take offense to much. Most of the time, if something bothers me, I grit my teeth and move on. It wasn’t until recently that I heard of “Pollock” being derogatory slur. Listen, guys, here is my thought on the matter and I won’t say too much more, “Life is too short to worry about the little things!” A word is what you make it. You do you, and I will do me. While I won’t just walk up to someone and call them a “Pollock”, I also won’t stop myself from using the term for my own enjoyment. The Hungary Pollock was meant to be witty and fun, in hopes of creating a brand that others will remember when they think of me or my cooking. It’s been my dream to have my own cooking show, food truck or restaurant. Wonder what it’s name would be? That’s day gone right! The Hungary Pollock!

So, I am sorry if my blog’s name, The Hungary Pollock, was offensive to you but am I a bad person to say that I don’t really care? (wow, that sounded harsh and not exactly what I’m trying to say). I don’t have time to care. (Better?) Ok, let me explain  what I mean. I’m polish and the name means nothing to me other than I’m polish and that’s who I am! I don’t have time to care about what bothers you or the person next to you. I have my own life that I live and I have children to raise. I won’t get worked up with the rest of the world when someone says something I don’t agree on. The most I can do is carry on and promise to not teach my kids to get worked up over other people’s opinions and “harsh” words.

Sorry for the long post, but I felt compelled to defend the name behind my blog. Much love to all! 

Starting My Break Off Right

Christmas is nearly here and I am finally on a much needed break from all that schooling I’ve whined and complained about the past few months. No more long hours writing lengthy essays for English 101 and best of all, no more wasted valuable time watching videos and doing simulations in MyIT Lab for DLC 100. I despised my computer class. Loved the teacher as a person, but the class made me feel like I was computer illiterate. All of my classmates were reluctant when we finished our final and didn’t have to step foot in the classroom again.

I figure I better start my break off right with some posts throughout the next month. Since it began, I’ve already started catching up on editing pictures of my daughters that I was reluctant to take in October (I know, I’m a procrastinator). I’ll be posting a blog in the next few days about that adventure. Between editing and parenting, I’ve been scouring cookbooks, Pinterest and racking through my pantry shelf for odd ball ingredients to put together and “hopefully” pull off a dish or two that might actually “Wow!” some foodies out there. I don’t do a whole lot of recipe developing, mainly because I lack the time and convince myself I’m not creative enough to pull it off. I mean, there are tons of amazing chefs out there who have probably put together every flavor combination you can think of. How is little ol’me supposed to top that? How am I supposed to come up with something that hasn’t already been made? If it’s edible, you can bet your hind-end someone has made it. See what I mean? I lack confidence in that area.

That’s when I started deliberating, “I need to break away from that kind of thinking and just go for it.” I’ve browsed Pinterest and google for ways to dabble in recipe development. Let me tell you, this isn’t a broad subject. However, what I did find in a few articles is that I need to just “try, try, and try”. Experimenting with a recipe that you put together is the only way you are going to get anywhere. With that thinking in mind, while I am on this short break,  I am making it my goal to come up with at least three new, tested and delicious recipes that are completely mine to share with all of you!

Why in the world did I just make a post about this random thought? I honestly don’t know. It could be because of the Christmas gifts I received from my awesome classmates. 😉12347876_1228758050484493_1905622119368435196_n.jpg

I am a big Pioneer Woman fan. Something about her show makes me relate to her. It might be her down to earth personality or the country feel she brings to the kitchen, maybe that she started her career with blogging now holds a post on foodnetwork (something, I’ve only dreamed of doing). My classmates know it, too. Thanks to Ruth, I was gifted with some  The Pioneer Woman ramekins (oh the possibilities- creme bruleé, cheese and chocolate souffles. See?) and a creamer cow from her daughter (ain’t it cute?). Drake gifted three different sized portion scoops (otherwise known as ice-cream scoops) that will be coming in handy for my drop cookies my girls and I will be making for Christmas. And Basil got each of us a recipe binder for our most beloved recipes. I was super stoked to be taking home all of these.These gifts meant the world to me and they are something all foodies can appreciate. So yea,  I guess that’s where the inspiration for this post came from. Think of this post as a break down of the next few weeks to come. I have this dying urge to put these apparatus’ to good use and look forward to sharing my kitchen “wins” with all of you.

So, enough about my boring life and how I intend to throw some of this and a little that in a bowl and expect a culinary masterpiece straight out of the oven. Be on the look out for my kitchen “wins”… or “fails”. Do you like making your own dishes? What are some fun ways you’ve dressed up dinner or a dessert? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

Remember to like, share and follow The Hungary Pollock for more recipes, photography and updates.

Lakeview Sunset

This semester I am taking English 101. One of our first assignments was to think of our favorite place to be. We were given instructions to write about it, while being a detailed as we can. I chose to write about Lakeview beach in Lorain, Ohio. Although I rarely get the opportunity to travel that far north and visit family, when I do get up there- I make it a point to make a stop at the beach during the sunset (preferably with a cherry dipped cone from the K-cream Korner in my hand).

Here is my Sensory Detailed Creative writing:

Lakeview Sunset

By: Samantha Holbrook

English 101-320

Along the shores of Lake Erie, crowning the city of Lorain, lies the beautiful Lakeview Beach. The place I go to distance myself from my troubles; watching them as they wash away with each crashing wave. I plop my bottom softly in the pillowy ground, burying my toes below the surface of the gritty sand. Evidence of the day’s torrid heat still lingers within.

My eyes become fixed on the silhouette of a crane perched gracefully upon the algae covered rock wall-divide. There’s something majestic in his stance as he dare make a move. Beyond him, I become dazed; observing the never ending body of water glistening beneath the amber and tangerine filled horizon, as if to dance to the song of the heavens’.

Another rush of waves spill violently onto the shore, clamoring against the empty pier to the side of me. My thoughts start to flee from my wondering mind, losing myself in the peace I have found. My quietude is soon interrupted by the sweet sounds of children snickering and splashing close by, and the humming of the boat’s motors as they float away. I can hear the screeching of seagulls calling in the distance; circling around Lorain’s very own lighthouse.

A sort of fishiness fills the mock-sea air, so strong you can almost taste it. The sky, no longer the brilliant hues of red and orange that it once was, is now pink and deep purple. I stand and begin walking along the beach side, all matters of lake life float up upon the sugar sand. The seaweed catches between my toes and the soles of my feet get an uncomfortable massage from the millions of broken shells beneath me. I take a second to scavenge the shoreline for sea glass and periwinkle shells before readying myself to visit the fountain, located atop the hill from which I came.

I climb the partially sandy hill with patches of overgrown grass, finally making it over to the fountain. Surrounded by couples and small children with their parents, making one last stop before leaving for the night. The water amazes everyone with its changing spouts and the varying colors. A gentle mist grazes my face and creates a silver veil of droplets on my long, brown hair. I smile and toss in a penny for good luck.

Before departing from my happy place, I turn and face the open waters one last time.  What’s left of the golden orb disappeared behind the frail, wispy clouds. A soft glow of the lighthouse’s light beams into the night sky. I savor in the moment and remind myself how Lorain, Ohio will always hold a piece of my heart.

I hope you enjoyed a little of my creative writing! Thanks for reading!

Where is your favorite place be when you need to get in touch with your inner peace? Tell me in the comments, I’d love to hear about it.

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