Sorry, People!

For Christmas this year, my husband bought me a neat present. Of course, I think it's neat because I specifically requested it (along with a number of other items that he couldn't figure out -- like BPA-free mugs I have since bought myself).

With the running that I do, I'm really intrigued to know how hard I'm working and how effectively. I'd like to track my workouts, too, but I'd like a tool to make it easier. That and it's always fun to know how many calories you're burning, isn't it?


Now I feel like a real exerciser. A professional, as it were. I have my own heart rate monitor!



And no, I won't model it for you. Thanks for asking. And no, I have no idea why the picture turned sideways when I loaded it. It was fine on my computer.

Anyway, I finally started using the heart rate monitor a couple weeks ago. It's pretty cool and relatively intuitive. I only scanned the directions briefly to figure out how to work it. I love technology like this!

I put it on and started out. A friend of mine was at the gym with me that day doing the elliptical while I ran. As usual, I had my iPod with me, phones in my ears, listening to my podcast while I happily ran. When I finished, she was on the ab machines, so I moseyed over there to talk to her.

As I cooled down more and stopped the podcast, I realized my heartrate monitor was beeping. Eh, it wasn't too loud. I waited for my friend to finish. When she joined me, she realized I was the one who had been beeping and had distracted her from her counts while doing crunches. Oops.

Apparently my monitor beeps unhappily and quite loudly whenever my heartrate goes above or below my target rate. When I'm on the treadmill, it's not a big deal since just about everyone is listening to their iPods anyway and can't really hear the beeping.

Today, I put the heartrate monitor on to go to my belly dancing class. Except that it wasn't belly dancing because the teacher was still recovering from her surgery. Instead they brought the Soul Grooves teacher in. No problem, it's still basically dancing.

Ten minutes into the class, a slower song came on and my heartrate dropped. I started beeping. I now realized how loud that beeping was. And I'm pretty sure others in the class did, too.

I tried putting my hand over the wrist to mute the beeping to some degree, but that wasn't feasile for long. I tried pressing various buttons to try to get it to stop, but that didn't work either. On the plus side, I figured out how to show calories burned during my workout. That wasn't at all distracting.

Fortunately, a faster song came on, so my heart rate went back up. Phew!

And then it wasnt down again. Lots more beeping.

Luckily, the lights were turned way down or everyone would have seen my bright red face. I kept trying to keep it quiet to no avail. Somehow, it never crossed my mind that I could simply turn the monitor off completely. My brain doesn't always work the way it should.

It finally dawned on me that I vaguely remembered seeing a settings function when I stopped my workouts the past two times. In the middle of doing plies, I found a way to turn the beeping off.

Hallelujah!

By the end of class, I think people had forgotten about the obnoxious beeping, so no one made an issue of it. I never claimed to be a techhie. Remember, I liked the heart rate monitor because it was intuitive.

The good news is that I don't think my beeping will bother anyone going forward. And even better? I know how hard my workouts are. That soul grooves class? It burns more calories than I thought! 503 calories in the hour I spend there. Not quite the 598 I burned running the day before, but I won't complain.

Maybe I should go back and read that instruction manual, huh?

You're Eating What?...

Children eat funny things. I remember a story from when I was in college and nannying about a family whose children ate sushi and edamame at the age of two. Personally, I'm all for eating sushi and edamame, but at two I don't think I would have gone for it. And I've tried to do sushi with my wee ones, and they aren't quite ready for it.

Sometimes you have kids that are super picky... they'll eat a certain brand of chicken nuggets and nothing else. They'll eat pasta with butter and strawberries, but no more. And there are times when I've wondered if my wee ones were heading down that path.

I shouldn't worry. They eat fine, although there are certainly things I wish they ate more or less of. Then again, I could apply that to what I eat, too!

Recently, we won a contest that Veggie Mom was having for Pop'rs. We got eight flavors to try out, and he's had a lot of fun with them. He really loves the color burst, cocoa and raspberry on yogurt or applesauce. In his milk is another favorite treat.

Tonight, we had popcorn chicken and corn for dinner.

I'm not sure where he got the idea, but he decided he wanted Pop'rs on his corn.

I'm not going to discourage him from trying new things, so I put a few pieces of corn on the side of his plate and let him put a couple Color Burst Pop'rs on it (yep, Color Burst -- kind of a fruity flavored one, not Butter that would make more sense).

And... he liked it. So I put Pop'rs on all of the corn, and he proceeded to have a grand old time eating them.




Personally, when I take a good look at it, I have no interest in trying this combination. The color burst starts out pink, turns blue and then green. Mixed with the yellow of the corn, well... ick!


So of course he decided that he wanted the Color Burst Pop'rs on his popcorn chicken. Who am I to refuse?


He loved it. He ate his dinner so quickly, that I hardly had time to get the camera to save this moment of ummm childhood for posterity. At least my husband was smarter and put the Bufalo flavor on his chicken. And now, I'm thinking I know where Mister Man gets it from!

So what weird things do your kids eat? Or you!

How To Get Fired... Real Fast!

Keep in mind that this situation is highly hypothetical. I'm totally making it up. I think. At the very least, I don't work in this field, so it couldn't possibly have actually happened, right?

Step one: Be smart. Be really, really smart and go to a good college and major in IT stuff. Do well at it.

Step two: Get a job at a large company working in technical services. Help fix computers, do software development, and ensure the network works properly. I'm sure there's lots more to it, but I'm so not technical, which means I unfortunately can't provide any more specifics.

Step three: Ensure you're assigned to a project that involves deploying software to the entire company. This means you get to choose, test and then deploy the software. You make sure that it doesn't conflict with any other software out there and then push it out. To tens and tends of thousands of computers across the country.

Step four: Do your testing. But only do it half-heartedly. Or maybe forget to test. Or maybe forget to update something from the test region. Or maybe somehow corrupt the file before deploying it.

Step five: Deploy the software. To tens and tens of thousands of people.

Step six: Step into a giant ugly, ugly mess as you see that tens and tens of thousands of people start to have issues. Some are kicked off the network. Some are forced to reboot in an endless loop, over and over again. Some have error messages pop up non-stop.

Step seven: Realize that there is not an easy fix. Realize that you have managed to shut down offices throughout the country. Thankfully, somehow there are people who have miraculously been spared, but they are by far in the minority.

Step eight: On day two of this issue, see for the first time what it looks like to see thousands of laptops piled up in one place, with Post-Its placed on them identifying who each belongs to. Feel a huge lump in the pit of your stomach as you hope and pray that the laptops can be fixed soon. Like really soon. And that when they're repaired, that the Post-It note stays on the right computer each time.

Step nine: Realize that there is not an easy fix. Start taking angry calls from thousands and thousands of people who are unable to work for a second day. Tell them that you don't have an ETA of when their computers will be fixed. Hope that they can find an unused desktop that they can at least access some information to be able to work.

Step nine: On day three, start giving an ETA for the complete fix of laptops of three business days from now. Remind people that this isn't a promise but just an estimate. Start ignoring your phone. Decide to forward your phone to voicemail. Decide to just unplug your phone altogether.

Step ten: Keep apologizing to all your colleagues, within and outside the technology group. Realize how many people had to be sent home without being able to get any work done and start calculating the cost of this mistake.

Step eleven: Hide. Start looking through the classifieds for another job in Timbuktu where no one has heard of you.

I am so glad that I'm not in technology services right now. And I'm really glad that if this situation were to happen, that my computer would somehow be spared so that I would be able to continue working were this unfortunate situation to somehow manifest itself.

Flower Boy

I've been wanting to tell this story for awhile. It just cracks me up every time, which means of course that none of you will find it remotely funny. But it became a huge joke amongst my friends for quite awhile. And it really sums up how my life went for awhile -- and luckily, I could laugh at it.

In any case, it wasn't quite a blind date, but it was pretty close. I was at a party a friend of mine was throwing and some guy asked for my number and I gave it to him. I'm not quite sure why I did, because it's not like we spent time talking and clicking that night or anything, but he did call and ask me out shortly thereafter.

He agreed to pick me up at my apartment on a Friday, and the plan was to go to dinner and then a movie afterwards.

At the time, I was working in consulting, and I had a lot to do that day. By the time I left the office, I was running a bit late. I wasn't too worried though. Then I remembered that it was my week for the flowers.

Each week, our reception area got a huge massive bouquet of flowers that set out on the desk all week long. Friday afternoon, one of the consultants took it home to enjoy the remaining flowery loveliness. Too keep it from getting me all messy, I placed it into a large garbage bag and carried it carefully to my apartment.

When I arrived at my building, Flower Boy was standing at the entrance waiting for me. He was fifteen minutes early, I might add. And oh. He was carrying a bouquet. You know those bouquets you see in the grocery stores with just a couple old carnations in them? Yeah. That's what he was carrying. While I held probably a couple hundred dollars worth of a gorgeous bouquet in my arms.

Well, that wasn't awkward or anything.

I graciously invited him up so I could put his lovely bouquet into water (while ignoring the flowers I had -- I didn't even take them out of the bag!). I guess you've all figured out where the name Flower Boy comes from, huh? It doesn't stop there though.

We head back downstairs and start walking to the restaurant, which is literally about three blocks from my apartment. He raves about the restaurant the whole time, how much he loves it and how great the service is ad nasueum.

We're walking up Wells, and we keep walking. And keep walking. And just about hit North Avenue. He's certain that we must have passed it because we were having such a great conversation (really, we were?). We double back and look for it, but don't see it. Then he decides it must be across the street. Nope, not there either.

As we're walking south on Wells again, I spot the restaurant. On the original side of the street. We head over, and I do the uh-oh, I don't think it's open yet. Apparently, that's when his first slipup of saying he made a reservation but not really making a reservation became apparent.

I volunteered to go elsewhere, since there were about five thousand restaurants in that four blocks we had already walked twice. He's convinced we have to go to the original restaurant. I shrugged and followed him. When we got to the doors, it was quite apparent that the restaurant was closed and wasn't about to open anytime soon. The tablecloths were gone from the table, most chairs were gone, and it looked pretty musty.

He finally agreed to go somewhere else.

We found another Italian restaurant, and we sat at the bar to wait for a table. Our great conversation continued as he talked about how his uncle had eight children and how he thought that was so great and how he wanted to have eight kids, too, and wouldn't that just be really cool to have that many children and what a great life they'd all have. And I started edging towards the exit.

When he took a bathroom break, I seriously thought about making a break for it myself before I realized that he knew where I lived. A note to any single guys out there: talking about having eight children on a first date is not the way to a girl's heart.

When our table was ready, he ordered a beer, and they brought a pilsner glass for him to drink from. You know that trick that bartenders do where they flip the beer bottle into the glass and then pull the bottle up and the beer flows beautifully into the glass? He decided to show off how he could do that, too. Except that when he tried, he ummm broke the glass.

I played it off and made a joke of it to try to make himself feel better, but he just went into a self beat-down mode. It was a liiiiiiiiiittle bit uncomfortable. He eventually got over it.

As we had our main course served, he reached for his glass of water. And spilled it. All. Over. Me. I'm still not quite sure how he did it, but he soaked me and my plate. Fortunately, I have quick reflexes, so I was able to save my meal. You can imagine the self-loathing that came from this accident.

Oh, and he ordered some Italian dish that -- at the time -- I'd never heard of, talking about how much he loved it blah blah blah. He took one bite, and his face turned a little sideways. I could tell that he was doing his best not to gag. Apparently he'd never had squid before and didn't recognize the fancy Italian name. I considered spilling my drink into his plate so he could get something new, but I didn't think I was quite proficient enough to pull that off.

Our meal ended. Given all the mix-ups, it took much longer than either of us had expected, and we decided to to forego the movie and just walked back to my apartment.

When we got there, we did the usual first date dancing around I had a great time, thank you so much thing. As he was saying good-bye, I was expecting him to try to hug me but was hoping he wouldn't try to kiss me. I needn't have worried. He stuck his hand out for me to quite formally shake. "I had a great time. I'd love to do this again. Are you free next Friday?"

Dude, are you a glutton for punishment? No. NO! Fortunately, he took me rather startled I-don't-think-so quite well.

And thus, the legend of Flower Boy was born. This many years later, I'm sure I've forgotten some salient details, but most of them remain burned into my memory.

You'd think that this was the end of the story, but ... I did run into him one other time. It was at another party of a completely different friend. I wish I could remember what he said, but it wasn't quite as memorable. I know he was telling all his friends that he'd dated me but was totally ignoring me to my face.

At that point in time, I was dating a very different guy. Actually, he was a former college wrestler. I had told him the Flower Boy story previously and absolutely cracked up to show him Flower Boy in the flesh. Wrestler Boy didn't take so well to Flower Boy trying to make an issue of me. I do remember him walking up to Flower Boy and requesting the he grow a pair. If only I could remember the exact quote. It was perfect for the situation.

Oddly, I never saw him after that. I think the two meetings of me frightened him away from parties forever after that.

So what's your worst first/blind date story?

I'm Out Of Ammo

Little Miss is too smart for her own good. She doesn't mind being punished, and if something doesn't work, she knows I have to move on to something else. For various things over the past couple years, I've tried carrots and sticks, rewards and punishments, to varying degrees of success.

For the last year or so, I discovered that the best way to keep Little Miss in line (when needed, which granted isn't that often) is to take away her favorite toys. If she doesn't behave and listen when I ask her to do something, she gets a warning that she needs to do X or she will lose Y.

Napping is starting to become an issue, partly because my mom told Little Miss that she doesn't really have to sleep anymore. Ummm hello, can you not see the circles below her eyes when she doesn't nap? Do you not notice the difference in her behavior when she's overtired? *sigh*

Needless to say, getting her to actually sleep instead of playing during naptime is becoming an issue. I hear a thump and go check and there she is standing on her nightstand playing. Away goes a toy. A little while later I discover her kicking her headboard and good-bye Baby Giggles.

Today, we hit a new level.

Unfortunately, my husband was doing the parenting last night while I was at Costco, so when Little Miss had an accident (90% sure that was his fault anyway), he took away ALLLLLLL her stuffed animals. Great.

Before her nap, she went potty and pooped with no streaks, so she earned back an animal (see, I'm not totally mean -- she knows how to get them back, too). She, of course, chose Snowy her special bear.

We discussed what I expected for naptime for the girl who was up before 7am. There was to be no playing. No jumping. No messing with the curtains. No peeps (talking). Just lay down and go to sleep. With eyes closed.

She soon had to go potty. And yes, she really again had to go potty. She didn't earn anything back then. The rule is that if you have to get up in the middle of nap after I offer pre-nap potty, you don't earn anything.

A short while later, I heard a huge thump and then some big screaming. I raced upstairs to find her howling hysterically. "I was laying down, Mommy. I was laying down and I hurt myself!" Uh-huh. I calmed her down long enough to discover that she had bumped her head pretty hard above the ear to the point that her entire ear was bright red.

Yeah... she was laying down alright. She claims that the nightstand bumped her while she was sleeping. Except that the bump was on the wrong side of her head for that. The girl needs to get her story straight. I'm sure she'll learn soon enough.

I didn't take Snowy then but explained that I was not to hear another sound. Pretty soon, I heard a thump. I went up and Snowy went back into timeout. She screamed. I don't mean threw a tantrum kind of cried and screamed, I mean she screeched like a banshee. Really piercing. With a few "I want my teddy bear back" pitifully thrown in for good measure.

After a few minutes, I went back up to remind her that she has five minutes to cry before she needs to stop. Miraculously, the tears stopped about four minutes and fifty-eight seconds later. I'm pretty sure she's going to be a track star with that internal clock.

And then I heard another thump. I went up, and she was standing up on the bed. She quickly dropped down and pretended she was sleeping. Because, you know, if she moves fast enough, her Jedi mind trick might work on me. Snowy was the last stuffed animal, so I had to get creative. I took one of her blankets and warned that the next sound meant I was going to start taking the Thomas trains Mister Man gave her.

She screamed and cried again, and I heard her throwing things in her room. Not cool. And that is something that I won't put up with. When I went upstairs, she walked over to the Thomas trains, picked them up and handed them to me. "I don't want to play with these anymore, anyway."

Did I mention that this all happened within a 42 minute stretch (not that I was watching the clock or anything)?

I got her up shortly thereafter. Tonight, she was in bed by 5:40. And oddly, she went straight to sleep. Here's hoping this gets her back into her regular sleep cycle.

Unfortunately, now I need another tactic. Any suggestions?

Tasty Tuesday!

It's that time of the week again, and last week, I brought you the Southwestern Tortilla Stacker, with promises of Spanish Rice to accompany it this week. Never let it be said that I don't keep my promises.

Again, I'm linking up with Blessed With Grace and Tempt My Tummy Tuesday. I found some really neat recipes there last week (Almond milk? SOOOO what I need for Little Miss and her no dairy diet! Ditto with the Whole Wheat Carrot Cranberry Muffins that I need to make!). I can't wait to see what's up this week.

But first... my recipe for Spanish rice. Sorry I don't have any pictures, but I wasn't planning to post it initially and so didn't take any during the creation of it.

This one tastes so much better than anything that comes out of a box. And it's much healthier, too. The best part is that it's pretty easy and low maintenance, so don't let anyone fool you into thinking this is harder than it is. You'll know better from now on!

Spanish Rice

Ingredients:

1 c low sodium chicken broth
1 c tomato sauce (ok, I usually cheat and use one can which doesn't quite have 1 c in it)
1 t olive oil
3 slices turkey bacon
1 1/4 c diced onion
1 c rice (uncooked)
1 tomato, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1/2 t chili powder
1/4 t salt
1/2 t pepper

Directions:
Makes 8 servings as a side, about 3/4 c each

Place the tomato sauce and broth into a pot and heat to a boil. Heat a large skillet (e.g., bouillabase pan), and add the olive oil once it's hot. Add the bacon and cook. Remove the bacon and reserve the remaining oil. Add the onion and cook about 4-5 minutes, until translucent.

While onion is cooking, chop bacon into small pieces. Add the rice, and cook 3-5 minutes while stirring occasionally. Add the broth/sauce mixture and remaining ingredients. Stir briefly, then cover. Simmer 30-40 minutes, then stir once. Serve hot.

This will reheat ok. Adding a small bit more broth when reheating keeps it from drying out.

Enjoy!

The Miracle Of The Opposing Thumb

We've all heard about how what separates man from the animals is his opposable thumb. That chimps are the only other animals (I'm going by memory now because I'm too lazy to look it up, so go with me here) with thumbs, and that's part of what makes them so special.

I'm here to back that up firsthand.

After my issue on Friday -- you know, where I fought an avocado and the avocado won? -- I havn't been able to use the thumb on my right hand at all. I can move it, but using it in any way that puts pressure on it is too painful. I never really realized how much I use my thumb, especially on my non-dominant hand, until now.

I've decided that I'm a total wimp after this incident. God forbid I ever break my arm where I'm out of commission for more than four or five days. My world as I know it would come to an end. That, or I'd learn to adapt.

And without further ado, my list of things that I'm surprised I can't do (or find quite difficult) without two hands... or at least without two thumbs:

Crack an egg. And so far, I've had to crack three of them. I'm starting to get the hang of it, but only because I know there's a trick to cracking them one handed and I'm determined to master it!

Style my hair. While I'm able to shower and wash my hair one handed sorta ok, actually styling my hair beyond combing it out is pretty much out of the question. I can't hold the blow dryer or a brush in my right hand, which means that I'd basically be creating a rat's nest if I were to try... and that's just not the look I'm going for right now.

Shift my car out of park. You've gotta love all the extra safety features like the button I have to push while shifting to ensure I don't accidentally shift. Of course, now that means I have to get creative and use two hands to shift. Thank God I don't have a manual transmission!

Buckle Little Miss into the carseat. Along the same lines, safety is great, but it's definitely meant for those with two hands. I can manage to undo her carseat -- which makes sense given the fact that I've heard of children undoing their restraints -- but putting it together just isn't happening right now. Fortunately, my husband has been home for the long weekend, so he's been able to do it. Fingers crossed that tomorrow I regain use of my hand. I'm not really comfortable putting her into a booster seat, as that's about the extent of the restraints I can handle at the moment.

Open a jar. I've turned into a total sissy. I've tried everything I can think of to steady the jar with my right hand while using my left to twist it off, but I can't get enough torque. So nowI just walk up to my husband with a sad look on my face and he knows just what to do.

Put on a glove. Yep, January in Chicago and I have a massive bandage on my right hand. I don't own a glove that fits over my thumb, but I have one pair where I can at least sorta get my hand into the glove, even if my thumb isn't in the thumb hole.

Shuffle cards. Because today, of course, was the first day in two months that the wee ones have wanted to play both Crazy 8s and Memory. And if you don't shuffle the cards, the game isn't so fun. So I taught them a new game. I may come to regret it, but they loved 52 card pickup!

Fasten my bra. Any boy worth his salt over the age of 13 and any woman of any age (I think it's genetic) can unfasten a bra with one hand. Have you ever tried to put on one one-handed though? Fortunately, I have managed to figure it out, but it takes a long time and usually involves redoing it a few times, as my bandage gets tangled up in the hooks.

Cook. Ok, I've found a few things that I can make myself, but I can't really open anything that's in a package or cut anything right now. And of course yesterday we headed over to a friend's house, where I was supposed to bring something appetizer-y. So I made a caramel dip (plain yogurt, neufchatel, brown sugar and vanilla blended -- I could do all but open the cream cheese!) and some marinated tomato mozzarella toothpick things. I could get the first tomato on, and I could get just a little of the cheese on, but then I was stuck. My lucky husband got to do all the fun work, with me supervising! That also included cutting up the pineapple for the dip. Watching someone cut up a pineapple for the first time is highly entertaining. At least I was smart enough to get strawberries and apples for the other dipping items, so those were easier to deal with!

Take off a watch. My heart rate monitor has a wristwatch component to it that I wore yesterday when I went to the gym (so, yes, I can run at least with stitches -- we'll see tonight how yoga goes!). I struggled but managed to get it on. However, there was nothing I could do to get it off. Nothing. I finally had to ask another woman in the locker room to help me. Of course, I later realized that had I put it on my right wrist instead of my left, I wouldn't have had any issues. Duh.

And the number one thing I can't do? Shovel. Yep, I'm currently unable to shovel since I can't grip the shovel with a second hand. Darn!

Fortunately... I can still type.