Inspired by Peanut Butter

I guess the rambling past writer's block worked...

I carry around a mini composition notebook.  This thing is in my wallet, purse, sweater pocket, or at least within walking distance, nearly 99% of the time.  The family (me, Hubbs, Sister, and two best friends/the pups' Uncles) all got the notebooks a couple months ago.  Sister came up with the idea.  All too often, we would come up with brilliant, earth-shattering theories, and as quickly as they came, they were gone.  This became quite an annoyance until Sister decided to do something about it.  The original plan was to carry the notepad/notebook in our back pockets (and if you didn't wear pants with pockets, well....nobody sniffed your notebook).  This would eliminate "losing thoughts" and instead, give us constant access to write down our most profound thoughts and ideas, as well as equip us with the means to keep lists, to-dos, workouts...really anything our hearts (and brains) desired. Mine has by far gotten the most use.  Uncle A and Andrew Brees (don't ask) neglect theirs like an abandoned animal; Sister is following in their footsteps, save for the occasional to-do list or reminder about school work; Hubby only keeps track of his miles in his notebook, though sometimes I make notes for him, which we haven't decided is completely legal yet.  Here is a picture of my book:  (no I can't show you the inside, because then I'd have to hunt you all down and kill you.  And I'm sure there are millions of you, and let's be honest...time is money, folks.)

A few nights ago, I filled about 4 pages of my notebook with ideas for blog posts.  I got my swag back.  (Hopefully for longer than a few weeks this time.)

This post, however, was not inspired by Hubby, the pups, politics or religion...it was inspired by peanut butter.   Note to all you fair-weather readers; BB and I are on a no-carb diet.  (Natural carbs like fruit, nuts and veggies are allowed...hence the peanut butter inspiration.)  The past two and a half weeks have had its ups and downs.  Example: BB and I were chaperones for the Girls State Powerlifting Meet in Corpus Christi this past weekend.  It was on this trip that we both realized we should have packed snacks.  It is next to impossible to find anything of any substance without carbohydrates in a gas station or convenience store.  The entire 8 hour trip, we snacked on beef jerky, sunflower seeds, and peanut butter.  Those three don't make a good combination, whether eaten separately or together.  Desperate times call for desperate measures...but, overall, we both love this new lifestyle change/experiment/diet, and it has forced us to think outside the box to fill our cravings.

We are both craving sweets.  Hubby more so than me (his set of "sweet teeth" are aching from lack of sugar).  The other night, after buckets of drool and constant mention of Oreo's and Snicker's bars, I took matters into my own blender.

I am quite the cook.  My creations may not be elaborate, and most are made in bulk to accommodate the swinging door of boys with empty bellies coming into my house, but they are most of the time pretty delicious.   So get ready, World....I'm going to share some of my favorites.  This particular creation is absolutely scrumptious, and best of all, 100% healthy and satiating.  I'd continue, but you should just whip your Kitchen Aid out and try for yourself.

Banana Peanut Butter Protein Shake
This recipe makes one shake, but I would suggest doubling or tripling it so you don't waste your time making another one after your friends/family/significant others ask for one.

• 1 banana
• 2 Tbsp. peanut butter or almond butter
• 1-2 cups of water or almond milk
• a cup of ice chips
• 1-2 scoops chocolate flavored protein powder
• Berries option (strawberries, blackberries or raspberries are recommended; to your liking)

It's pretty self-explanatory what happens next.  Slice the banana, throw the rest in, and BLEND!!!  Enjoy in your favorite glass or mug, preferably with a crazy straw so you can watch in anticipation as the chocolatey mixture makes its way up.  

A Carb-Free Me!

This happens to me every time I start blogging regularly...I get writers' block.  I think of what to blog about all the time, but nothing comes to mind.  I try to make my blogs relevant.  I mean, if I had a cute, little baby crawling around doing cute, little baby things, or if I was so inclined to adopt a theme for my blog and share my tips on cooking and crocheting and...being domesticated, I'd probably post a lot more.  But I try to only blog when I really have something to say (or type).  Then, of course, a wall goes up and I can't write a decent post to save my life.  So, the only reasonable solution for this rut, I believe, is to just get back in the habit of the act of blogging.  (Hence why I have rambled on for nearly 10 lines with nothing of real importance being said.) Thus, the randomness develops:

Ever since middle school, I have observed "fasting" or giving up a vice or bad habit during Lent.  I'm not Catholic, and to be honest, I don't vehemently practice one specific religion.  Never mind why I do it; I just do it. In the past, I have been known to give up sodas, fast food, Facebook, and cheese (that one was rather difficult).  This year, I gave up drinking.  Not just one specific family of alcohol, but alcohol in itself.  I've struggled the most with red wine, but so far, it hasn't been too terrible...just a little aggravating.  I also gave up carbohydrates.  This...has been tough.  I actually didn't start this "fast" until last Wednesday.  My two best friends (who are pretty beastly with carbs in their diets) decided on this diet when I was discussing giving up drinking.  Last week, Brady and I jumped aboard.  It's surprising what all has carbs in it; or rather, what I don't think of as a carbohydrate.  It's not just breads, pastas, and rice that I'm exempt from; it's any kind of sugars, potatoes in any form, oatmeal, protein bars, smoothies, you name it.  Goodbye eating out for the next 3 weeks.  But now that I'm done ranting, I must admit...I feel awesome.  I do get a little sleepy at odd times during the day, but it is extremely liberating knowing exactly what I'm putting into my body.  We all agreed that fruits and vegetables with natural carbohydrates in them are allowed, as well as natural peanut butter/almond butter, almond milk, and some other modified regularities.  So for every meal, BB and I have to eat raw foods straight out of *gasp* our own refrigerator.  But it feels so nice knowing that nearly everything we're eating is 100% nutritionally beneficial.  Everything we eat is fresh, because it has to be, and forget about swinging through a fast food joint to avoid cooking.  Here is an example of my menu for a day on this new "diet":

Breakfast:
one hard boiled egg
piece of turkey bacon
coffee (OK, OK....two cups)

Lunch
fresh green leaf lettuce with grilled chicken, chopped turkey bacon, cheddar cheese, and homemade salsa
string cheese

Snack
 protein shake with a handful of almonds

Dinner
Filet Mignon from our lovely, local Brookshire's
asparagus
one hard boiled egg

Dessert/Second Snack
banana with natural peanut butter
an orange

I'm not suggesting you try this diet.  It is definitely difficult, and especially for guys like my dear hubby who consumes nearly 2,500 calories a day on a regular basis (he has also run almost 200 miles so far in 2012...beat), you are definitely hungry a lot.  It takes some serious consideration, research, planning, and dedication.  But it is awesome.

OK...I feel better.  I at least remember how to type.  Now off to yoga with the hubs.  We love yoga night. :)

Saving the best for last

This post, I decided to spice things up a little.  Really let you into the mind of "Margaret Bond."  It is "Bond's Mindless Wanderings" isn't it?  Anywho, I thought I'd take a different route this post.  Instead of rambling on about life, liberty and the pursuit of happyness (you're welcome, Will Smith) I wanted to discuss something I am extremely passionate about.  Something I feel is so incredibly groundbreaking, I feel it would be a disservice not to share with the whole bunch of you.  I hope by the end of this, at least one of you (and there may indeed be just one of you) change your ways and accept into your life this theory, which I believe in so fully...

Let's start with pizza.

You may not know this about me, but I was lucky to be born without several metaphorical teeth.  Most astounding is the sweet tooth.  I lack that tooth.  In it's place, I have what I like to call a "chip" tooth; not to be mistaken with a chipped tooth.  I could down an entire bag of Dorito's in less time than it takes the biggest chocoholic to go through a bag of Lindor truffles...yes, I will take bets on that.  Another craving I was born without, is the bread craving.  I don't touch the rolls they put on the table at Texas Roadhouse (nor the cinnamon butter, because it's too sweet).  I don't particularly enjoy donuts, especially Krispy Kreme, because they're the worst of both worlds.  And I strongly believe that the smell of fresh baked bread is the best part of fresh baked bread.

That being said, I eat my pizza backward.  I start with the crust, eat alllll the way along until the crust is gone, and proceed to the bite most commonly known as "the best bite," "the tip of the iceberg," "the big kahun," "the triangle of glory."  (pick your favorite.)  I was chastised the other night for doing this. Most arguments were that the crust is the stabilizer of the pizza, and by eating it first, holding it was illogical and unnecessary.  Some threw in the argument that the previously mentioned "best bite" of pizza is the crust.  Neither of these arguments hold any merit to me.  Jimmy's is my favorite pizza place in the world.  Don't waste your money flying me to Chicago or Italy for a slice of deep dish.  Jimmy's is all I need in this world.  I have watched many people devour this delicious pizza in my home, and although those with any shred of sense agree that it's immensely gratifying, for the most part, they all do it wrong.  Everyone eats pizza by diving right in, holding the crust, and taking that first bite of pizza at the tip of the pie.  Even those who eat pizza with a fork (because Jimmy does make his pizzas a little tricky to hold) make this naive mistake.  DON'T YOU EAT THAT BITE FIRST BECAUSE IT'S DELICIOUS?! Then why not save the best for last?!

Don't think I restrict this theory to pizza.  The same goes for sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs, oh the list could go on and on.  Sandwiches for example...I eat in a circle around the middle of the sandwich, so the last bite is filled with all the goodness a sandwich entails.  Hot dogs! There is always a tiny bit at the end of a hot dog where there is no dog, only bun.  So I take the normal "first bite" and then flip that dog right around to get the empty, neglected bun out of the way, ensuring that my last bite will consist of everything that makes a hot dog delicious...bun, mustard, ketchup, and processed pig innards.  (OK, that was unnecessary, and completely contradictory of my entire post.)

All I can hope is if you don't adopt my practices, you at least respect them.  At least consider them.  Because, let's be honest, the next time you eat a piece of pizza, you'll see what I mean.  Those of you who don't eat the crust first after reading this....I'll be forced to say "I told you so" when your last bite of pizza is a crusty piece of risen yeast and salt, void of the beauty that is cheese, marinara sauce and whatever other toppings your heart desires.  And in this case, I hate saying "I told you so."

Dear Josh Hamilton..

Hi Josh,

My name is Meg Bond.  I am a 23-year-old, petite, female with no dreams or aspirations of being a professional baseball player.  But you’re my hero. 

Let me explain.  My husband has been a big fan of yours for years.  He grew up playing sports, and now coaches football at a middle school in our hometown.  He has an undeniable appreciation for athletes, which he has passed on to me throughout our relationship.  When he told me your story a few years ago, I was mesmerized.  For all the selfish, greedy, and unappreciative professional ball players out there, I was refreshingly overwhelmed to learn about your struggle with addiction, and how despite the odds, you overcame it.  I could go on and on about how I’m envious of your dedication and transparency about your love for God; about how as a wife, I’m inspired by how devoted and patient your family is; about how humble you are in your successes…but I know you’re busy and my jibber-jabber is not your first choice of “light reading.”

But know this: you’re my hero.  I live in Dallas, so I heard about your relapse. I don’t care.  It brought me nearly to tears at how brave you are to make a statement about your mistakes, and to apologize for letting down your fans and followers.  Every single person who cast judgment upon you should be more appreciative of how private their lives are.  They should count their blessings, because their secret vices and hidden demons remain locked in the closet, while yours are strewn about for everyone to see.  It’s not fair for someone as deserving and remorseful as you to be thrown into the public eye for something you’ve been fighting against for years.  I know I now think twice about my mistakes, and how glad I am that I don’t have to share them with every person I know, and even those I don’t know.  If I had the means, I would give all those people who made a negative comment about your relapse a piece of my mind.

I don’t know where your path will lead you, but I can say this:  I wish the very best for you, Josh Hamilton.  I pray for you and your family’s strength, and although I may not be the most model citizen or the most devoted Christian, I hope that my husband and I can be as solid and strong as your family is one day.  I speak for my husband and myself when I say I hope you come back to the Rangers next season.  I wish I could write the check to make you stay, but unfortunately our mediocre jobs probably wouldn’t do the trick.  Just know, if you do leave, there will be two very sad Rangers that day.  But also know that if you do go somewhere else that I will be a fan of yours for life.  No matter what adversities come your way, I will be cheering for you.  Even though your head may not follow it all the time, I know your heart is pure.  And to me, that means a whole heck of a lot more than championship rings or trophies.

Your biggest fan,

Meg Bond

Perspective: Calming the Road Rage monster

I drove my mom and I to Oklahoma when I was moving off to college.  Dad followed behind with the trailer (in hindsight, I'm not sure why we needed this, as the ancient dorm room I moved into had all the furniture nailed to the walls), but that's irrelevant.  Point is, I drove my mom and I.  Hold on to that piece of information...you'll need it later.

I am what most would call a "grandma driver."  As of yesterday, I had never had a traffic ticket in my life, and yesterday it was for an expired registration sticker, which expired a month ago.  (Be real.  Don't even get me started on how I feel about one Officer Peters in Irving, Texas.)  But for the most part, I always use my blinker, crawl at 10 mph through school zones, don't change lanes within 200 yards of an intersection, etc.  I abide by the rules, because when it comes to driving, I think they're there for a reason.  On this particular drive with Tenacious Teril (my mother), I became great friends with my cruise control.  I was cruising along at a steady pace of 75 mph for a length stretch up I-35 when some guy cruisin' for a bruisin' (yep, I said it) comes speeding up behind me right on my tail.  I could feel his fury as I maintained my speed, and after a few minutes I angrily said to my mom: "Oh my gosh, I am going 5 miles over the speed limit.  If he wants to go faster he can go around me."  Nope.  This guy wasn't causin' me to break my stride.  My mom automatically snapped back "Never be that car who is making the left lane slow.  It's for passing only.  Always." 

My momma don't have to tell me somethin' twice.  (She would probably beg to differ.)

Now this is a pretty minor life lesson in the grand scheme of things, but the point is...it stuck.  Momma was right.  She usually is.  If someone feels like driving at 90 mph on the highway, I would rather them restrict their erratic behavior to one lane.  I used to be infuriated when I saw cars closing in behind me in the left lane, and now I just move out of the way.  Moving out of the way is a win-win situation: I get them off my tail, thereby calming that road rage monster inside of me as they speed off into the night (or day) and out of my life, and they get to wherever the hell it is that's so important they feel they need try to break the sound barrier to get there.

One thing that's nice about getting older is gaining perspective.  Sometimes it's as easy as momma telling me not to be "that guy" on the highway.  Other times it takes an earth shattering fight with a best friend to realize technology is not the best means of communication all the time.  It's the most satisfying feeling in the world to realize something that's caused you anguish or distress in the past can be fixed with just a change in perspective; taking a new outlook on things and applying different logic and reason to the same old situations results in surprisingly pleasing outcomes.

On a completely, 100% separate note:  has anyone else ever noticed that the size of the average laundry basket/hamper is eerily equivalent to the size of a full load of clothes in the washer?  Your laundry basket will never betray you.  A full hamper equals an exactly full washing machine. 

Hobbies and Epiphanies.

I had an epiphany tonight.  Which was kind of like the "cherry on top" of my day.  I had a decent day at work, got my hair did and had good gossip time with my awesome stylist, and made what I think will be a masterpiece of lasagna for my dad's birthday dinner tomorrow night.  And then, after I finally got to sit on the couch, crochet, and semi-watch the Lakers v. Clippers game, I had an epiphany.

Let me preface this by saying that I for sure have the most badass husband in the world.  Pardon my language, but that's just what he is.  Sure we disagree on small things around the house like where the dogs should sleep (see previous post with pics), but overall he is my BFF. My numero uno.  My knight in shining armor. 

But Brady has a little hobby called betting.

I have been nagging at him to quit for months, but betting is his and his friend's favorite thing to do.  They talk like girls on the phone during football season (and to my recent discovery, it appears basketball season, as well)...only their topics of discussion are a tad different.  They just love betting.  And I just hate it.  It doesn't matter whether they're up or down, either.  But although I don't like it, I don't do weird ultimatums or threaten to withhold affection if hubby doesn't do things my way.  I think that is the kiss of death in a marriage, when one of the parties starts enforcing the "my way or the highway" standard.  So tonight, while crocheting, I started analyzing why I hated it...to try to give some reason to why hubby would deliberately do something he knew I didn't approve of...and that's when it hit me.  It's a hobby.  I call it that myself!  Some guys spend thousands of dollars hunting, or fishing, or collecting things, or golfing, or season tickets to the Rangers (whoo!)...need I go on?  And to balance the scales even more, some wives spend hundreds to thousands of dollars on hobbies; scrapbooking, manis and pedis, highlights, wine tasting, um, shopping?! (more specifically for overpriced, name brand shoes)...I repeat, need I go on?? So why do I care if Brady partakes in a hobby that at the end of a YEAR he may owe the "bookie" $300??  Ha. I don't care how weird it sounds, I like it when I realize I'm wrong before anyone else does. 

So bet on, Brady.  I support you.  Oh, and you're welcome for being nearly the coolest wife ever.

SUNDAY FUNDAY

Anthony and I love Sunday Funday.  The rest of the "family members" do, too...but Ant and I especially enjoy it.  It's a day of not only getting things done that you otherwise would not do (ex: today we put mine and hubby's new rug into the living room, made coffee, and watched Looney Tunes before the football game).  We relish in the calm, but always make room for party time.

This Sunday, I decided to get one big, nagging, unpleasant chore done: I washed Hailey and Comet.  The worst part is getting them into the tub...Comet may only be part lab, but he is pretty heavy for someone my size.  They took it relatively well, though, and I only got wet dog splattered in my face three times. 

I wish everyone knew my dogs.  And since that is largely impossible, I just feel bad that their awesomeness can only be shared with such a small portion of "everyone."  I told hubby today that they're not necessarily the most obedient dogs, but it's OK because they never do anything bad.  They are perfect.  Playful, snuggly, entertaining, chill dogs.  My future children have some big shoes to fill.  (No. I'm not pregnant.)   You can't tell me they're not the most adorable things you've ever seen.  I wish I could read their mind, though.  I wish I could read most people's minds, because I'm that nosey (I'm the girl who stares at another table at the restaurant and obsesses over what they're talking about) but more than people, I want to know what the heck my dogs are thinking when they give me those judging eyes.  See below: when Miles picks Comet up for a picture, his face looks like he wants to say "Are you kidding me right now? Put me back on the ground where I belong, you fool."