1 + 1 = Oh my wine

I am having another baby in January and, even though I don't usually believe in old wives' tales, I'm almost positive I'm having a girl.  Or a demon.

You see, I have been feeling like a giant pile of doo for the last several months.  Imagine headaches that last for days and running away from meals to go vomit in the bathroom.  Basically I feel like I'm back in college drinking room temperature donkey bottles of Vendage every night.  Which I did.  And still don't understand how I graduated.

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In addition to hurling in public places, I've also been doing awesome stuff like this:

Was I even moving during this half hour??

This is what I call the "I Am Literally Just Here to Kill Time" workout".

I also, on more than one occasion, saw the commercial start for Jublia during Wimbledon and got all excited about getting my hands on some Cinnamon Toast Crunch before I realized the graphic I was seeing was a toe fungus gremlin and not a delicious cinna-square.   So that's clearly a new low.

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Basically as I always suspected, I'm just like the Duchess of York Princess Cate.  She's my morning sickness spirit sister.

JK, it's still Amy Schumer.

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And yes I'm very excited.  But I'm also very scared.  Two under two shant be easy.  But at least after January I close my uterus business forever and enjoy my only two kids for the rest of my non-pregnant life.

Not Smoothie

This is what happens when your child is basically like the adorable version of Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen with 0% patience when his food is bring prepared:

And honestly I'm only saying Gordon Ramsey because Mussolini seems like too harsh of a comparison for a toddler.  But if you don't get this kid his food in 2 minutes or less after he has walked into the kitchen, you better watch your back.  It makes for some really relaxing 6:15 wake up calls.

You get flustered at his screaming and then you accidentally paint your entire kitchen in colorful and sticky smoothie.

(It turns out even fancy blenders are smart enough to tell you that the lid wasn't on all the way.)

While my kitchen looks like a tub of blueberry curd exploded, at least I thought to look in the mirror and get the excess liquid out of my hair.  Unlike this morning, when I accidentally dropped a plate of eggs, which could not have broken into more pieces.  It wasn't until about 3 hours later that I realized I had a nice cheesy chunk of protein dangling above my ear.

I'm basically nailing motherhood.

Now on a more serious note, this is my AFTER cleaning picture.  Does anyone know how to get blueberry stain off of a ceiling?

Now I want Chipotle

Should I be alarmed that 4 separate people tagged me in this Instagram post yesterday?

 

 

 

Whatever...If the burrito fits!

Grilled Lemon Chicken with Feta Rice

I just found a very easy, quintessential summer recipe from my lasting issue of Cooking Light.  It is so delicious and the whole family can enjoy it (assuming all of your family members can use a fork).  And it's healthy!

I just love Cooking Light magazine.  How do they come up with such inspiring healthy recipes month after month?  I don't know, but for the bargain price of something like $1 an issue, I will pay to find out.

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Grilled Lemon Chicken with Feta Rice

Serves 4 (serving size: 1 chicken breast half and 1 cup rice)

Ingredients

4 (6-ounce) skinless, boneless chicken breast halves $

4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided $

1 tablespoon olive oil, divided $

2 teaspoons minced garlic

Cooking spray $

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, divided

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, divided

2 (8 1/2-ounce) pouches precooked brown rice (such as Uncle Ben's)

3 ounces crumbled feta cheese (about 3/4 cup) $

1/2 cup chopped fresh basil

Preparation

1. Combine chicken, 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 1 teaspoon oil, and garlic in a zip-top bag; turn to coat. Let stand 5 minutes.

2. Heat a grill pan over medium-high heat. Coat pan with cooking spray. Remove chicken from marinade, and discard marinade. Sprinkle chicken with 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon black pepper; grill 6 minutes on each side.

3. While chicken cooks, heat rice according to package directions. Combine remaining 2 tablespoons lemon juice and remaining 2 teaspoons oil in a bowl, stirring with a whisk. Add rice, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, remaining 1/4 teaspoon pepper, feta, and basil; toss. Serve rice with chicken.

I just used regular short grain rice that I had on hand and cooked it according to the package.  I can't wait to make this again soon and next time I am going to double it so I have leftover for lunches throughout the week.

Enjoy and happy blazing hot summer!

Which Wich and Where?

The other day I had to take a continuing education class for my real estate license.  Which meant I had to pay a babysitter to be able to pay to be able to sit in a classroom for 5 hours.  It was so many different kicks in the pants at once.

But the point of the story is, as usual, a sandwich.

After the class was over I went across the street to one of my favorite sandwich spots in town, Which Wich.

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As I was driving home I thought about eating in the car because I was so hungry.  Then I decided I wanted to savor it at home while relaxing and watching Barefoot Contessa.

Then, suddenly, I remembered that I had a 1 year old and a very needy dog.  There would be no relaxing with my sandwich ever.  That's when I decided the more luxurious option was definitely to eat the sandwich at various stoplights on my drive home.

It's funny because as you grow up, you know being a parent will be challenging, you know you will have very little free time, you know you might be sleepy for the rest of your life.  But you never think about small details like the fact that the most carefree lunch you have outside of the house all year might be by yourself in your car while honey mustard drips on your lap.

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That is also the day that I realized people eating food in their cars aren't fatties who can't wait to eat.  They are just parents who want to nosh on a sandwich in private every once in a while.

The sandwich was delicious by the way.

Oh Life, You So Silly

Before I had a baby I used to go to my favorite, nice, quality Mexican restaurant at least once a week at whatever time I wanted.  Usually we would sit at the bar, sometimes we would talk to each other, but mostly Grant and I would just enjoy our beers and fajitas and watch everyone around us.  It was so relaxing.

Nowadays, like today, I have to bribe my husband to get home before 6PM by promising we can eat Mexican food at the mall instead of something healthy at home.  Real fancy like.  Then we rush to get there by 5:30 so Jack can eat on time, spend my entire dinner feeding him instead of myself, then apologizing to the waitress for the cornucopia of shit on the floor by his high chair.

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The only people watching I do these days is to look around and make sure no one is judging me for feeding Jack directly off of what I only assume is a clean table.

But you know what, as long as I can still have Mexican food on a school night, the world is all right and my pants are too tight.

It's also funny how ballsy I am now about going out to dinner with Jack due mostly to my desperate need to get the hell out of the house.  Back when he was a baby we never went out.  

In fact, the first time we tried, we ordered an appetizer and things were going pretty well.  So we got all cocky and decided to spring for entrees.  Well, Jack must have thought that was hilarious because right as the waitress walked away he started screaming crying. 

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Grant took him, not to the bathroom to change his diaper, but to the parking garage where our car was.  I thought this was unconventional and was going to tell him when he returned.  But he never did.

After spending about 15 minutes looking like a sad over eater with a plate of nachos and two entrees by myself, I got the food to go and went looking for my boys.  I found them pacing around the parking garage, Jack still crying, Grant on the verge.  

We didn't dine out for a real hot minute after that.