Friday, April 8, 2011

I might not rock it now, but I will totally rock my future old folks home.

I worked out, y'all. I think. I mean, it felt like it but I didn't pay any exorbitant gym fees so I'm not sure I can call it that. Regardless, my legs hurt and I can't lift my arms, so I'm pretty sure I worked out.

Keep in mind I haven't participated in any form of physical activity since getting pregnant. (That sounds really funny but I am not going to change it.) My point is that: I am so lazy. I knew something had to change.

So on Tuesday I took an adult beginner clogging class. Let me guess; you have no idea what clogging is, do you? Here, with a little help from clogging sensation All That, allow me to show you:




My sister clogs. My oldest daughter was amazing - and then she quit because she's a teen and that's what teens do. And my younger daughter dances, too.

Silly me thought it's just a beginner class; how hard can it be?

I woke up with shin splints. For real. Which tells me that I am incredibly lazy and can expect one heck of a workout.

Being the martyr that I am, I then decided to go to Zumba on Thursday night.

Zumba? Here.... allow me once again to show you:




Here I am taking not one, but two dance related classes. And the irony is - I can't dance. And now I can't walk either because the Zumba made my calves hurt. Bad. And also my arms. Because when you dance you use them, too. In fact, there's always several body parts moving all at the same time, and in different directions, and very quickly, too. It's all terribly confusing. And painful.

I'm currently looking for something more in my league, if you know what I mean. Something like this:

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

I could out-talk Bristol Palin for half the cash.

So, Bristol Palin gets knocked up and now makes $260,000 a year speaking out against teen pregnancies. Who do I need to contact to let them know I'm willing to speak out against teen pregnancies and on some days I'd also talk out against most teens.

Because I bet Bristol doesn't mention the hemmorhoids. Look, after three kids spaced 14 years apart I think I've pretty much covered it all, starting with "young, single mom with no insurance and no decent place to live." 

But that's actually the easy part. The finding a place to live, figuring out you'll have to sell your Depeche Mode collection to subsidize the blood work, and yes, your body will actually bounce back pretty easy. Trust me. Try having a baby in a nearly 40-year old body. It won't bounce back; it'll just jiggle. A lot.

The hard part isn't the pregnancy. Not with the cute maternity clothes and the super cute baby outfits you'll get at your shower that your BFF's throw you third period right before Algebra. No, that part is all easy.

In fact, the labor won't even be the worst part. (Well, except for that whole "It's burning! It's burning! Save me! I'm going to rip in half" sensation the Ring of Fire provides. That's pretty hellish.)

And afterwards, everyone will gather around and take pictures and ooh! and ahh! and tell you how beautiful your baby is and you will feel pretty dang special.

But then they start to grow:

Seriously? A whole jar of vaseline smeared all over the television screen? Really?

Uh, no, I actually didn't tell her ahead of time she shouldn't cut off her eyelashes because I didn't think that was an actual probability. Now I know.

What on earth made you think a ketchup and mustard war inside my bedroom would be a good idea?

No, you are not allowed to bring the chickens into the house regardless of how scared they seemed.


Oh, trust me... the pregnancy is nothing, Bristol. 

Monday, April 4, 2011

Poulet à la Crème sur Biscuit

I approach cooking like I do exercise: I take the short cuts.

Sure, I could probably start working out 5 times a week and running miles daily in minimalist shoes, but then again, there's Spanx. Likewise, I could spend 4 hours shopping for and cutting up a gazillion ingredients, only to have my masterpiece scarfed down by some guy who acts like he hasn't eaten ever, or I could take the short cut.

This is one of my favorite short cuts. Because Big V considers this dish the Best in Show in the cooking division. It might be because I obnoxiously refer to it as Poulet à la Crème sur Biscuit using a haughty French accent and then tell him I will need peace and quiet in order to concentrate on such a masterpiece. In all actuality I'm tossing together some generic food items for 7 minutes and then watching the last half of House Hunters International so he doesn't catch on.


Creamed Chicken over Biscuit


10 oz. chunk chicken breast. Yes, it comes in a can. Drained & Flaked.
1 (11 oz) can cream of chicken soup
1/2 cup milk
1/8 tsp garlic powder
8 oz package onion & chive cream cheese
8 oz can peas, drained
5 Grands Biscuits (I use the flaky ones)

 Combine soup, milk and garlic powder in skillet.
Do not let ANYONE see this.
They may decide not to eat it.
Over medium heat, stir it until it's slightly thickened.
(Make sure there are no lumps. Lumps are gross.)

Just blob in the cream cheese and keep stirring.
This is the secret ingredient. Don't ever give it away.

 Keep stirring and maybe even do a little taste test.
It is so good!

 Add your chicken.

Add your peas.
Not my favorite part of the recipe, but you'll survive.
Mix it real good so the cream mixture covers everything.
That way you won't taste the peas.
Neither will your kids.

Add some freshly ground black pepper until you get sick of cranking on the pepper mill.  


While you're cooking the cream mixture, bake the biscuits and also throw in a package of broccoli & cheddar Steamables in your microwave for good measure.
Extra vegetables, I know, but the kids will like the cheese sauce.
So will your husband.
Unless he hates cheese.
Then you're on your own.


Honestly, this will take you less than 10 minutes.
You'll spend more time opening packages then actually cooking.
Much like we women spend much more time putting on the push-up bra and making sure our make-up is absolutely perfect ....
and in the end we're devoured as quickly as this meal.