7 Quick Takes: Premier Edition

1. I frequently find myself with snippits of hilariousity and find that whereas they might be bloggable, they are short. So, after seeing that The Extraordinary Ordinary and Mighty Maggie both participate in "7 Quick Takes", I've decided to jump on board! And the cherry on the bloggy cake is that I've asked a TON of NON-RHETORICAL questions. Participation points will be part of your overall grade.

2. As you might have noticed in my Twitter sidebar, Conner and I had an interesting conversation last night. While playing "Sta Was, Cone Was" (Star Wars: Clone Wars) (sigh...), Conner turned to me and stated "I need my space". Oh... well.. ok, and with that I moved back a few feet. He then turned to me and repeated "I need my space.." and then he turned around, stuck out his butt and added "... I have space in my butt". Boys. Are. Weird/Gross.

3. We've switched from DirecTv to Charter. I hate it.

4. I've started our taxes and boy am I fed UP with a certain company not having my 1099 ready. It is practically the heart of our financials (my husband is a stock broker... and what better to do at work all day than play with the stock market. It's not as wonderful as it sounds... seeing as we've lost a lot this year.) Isn't it odd that my husband is a stock broker but I do the taxes?

5. Chase said "Cheeeee" last night as I took a few quick pics of the boys playing. It cracked me up to no end. His big toothy grin melts my insides.

6. In two weeks, I will be choosing a birth control method. No pills for me, they make me a special form of crazy. Can't do the shot either. So, it's between the Mirena, that other implant made of copper, or maybe the ring? I'm considering doing a series of posts on the information I've gathered about the pros and cons. Anyone interested?

7. Where do you people hang all 27 million of your family photos? I mean, I have SOOOO many and I've got frames, and our house is 2,200 square feet... but I don't want this place looking like a museum...not that hanging pics of my handsome family wouldn't make a fine museum. For reals.

Be a participant over at The Conversion Diary

Flogging Molly? *Updated

Someone on Facebook updated their status a few days back with the following: YourNameHere is enjoying some Flogging Molly.

And for some reason, without knowing how to flogg or who Molly is, I've had those two words stuck in my head since.

So, today I asked The Internets, which told me this: "Flogging Molly is a seven-piece Irish American Celtic punk band that formed in Los Angeles, California and is currently signed to SideOneDummy Records." - source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flogging_Molly. I could have kept reading the wiki article, but lets be frank, I've got A.D.D. juices spewing out my rear. (oh, that's nasty...)

I still don't know if I enjoy flogging. I could be flogging right this instant and not even know. Flogging could be my life's calling.

I might have just flogged all over the kitchen.

My husband could come home tonight, tick me off because I'm hormonal and he's being jerky...I could yell at him "FLOGG YOU". Who knows.

As for Molly... well, as of yesterday This Molly tells me she likes my blog. And I like people who like my blog. So, I could totally flogg her. I think...

**Update: Sooo... after a nice comment from a blogger buddy, who pointed out that flog means "to beat", I googled "define: flogging" and found these results:
1) to beat or whip, sometimes with a cane
2) to sell something
3) to STEAL something
4) to defeat
5) ...some nonsense about grazing and pastures....
6) a technique used to create pores in hardwood floors
and there's this:
7) to run around an engine depot without the benefit of a formal permit

So, Molly... I'd like to run around an engine depot without the benefit of a formal permit all because you read my blog. Isn't that darling?

The Family That Rocks Together

Hubsters Say The Darndest Things..

Aren't they just adorable?

"Honey, how do I even work the washing machine...?"
Right. Mrs. Born Yesterday over here doesn't know you are trying to get out of washing your nasty socks. Silly boy.

Michael told Conner that if he ate too many sweet things, he'd get a fat belly. Then today, at lunch, Conner finished a small serving of noodles that I had dished out simply for cooling purposes. I proceeded to give him more after said noodles were adequately cooled to which he disapproved.

"My tummy will get too big", he tells me.

Awwww... these early days of anorexia... aren't they just precious....

(Happy Birthday Hubster, I hearts yousa muchly!)

Product Review Pending for Toy Opening Angst Relief

In the December issue of Cookie Magazine, I noticed a plug/ad for what they refer to as a “Christmas Miracle”.

We (the parentals) have all found ourselves mere seconds from the Valium spiked Martini’s come time to unwrap and assemble the “Santa” loot or Birthday Yacht/Mansion/Schwartz on Crack Extravaganza sensible gifts when we find ourselves in some twisted 7th circle of Hell torture mechanism that is better known as The Box The Toy Comes In.

We’ve probably all had the conversation with friends and family while breaking our nails, knives and jaws-of-life getting into these things about how AB-SO-LUTELY ABSURD it is that it requires the strength of a mountain lion-grizzly bear hybrid to open a mother lovin’ choo-choo.

This “Christmas Miracle” is called OPENIT! and can be purchased at enjoyzibra.com for $13 bucks. It includes a miniature jaws-of-life wire cutter apparatus at the top, scissor blades, a thin blade for CDs and DVDs, as well as a SCREWDRIVER BUILT IN for the bolted down toy and battery compartment that you probably don't have batteries for anyways (we buy ours at SAM’S Club)… this tool seems to be a one-stop-shop to prevent mommie from boozing it up on baby’s birthday. Good call.
And I might add that’s it’s a small price with a big reward. Vodka is EXPENSIVE people.

Plus, the potential onset of Def Con 5 Mode Toddler Meltdown and sanity of your child is spared since their generation expects everything in seconds. Ugh. I’m questioning if all 5 years and under children are secret ADD-esque droid bots waiting to take us all over with their microchips in our brains that they intend on taking control from some Super Computer Com Central located at a Kindergarten near you (when the times comes, naturally). Can’t wait…

I personally haven’t tried out this genius invention, but if those nice PR people over at enjoyzibra.com want to send one or two for an Official Review, I wouldn’t complain. I’d be happy to review it AND give one away to my fellow mommies that, like me, are ready to start burning toy boxes instead of trying to kill ourselves in these mousetrap packages.

No pressure...

**Update: Zibra.com will be supplying a sample for review in April. Stay tuned!

I've been Ticketed for a Maternity Clothes Violation

I wore a MATERNITY sweater to FAMILY pictures*. Here's your sign, Amanda.

I picked out 2 brand new Polo’s for Con, and 2 brand new Polo’s for Chase along with a pair of Kenneth Cole jeans for Chase and some pretty sweet designer jeans for Conner.

Michael had his pick of 1 new Christmas shirt and several others that are nice and gently wore since he wears The Monkey Suit 5 days a week.

Oh, but me? Little old momma? The one that WASHES all those nice clothes - sorts them and folds them or hangs them up? The one that wears jeans that are 4 years old and bra-tanks EVERYDAY that I bought when I nursed Conner THREE-AND-A-HALF-FRIGGIN-YEARS-AGO, well… I have NOTHING.

Today, I marched my happy booty up to Express with a generous gift card from the MIL and a mission – to NEVER wear my maternity digs again (unless pregnant, and you all know how I feel about THAT!).

Ironically, I did aforementioned marching to the mall in nothing less than a dress I bought 5 months preggo with Chase worn over the 4-year-old jeans. It’s that bad. (Sidetracked: Do you feel insecure about shopping and looking like a dud? I feel like they are all starring at the poor little helpless fashion dud. Just embarrassing. And then the HAIR. JEEZ! It’s impossible to try on clothes and not exit looking like Elvira. I digress)

I spent 2 hours in a room FULL of options. I tried on almost EVERYTHING there! I left with leggings, several nice dressy-ish tops, the staple nice tees (for the Pre-K pickup, duh), and a NEW PAIR OF JEANS – THAT FIT!!

I was over the moon excited to finally have something to wear! That is, until they rung me up. I won’t tell you the amount, but dang… clothes are expensive! Even with a nice gift card!

Alas, it was worth it to gain a bit of “me” back. I enjoy being halfway fashionable and the only way I’ve been able to achieve such for the past 4 years meant A) Borrowing something from my MOM (how SAD is THAT!) or B) Wearing one of 2 shirts over and over and over and over (you get the point).
Yay! Fashion SANITY! HOORAY!

Now if only the family photos* were postponed till after my fashion crisis was resolved. Sigh.

*Will post by the end of this weekend. Aside from my fashion violation, they turned out well.

Selfishly Nursing

I’ve considered starting the weaning process with Chase. He’s been doing very well (better than expected) in the Mighty Transition to the Crib, sleeping from 9-1:30. After that, he wakes up and nurses for close to 45 minutes! So, being the lazy bum exhausted mother that I am, after close to an hour of being up I just pull him in bed with me. He then proceeds to wake and nurse every hour till 5:30 and then takes a “nap” till 7.

So, here’s my thinking: if he were weaned, would he have a need to wake and nurse? I’m guessing no.

What’s stopping me then? GREAT question, dear friends. I need my boobies.

Not so much NEED them as I need them to be not flat. After I weaned Conner, I promptly went from a full C/D to an A… and barely an A. As a matter of fact, I went to Victoria Secrets and was measured by a Boobie Specialist. Her EXACT quote after measuring me and informing me of my new size was “Oh darling, I’m sorry but we don’t make anything smaller than an A…” I sure hope she got a raise….

And they weren’t just itty bitty titties… but flat pieces of skin with nipples that I had to physically lift and form into a round shape for my bra. PA-THETIC and oh so depressing. Seriously.

We have vacation in late April, so the dilemma at hand involves me not wanting to look like a One-Eyed, One Horned Floppy Boobie Martini Eater in a yellow polka dot bikini. If I continue to nurse, I can maintain a suitable bra size for our vacation (around a C) and with VOLUME.

I feel selfish, yes, but I’m already fighting my arse being 2-inches lower than it SHOULD be at 24, the stretch marks on my thighs, and my distorted belly (although it’s starting to take better shape).

The benefits to Chase are additional boobie time (which gets its own post later, aren’t you THRILLED??!), the balanced nutrition of boobie milk and snuggly wuggly time with my snookie faced angel face (awwww).

So, it’s polling time! What do you guys think? Is nursing to keep my voluptuous titties too selfish or do I totally deserve to not look like grade-A poop for our vacation in April?

Day Late and a George Washington Short: Fun Facts Included!

I spent a few restless hours last night pondering our new president, and I would like to address my crazy trivia riddled brain if you guys aren’t already POOPED with the bombardment of Presidential Crap by this point. Oh, you are? Oh wells.


My first question for the evening: If the President lives in the White House, where does the VP live?
Answer: Known as the “Admiral House”, the VP resides in a 9,000+ square foot home located on the corner of 34th street and Massachusetts Ave. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t until 1974 that the VP got his (or her for future references) own digs. Prior to that? The VP lived in various temporary housing and hotels. Wouldn’t that stink?


Next, what do the actual bedrooms in the White House look like?
Answer: The President and his family are given 4 private bedrooms that I couldn’t find pictures or much information on. They also have access to the Lincoln Bedroom, Queen’s Bedroom, several sitting rooms, the dining room and several others. Many previous presidents have chosen to remodel the White House rooms, but doing so must be approved by a committee set up by former First Lady Jackie Kennedy.


Does the Secret Service stand guard outside of them (the rooms) all night (like in 24…)? Or just the house it’s self?
Answer: The degree of Big Brotherness is discussed between the incoming First Family and the SS. I’m sure they are very close by though.

Do White House children get a pick of rooms?
Answer: From what I found, there is a bit of preference involved. They are allowed to hang Jonas Brother’s posters and have sleepovers - the normal stuff.

What about Presidential Booty Calls? I mean… having the Big O in the White House while you’ve got creepy Secret Service dudes about… umm… awkward!
Answer: At first, I thought I was a total horn ball for asking such a question. Gasp. But I am TOTALLY not the only one thinking about this! Rachel, a Montgomery friend of mine, just recently pondered the same thing on her blog. Answer though? Pfft. They ARE human…..

What about that first night in the White House… do you stumble to the John and plop down your happy rear on the commode and think to yourself “Self, many famous presidential arses have used this same toilet to poop into for a hundred plus years. How stinkin’ cool is that!?” Everyone poops people, even Obama.
Answer: Like I’d find THAT on the Internets.
Oh, wait. I did find that if Mr. President is “indisposed” in the leu during a crisis, he will be alerted by a very stern knock on the door.


What time do you think Mr. President goes to bed? Wakes up?
Answer: Couldn’t find this one. Boooo Internet!


So, I had all this time to think of all these questions because *drumroll*… Chase slept in his crib from 9:30 PM to 1:30 AM last night. I know, no big deal to those of you who have children who sleep alone and all, but in this house, babies sleep with da parents. And da parents are about ready to go BONKERS and thus, Chase has been abandoned to his crib. And let me tell you peoples, he wasn’t thrilled and I MIGHT have caused him permanent damage and attachment issues, but DANG I slept well for those few hours.
That is… after I googled all of the above questions on my iPhone.


*source for most of this info: Wikipedia.org and the Official White House website

I Facebooked Your Mom Last Night

My mom remembers not having a microwave.

I mean… no microwave? What??

She also recalls not having a color television, or a remote control.

Obviously, as a teen, she didn’t have a cell phone. Or even a cordless phone.
I’ve been thinking for awhile now about the things that Conner or Chase and their generation will never know differently.

Like when Conner’s shows end, one that he really enjoyed, and he asks “I watch it again?” As in, I’m supposed to rewind it. Rewind LIVE TV. As if there’s never been a time where you couldn’t watch, re-watch, pause or record Mickey Mouse. I mean, WHAT WERE WE THINKING?!

Oooh… or when Chase is able to scroll through my iPhone by swiping his tiny little fingers across the screen (how DO they KOW to do THAT!). Better yet, the uncanny ability for Conner to browse through the applications, find his games (his light saber, checkers, Pac Man, igolf, ibowl) and play whenever he wants. He’s learned the “code” to our phones (two separate passwords for both mine and Mike’s). When he gets bored with games, you might find him watching Pucca (totally different blog post there… this kid might be an anime freak fan) on YouTube (which requires some parental supervision, I might add…). It’s just mind blowing that two kids, ages 3 & 1, have mastered a $300 state-of-the-art phone.

Speaking of technology, Conner got a Leap Frog handheld gaming system AND a Leap Frog computer that plugs into the TV for Christmas. At this rate, he’ll be typing by 5.

He’ll be on the internet by 6. He’ll have a Facebook account by 7. He’ll be writing HTML and CSS code by 8. What?

He’ll never know what it was like to take picture WITH FILM. Never know what it’s like to not be able to preview your picture and decide whether it’s worthy of developing. The days of picking up your pictures at CVS to play the Let’s-See-How-Many-Pictures-Of-My-Finger-I’ve-Managed-To-Collect Game is made obsolete by digital cameras.

Instant access to everything! If you want to know… GOOGLE IT! I personally google at LEAST 10 things a day and I am a virtual WASTEBASKET of useless knowledge because of it.

Bored in the car? Portable DVD player, my friend.

Need to checkout quickly? SWIPEY SWIPEY! Only the crazy people write checks (OHMYGOD could the CHECK WRITERS IN THIS WORLD GET A FREAKING CLUE ALREADY! I swear if another woman keeps me in the line at Publix for an additional 10 minutes filling out a check, then adding her address, phone number, social, DOB, hair sample, saliva and fingerprints all while I’m holding two SCREAMIG CHILDREN – I WILL LIGHT HER FACE ON FIRE! I feel better know. Thanks.)

I’m sure if my mom had a blog 20 years ago, she’d of had interesting points like this too. Can you imagine!?! Your mom!?! BLOGGING? Poor kids.

The Beautiful Hold a Convention... and then I Show Up....

I never wear makeup to the Pre-K pickup on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I rarely match for that matter. And today, the situation was no different.

I wore jeans (that were clean, hooray!)and a green tank top layered under a grey short sleeved tee I bought on sale for $7.99 at Target. Yes, those two colors don’t match and I knew that. I didn’t even have a bra on as the tank had one of those “built in boobie shelf” apparatuses that make a bra less required. And since it was FAH-REEZING, I was also wearing a hooded brown sweater coat, the kind my mom always wore in the mornings while getting dressed and having her coffee (read: not REALLY for in-public use).

My hair was washed, yet uncombed, and pulled back into a (very dated) hair claw with bits and pieces strewn about. As usual, I had on my super comfy new balance tennis shoes.

I parked my car, grabbed Chase from the back seat and walked towards the front atrium where I and all the other moms wait for our wee ones to be dismissed. Only today I got about two feet in the door before I was bombarded with the smell of expensive perfume, hairspray and even more expensive 4-inch heels.

Apparently, I missed the flyer for The Pretty Convention as there before me stood a cackle of teenaged and early 20-somethings, dazzling in their swanky shoes and sparkly purses, from head to toe dressed to the 9s. Beautiful long hair, some curly and some carefully arranged into trendy up-dos. All wearing makeup, ears and necks dripping in pearls, and of course - GORGEOUS.

I sat down with my usual group of 3 other moms, all a bit too quiet for me. We were literally smack in the middle of 75+ beauty queens and we were all dressed similarly.

“Wow. Bad day for the clearance shirt and sweater jacket…” I mumbled to the mom next to me.

“Geez. Tell me about it,” she replied.

We talked to ourselves about how gorgeous they all were for a few moments, each remarking about how frumpy we felt. Then, one mom said something that made my internal record screech to a halt.

“Well, they’ll have their turn. We had ours”…

Wait. YOU had YOUR turn being a bombshell… I, on the other hand, am TWENTY FREAKING FOUR and I look like THIS in front of MISS AMERICA TIMES 70!!! I had “my turn” for .. Oh…. About 4.5 seconds scattered throughout my days of ole at U of A. That is, until I got engaged, then pregnant, then married….

And now….just because I’m a mommy doesn’t mean I have to look like petrified crap and them being 18 doesn’t mean they have to look like the offspring of Kate Moss and a Cherub.

But alas, I DID look like petrified crap. And they DID look like the offspring of supermodels and angels.

Does this mean I’ll get my chance later? Did I miss the boat? Do I get to be hot when I’m 30 or 40?

Oh I hope so. And then I hope I get to show up in an enclosed space with them in sweats, showerless with what appears to be dried baby poop on their shirt.

One Banana

Had I of taken 1 banana, and cut it in half, neither child would've eaten a single bite. Promise.









(Wanna know how to save a banana [or two....] from an icky brown future? Put it in a plastic bag, throw a few drops of lemon juice in there and shove that sucker in the fridge. Keeps them good for a day or two. Same tip works for apples, obviously, but most don't think to use it on the Nanas)

The Tool Academy

OMG.

Have you SEEN the new reality tv show on VH1 The Tool Academy? FREAKING HYSTERICAL!

Mike and I were on the fence about watching this one, but the commercials cracked me up. And honestly, the general concept had me at hello, but Mike was a bit more apprehensive about adding another “junk” show to our soon-to-implode DVR schedule.

The premises of the show is that a select number of men show up to compete for Mr. Awesome. Oh, but what they don’t know is that their girlfriends have really enrolled them in the Tool Academy. These guys had numerous casting interviews in which they are trying to “prove” to the casting directors that they are the ultimate Mack Daddy’s and what better way to prove such than listing off how many times you cheated, how often you take advantage of bathroom, um, “special meetings”, and of course, how often you work out, tan, use excessive hair product, oh…and tan.

I mean, look at these tools Contestants:

VH1 TV Shows | Music Videos | Celebrity Photos | News & Gossip

What. The. Crap.

One of their catch phrases - "Saving relationships, one tool at a time"

BRAHAAHA



The girlfriends get to watch their interviews for "Mr. Awesome" and are floored when pretty much every single contestant reveals he’s cheating. One even claims he’s “trained his woman to do everything - cook, clean, laundry, anything he desires”. Practically none of these GIANT TOOLS Contestants have jobs, all of them party to excess on their girlfriends dime (on even uses his girlfriend’s child support check for his spending account!). It’s sickening.

The idea is that each Tool will face challenges in Charm School fashion to obtain levels of proper etiquette, manner and all-around-GrownUpNess. After the challenges, one will be eliminated and then must face his girlfriend who then has to decide whether to stay with her Tool or leave him then and there. The winner receives $100,000 and a shred of his dignity back.

But the best part, by FAR, is that after a contestant is eliminated the man Dude Judge says “I’m sorry you are eliminated. You are - just a tool.”

The way he says it! Mike and I DIED laughing for a solid 10 minutes. I think the show has its first airing Sunday night (VH1 always airs its Sunday lineup in the morning too, so we’ve already enjoyed this masterpiece for the day).

WATCH IT THOUGH!

This leaves me with a question - On the show each Tool is given a name correlating to the type of Tool they are - Playin’ Pimpin’ Tool is obviously a no-good cheating a*hole, there’s two with Superhero names that are L-A-M-E, Tiny Tool is some Boston dude and MAYBE 5’4”… you get the point. Then there’s Slacker Tool who DOES. NOTHING. This is the guy the one who uses his girlfriend’s child support money I do believe.

Have you ever dated/hooked up with/blocked a number to a Tool? What would his “Tool name" be?

Mine: Money Tool - not creative, but interesting. This guy entered my life halfway through my Freshman year (before another Tool that I won’t even WASTE my BREATH on….He’s more a sociopath than a tool anyways… I digress). He has OODLES of money, as in his own brand new 5 bedroom house with a gourmet kitchen in a very nice area, 3 cars, a bike, and did I mention TONS of CASH! He was set through an inheritance (something like 1.7 million at the time). He had investments in real estates, he was good looking and we really did have great conversations. But, because he had money he was disillusioned to believe that had a one-way golden ticket to my pants! NOT SO MUCH, MISTER! After I denied him access, he kept calling (in a non-stalky way), but I never really got it. That is, not till later. Most girls would have swooned over a man that was financially stable, witty and good looking…. Throwing themselves at him in hopes of earning their MRS. and never lifting a finger again.

But me? Not so much impressed. I mean, I thought it was all very nice, but that doesn’t mean you can just bang me and throw me to the curb? Which I knew he would. I was some kind of challenge, a game. I knew that if I were ever to just give him an inch (oh you dirty girls, that was metaphorical!!!), he’d never talk to me again. Just another notch in his $500,000 bedpost. Sorry dude, I’m not a hooker.

Who’s your tool? Leave in the comments ladies!

The One In Which Amanda Whines and Dooms Herself to a Third Child

He’s beginning to border between rocker dude and pretty, pretty princess. And frankly, I’m going a bit overkill on the “make sure Chase never wears the pink Polo, or any other moderately frat-tastic girlie shirt”.

I wouldn’t HAVE to avoid anything of the sort if I could just bring myself to do one TINY thing: cut Chase’s hair.

It’s past his ears, down his face and well over his collar at this point. Conner’s hair was never this long at Chase’s age.






And it’s not like this would be his first Official Hair Cut. I’ve trimmed it 3 times at this point due to chronic attempts at The Mullet on behalf of Mr. Chase. It was only growing around the back and MAN, Mike and I DIED laughing every time it’d grow a bit and there he was…. missing only a dirty Wife Beater and a beer.

So, what’s different about THIS trim is that I know what’s in store - full on Toddlerhood eyeing me down as if to burn HOLES in my HEAD.

As soon as those locks hit the floor and I turn to comfort my squirmy little man, I’m sure to breakdown into a Puddle of Delirium only to throw all the condoms out the next day and start tracking my ovulation because THIS CAN’T POSSIBLY BE THE LAST LITTLE BITTY ISTY TINY WHITTLE ADORABLE SNUGGLE FACED BABY!!!!

Oh.

But it SO is.

And after That Scare that I’m SOOO not telling the Internets about (just don’t ask or I WILL TELL only to embarrass Conner when he and his friends have access to aforementioned Internets by age 5), I’m pretty darn sure that I don’t want anymore wee ones growing in my belly. [read: For Sale By Owner: One Gently Used Uterus, only Inhabited Twice]

I LURVE staying home with the boys, and they are, without question, the joy of my life. I can’t imagine my days without them and truly enjoy all the love and laughter they grant me each day. But, my house is full of toys. And I prefer peeing alone. And I couldn’t possibly go through being pregnant again.

The technicals have it too - No more room in my Equinox (just won’t fit another car seat, so baby Numero Tres would be trekking it Old School, fighting for The Hump in the front…. Oooohhh…. How Britney of me). Money is tight. The third bedroom is totally accounted for. How in the WORLD would I POSSIBLY bring Conner to Pre-K4 with Chase in tow AND another newborn??!?!??!?!

See? Not. Happening.

So Chase, your hair will be cut this week. Mommy can’t keep you little forever. *Sniff*

The Proof is in the Pan

I DID IT!

After tens, possibly a hundred meals ranging from dry to tasteless, from undercooked to “honey is this fish or chicken or both?”…. I’ve FINALLY mastered Chicken Fried Rice.

And the secret weapon, the one thing I’ve been missing throughout it all including my calculations into garlic, chopped onion, when to fry the egg, peanut oil or vegetable? how long to let the rice cool… overnight? The AGONIZING over how to cook the chicken and when to do the seasonings… all of it in VAIN because it was never about the ingredients or the recipe or the method… IT WAS THE FRIGGIN PAN!

It may sound silly to those who don’t cook Asian, or have never attempted it without a Wok, but MAN - WHAT WAS I THINKING??

My mom pampered me, literally, with The Pampered Chef Stir-Fry Skillet made of titanium reinforced hard-anodized aluminum for even heat conduction, strength and durability. It’s the G5 of Wok’s to be honest. And G5s are PLANES PEOPLE!!

Seriously though, I unwrapped this 20-pound puppy and my mom whispers “Now, that’s a 150 dollar skillet Amanda”

And she only calls me Amanda when she’s serious.

I put about ¼ cup of veggie oil, allowing it to heat enough before I added my chicken strips that had been lightly salted and covered in a bit of soy sauce, garlic powder and onion powder. Stirring constantly, it took about 1 minute for all the chicken to appear to have been cooked properly. I removed the chicken and let it drain on paper towels.

Next, I added my minced garlic (about 3 cloves!!??), a small diced onion, some red pepper flakes and let them simmer for a minute or two while I cooked off two egg’s in a small amount of oil in a pan to the side. Then, I added my brocolli , egg and (day old and cold) rice with a “healthy” splash of soy sauce (maybe ¼ cup, maybe less?). Stirring frantically (like as in really breaking a sweat and now my shoulders hurt, this pan is GYNUMBO) the whole ordeal was over and done within 3-4 minutes.

I was amazed.

I threw the chicken back in the mix, turned off the gas, and put a lid over the top (not covering, but I wanted to save a little heat). I was SHOCKED that it was all over in ¼ the time it normally took me to make sub-par stir-fry and here I had what looked like the Real McCoy! I was sitting there on my couch with the dishes done and stir-fry a-waitin’ for the hubster to come rolling in any minute now.

Seriously folks, proofs in the pan. This stir-fry was GREAT.

Ideas?

A big mean cold makes mommy a very bad blogger.

*sniff sniff*

Taking a poll for my Alabama readers:

Any good ideas for any overnight stay somewhere within 3-ish hours drive for just the hubster and myself? Ooohh, that sounds sexy-sexy...

If you mention a place (i.e - Biloxi) include your favorite hotel too! I'm a sucka for hotels!

The Heart Doctor

So, the pediatrician here in Montgomery referred us to a cardiologist here in Montgomery after being demanded to do so by Chase's neurologist in Birmingham. Oh the hierarchy of the medical world.

The appointment was for the 30th at 9:20 a.m. but I wasn't allowed to play around with it since it was made for me by the pediatrician. Had I of had my say, it wouldn't have been scheduled for morning nap.

Fortunately, my mom recently retired after 30 years with AT&T (woot woot!) and graciously offered her services to drive down to Montgomery and keep Conner.

We arrived, filled out the necessary paperwork (which took FOREVA as Chase was being especially rowdy). The nurse started with an EKG by placing several sticky monitors all over his chest, arms and legs. It took a few tries since Chase needed to be still and that was totally not on his agenda.

10 minutes later we got a "good reading" and waited on Dr. Cardioman to enter. He did a relatively standard physical and fortunately for us, Chase turned slightly blue while the doctor was there. Good news is that Chase's blueness seems to be a normal "baby thing" and he just gets a bit "extra blue" for whatever reason.

Dr. Cardioman decided to go ahead with the ultrasound to be thorough.

Pretty sweet little test, if you are on the receiving end I must say. Chase and I were brought into a dark room, both of us were put on a long table (me to keep Chase comfortable), and Spongebob was turned on the television at the end of the room. Chase had to select a flavor lollipop (he chose grape). Then, Chase lied there stretched out, naked except for a diaper and socks, sucking on his lollipop, starring at Spongebob as Dr. Cardioman gooped his chest up.

He did several minutes worth of imagery, taking ultrasound pics and printing them off, listening to the heart sounds (sounds just like when he was in-utero, so strange!), and watching flows (colored by orange and blue on the screen).

Occasionally, Chase would squirm but the kid really needed to be frank - this was NOTHING compared to the NICU tests!

For our Grand Finale, Chase was turned on his side for a different view of his heart. Within a few seconds, Dr. Cardioman found a small murmur. Most likely, it'll heal itself, but if it doesn't it can either A) Not cause a single problem or B) Cause some problems but we'll know because he will start to present certain symptoms later in life.

Interestingly enough, this past weekend while listening to Chase's heart, my father-in-law decided to listen to Conner too. It's probably wise to point out that Conner rarely stays still for his pediatrician and as a result he has probably never had the opportunity for such a "long listen" but Conner stayed perfectly still for his "Jack" and found a flow murmur. Same prognosis as Chase - it'll most likely heal itself and we won't hear from it again.

So, we have a neurology appointment next week as well as a regular checkup (which just drives me insane as I find them pointless, fruitless and wasteful!).

I'll let you all know how the neurology checkup goes! Fingers crossed!