Gas Station Chicken

My hubby Zac will be off of work for an entire week starting tonight! This is very exciting. He works a lot of hours as a football coach, often times even on weekends, so there isn't a lot of family time and I really try to cherish what we have. I love our little family. One thing we have been discussing lately is the possibility of having another bambino. As crazy as it seems to have another, I really didn't enjoy being pregnant and I'm afraid if I wait too long in between I'll get very comfortable with the idea of just the 1 bambino and not ever have any more!

Nothing was worse than all the people that came up to me, begging me to regale them with stories of how glorious my pregnancy was. Um, glorious? I started to waddle at week 22 and people started asking me if I was due "any day" at week 30. Shaving my legs was like watching an elephant balancing on a bosu ball by my second trimester. I am not kidding and just so you know I wasn't one of those annoying people who claims they got large but didn't, I'm including photographic evidence.

Dear God I'd forgotten.

So despite my not-love-of-pregnacy, we do want maybe 3 or 4 kiddos, so of course when it's on your brain that it may be in your future, you begin to notice other pregnant celebrities and such.

Now since I was enormous during my pregnancy I am allowed to say this: what on earth has happened to Jessica Simpson? She is pregnant and looks like I looked and felt, like I swallowed a hot air balloon and was on the constant verge of a fart. I mean, I love her! I used to watch Newleyweds in college and my roommate Jenny even got me the DVD one year for my birthday. Who knew they would be split up years later so sad. But seriously, the woman must be carrying 3 or 4 kids in there. (Speaking of multiples whatever happened to that wackadoo who got implanted with like 7 kids? She kind of fell off the planet, huh?)
But I do think she is beautiful and also hilarious, she has a tendency to say things that are totally innapropriate like I do and People magazine recently released an article of all the funniest quotes she has said during her pregnancy. She is spot on...so I decided to comment on a few of her hilarious quotes.

(In case you want to share the hilarious link of Jessica's quotes)http://www.people.com/people/celebritybabies/gallery/0,,20579224,00.html

1. "I am definitely feeling 'intimate.' I'm kind of unstoppable at the moment! Like the big 'O' is like the biggest 'O' ever."
– Jessica Simpson, on her sex life with fiancé Eric Johnson, to Ryan Seacrest

I can't discuss this one long because I have a husband who is very private and I want him to talk to me this week when he's off. However, I will say, pregnancy did make me want to make out all the time, the only problem was, I was so big at the end, I'm sure I looked like a hungry gorilla coming towards my husband, the poor guy! Hormones are a nasty little spinster, coming at you and making you want to smush as they say in the Jersey Shore when you are at your least cute.

2. "I feel like I have a bowling ball sitting on my hoo-ha."
– on carrying her baby girl, to Jimmy Kimmel

Oh yes, I definitely remember this feeling. I did a Body Pump weighlifting class far into my pregnancy and towards the ends during squats I felt like I needed to peer down there and make sure the baby wasn't half out. I was also like 4 centimeters dialated from week 32 on because I went into pre-term labor, so I guess I was walking around for 5 weeks (gave birth at week 37) with an open vajayjay and Brooks hand out waving. Classy.

3. "I just started calling myself 'Swamp A–.' Like, I have swamp a– right now. I had major swamp a– because I was wearing these Spanx to hold in my gut … It's like the bayou up in that region."
– on her new nickname, to The Tonight Show's Jay Leno

Yes, yes, yes again. She is really not afraid to tell it like it is. If you don't know what that is, it's when the area around your bum gets very...humid. I was living in Texas when I was pregnant so I was pretty much hot for the last 3 months. I remember very, very strongly considering not wearing underwear one day when I had a dress on when I was going to run to Target, it just sounded so appealing, luckily something in me had the common sense to stop that train wreck before it derailed.

4. "I'm a free-spirited girl, but giving up my scotch? My Macallan 18? That was hard for me!"
– on going alcohol-free, to Elle magazine

I am a glass of red wine a few nights a week girl. Or a bottle once a week. Somehow a bottle of yellowtail dissapears in my house once a week just a matter of how I get there. I call it my "heart medicine," since obviously I am just doing it for the antioxidants. So yes, it was very hard to watch everyone else enjoy their cocktails and float on clouds all weekend. I replaced mine with a very habit forming mcflurry run, which is misleading because I would get a mcflurry but also an ice cream cone, and eat the ice cream cone on the way home and tell my husband I just got a mcflurry. The people at the mcondalds by our house knew my order....

5. "There is only one, believe it or not. I did get knocked up by a baller. A big football player."
– on whether she's having twins, to Ellen DeGeneres

If there is one thing you should not say to a pregnant woman, it is "Are you sure you aren't having twins," followed by a creepy chuckle. Yes, I'm sure, and I'm going to punch you in the throat if you don't leave my area. The only things that should ever be said to a pregnant lady are the following:
Do you want a foot massage?
Oh my gosh you look so skinny are you going anorexic?
Can I get you a mcflurry and an ice cream cone and not tell anyone about the cone?

6. "The average pregnant woman farts 15 times that!"
– on a Twitter post about the average person passing gas 15 times a day  

I made a very grave mistake one day pregnant. It was one of those split-minute decisions you end up regretting for weeks, maybe even months. It haunts you at night, you wake up in a cold sweat, having dreamt about it, then wake up and realizing it was a recurring dream but it really did happen. You must live with it and the reprecussions. I ate gas station food. And no, I don't mean a granola bar that's been there since 2002. I meant HOT GAS STATION FOOD. And what followed was a punishment that exceeded the crime. It was on the way home from a drive to meet a doula, and I was famished. For the first 10 minutes she talked about how important it is to nourish the baby with healthy foods, so of course I ordered the veggie sub at subway, embarrased that I wanted a footlong meatball with extra salami. No way lady you aren't catching me in the act here. So on the drive home, I stopped at the first gas station I found, and something caught my eye in the corner. A huge chicken, an entire bird, glistened as it spun in huge circles, roasting and waiting for me. I didn't know how I was going to remove it from it's cage, or how I was going to eat it in the car. But I knew that little birdy was mine. On the drive home, I could barely drive because my hands were so slippery from chicken grease. But I plowed forward, because all evidence had to be destroyed. As far as I was concerned, the only people that knew that I didn't just have a veggie sub for dinner were me and Chuck at the gas station off the highway from Navasota. Let me just tell you, it was delicious, but it was NOT worth it.

Well, despite remembering all the gory details of pregnancy, this little nugget below made it pretty worth it. I look forward to all the future adventures in the Taylor family. It's been an awesome ride so far!

Spinning out of control

I (would like to think) that I am a very "When in Rome" / "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" type of gal. I believe that when you are a coach's wife, you will move 15-20 times over the course of 35-40 years, so you kind of have to be. Or it helps the acclimation at least. So when we moved to College Station, Texas, 4 years ago I jumped on board with everything and acted like the Aggie I would become. I went to midnight yell, chanting in the middle of the night, and swayed with the war hymn like a crazy person. I wore maroon even though we all know that REALLY wasn't my color. I searched high and low for cute clothes in the "right" maroon, because a touch off and you're in purple or OU red.

So I decided after about 10 days in Weston, Florida, that I am going to need to step up my game a little bit. I think you can look at this one of two ways: I am a conformist who will go along with anyone, jump off any bridge you tell me to, and follow all the latest crazes and trends because the cool girl is doing it. Or, I move all the time, and the best way to throw yourself into something new is to try new things and be open to all kinds of change. It's probably a little bit of both of those things.

One of the main focuses of every day for me is working out, so this seemed like a good place for me to start with something new. If I don't get my endorphins, my best friends, family, and especially my husband know I am not the most pleasant person to be around. So I tried the class "Pump It" right when I joined the YMCA, hoping it would be similar to a class I enjoyed in Texas called Body Pump. About 5 minutes in I knew this class was not for me! The woman was teaching the class half in Spanish, it was a lot of ab work (I make it a strong rule of mine to do the least ab workouts I possibly can), and it seemed almost every single gal in the class was Spanish, and did their hair in lots of braids. I wasn't fitting in. I only lasted halfway through.

Today was a new day. I decided I was going to try spin class. I haven't done a spin class since college. I am feeling older just as I type this, but that was SIX years ago. Yikes. When working out in a gym, I tend to do the same workout every day, which is walk on an incline or run at a very slow pace, so slow I might as well be walking. This works for me and I can usually read my US weekly at the same time, therefore catching up on celebrity gossip while toning my buns. Win win! But there's something to be said for going out of one's comfort zone, so I decided to enter the world of tiny slim bikes with tinier slimmer people atop them.

When I entered a nice middle aged woman who could clearly tell I was new helped me to adjust the bike so that it would be the right height and such. A quick glance around and I decided if this was going to be my new thing, I would need some new workout clothes. I was in very butch black workout shorts and a huge Old Navy heathered v-neck, my typical workout gear that allows me to go unnoticed. All the spin women were in high-end bike shorts and tanks, brightly colored and very fitted. It looked like an ad for ClubMed. They were all very tan and had cute towels hanging on their bikes, most reminiscent of old vacations with words like "Caribbean" strewn across the bottom in cursive.

I was very out of my element, but this class was going to be a little harder to sneak out of, so I saddled up on the bike and began to pedal.

Before the light went off (is this only Miami Spinning? The entire class was done in the dark, though I am unconvinced that the instructor didn't just shut the lights off so that everyone didn't have to look at me struggle for 55 minutes) I noticed that this class had a certain air about it. The women in this class were likely named Mitzi, or they had friends named Mitzi. They probably had a toy poodle and even a purse he fit in so they could bring him on their flights and to the grocery and even nail appointments. Speaking of nail appointments, they were the type who got the flower on the thumb for manicures. They probably slept in something lacy and short, and they owned lots of Juicy Couture velour suits with rhinestones on them. One of them even probably had rhinestones on the butt with something like Mrs. Jones that they wore their wedding weekend. Their husbands convinced them to go to Cigar Bars on the weekends, and when they weren't doing that, they were wearing wedges and probably a very cool romper from Bebe and drinking things like SkinnyGirl Sangria or white wine spritzers.

Let me give you an indication of what I'm working with. I'm the kind of girl who clogs the toilet at the fancy party and has to turn the water off, leave the bathroom locked to sneak out the window and reappear at the front door, claiming I "needed some air" (this has never happened to me or anyone I know, just hypothetical obvi). I'm the kind of girl who can't wear the color gray because I get pit stains from sweating. I eat A LOT chocolate in bed and usually end up washing and changing my sheets because I got food on them, not because I have a sheet washing schedule (though I do think this would be something good for me). I never floss because it hurts and I rarely groom at all. Ok now I'm being a little extreme, I do put on moisturizer and blush about twice a week. My husband is one lucky man dontcha think?

Still, despite all my shortcomings, 55 minutes after the spinning madness began, I was a sweaty mess on top of a very slim bike, and I actually kind of liked the change up in my workout. Drenched in sweat, I was hoping the teacher could just keep the lights off while I slipped out of class and raced to get my little boy before anyone noticed. No such luck, I thought, as she flipped them on and all the Mitzi's toweled off around me and planned lunch dates at places called Fountain Plaza. Meanwhile, I got off the bike with the grace of a first-time cowboy hopping off a horse and hobbled over to the cleaning solution to begin to desanitize my area, otherwise known as sweat city.

My friend who helped me get set up on the bike complimented my first class, though maybe she was just being nice because I looked like I was about to pass out. Despite the fact that I do not look the park, I actually kind of liked spinning, and think I might make the Friday class part of my routine. You can now call me BigMamaMitzi!

*One more thing, if you're a man and you're reading this, you must be my husband, or very very bored. But if you do spin class and you wear those teeny tiny shorts, please make sure everything is in position before you do all kinds of stretches in front of me. I do not want to see anything I didn't sign up to see. Especially so early in the morning and without any of my sarcastic friends next to me to make fun of you. Thanks so much.

Kristen Bell

To my faithful 4 readers, don't worry I am back! We are now fully settled in Weston,  and after a trip to Wisconsin for my best friend's wedding, I am truly living in Florida. I couldn't help but write about what has been the primary focus for me in the last month or so of my life, one brought on by moving: Emotions.

I had an amazing little going away get together right before I left Texas. I won't go in to how the night ended with me leaving half-eaten Whataburger on top of my neighbor's mailbox following dancing the night away at the gay club. Or how I left the garage door open the whole night and went to bed at 4 a.m. with my wonderful in laws in town knowing that our movers were showing up at 7 a.m. Instead I'll talk about classier things.

Well one of my very favorite people I'm so sad to leave in College Station, Natalie, tells me about this video that has hit youtube of actor Kristen Bell on the Ellen show. Here is the link...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5jw3T3Jy70
Trust me this is worth watching. This girl cracks me up! Well Natalie tells me that it is kind of scary how on this little segment she is exactly like we are - insane, emotional girls. You know, the kind that cry at Hallmark commercials? The kind that act crabby the rest of the day after seeing the Sarah Machlachan save the animals commercials because they're so distraught about the animals? I cried on the couch 2 nights ago TALKING to my mother in law about the Notebook. Not watching it. Discussing it. Pathetic. Well to me this is hilarious and spot on. As Kristen Bell explains to Ellen, "If I'm not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, I'm crying." I'm up, I'm crying. I'm down, I'm crying. So alarmingly true! Look at her in the clip at about 2:12 in. She's heaving in bed, just how I look when I run out of reeces cups and have to get out of bed and pause the Housewives to get more.

During the wedding I just attended last weekend in Wisconsin, my emotions were obviously on a rampant kick. I love my best friend Tara so much, and she has married someone who treats her wonderfully, so naturally, I'm going to be the idiot maid of honor who is bawling at the alter as she walks up. Later in the night, one of the Bride's overserved guests came up to me and without introduction just said "boy, you really lost it up there." Then he asked me to dance to Elton John's "Tiny Dancer." Oh fabulous, I thought as he spun me around, I thought maybe nobody noticed. But when you're an over-emotional nut job like me, it's kind of hard NOT to notice.

One day at Gold's last year I was crying, like real tears streaming down my face, reading about Arnold Schwarznegar (that can't be spelled right, too lazy to look it up) and Maria Schriver getting divorced. Not only do I not know these people, I don't even have anything that would connect me to these people, like similar careers or anything. You can only imagine how I was pregnant. Just with normal hormones I'm a wreck, so obviously the 10 months I was expecting followed by the 9 months you're flooded with post-baby hormones, I was pretty much a useless heap of emotions for 2 years.

My emotions don't just extend to the sad. I get incredibly over excited about fun stuff as well. If I'm in a good mood you can usually find me baking 80-100 chocolate chip cookies for absolutely no reason at all. When I know I have out of town guests coming in, I typically make at least 3 cakes. I decided not to throw Brooks a 1st birthday party except to have family over because I knew it would be so out of control before it even happened. I would get so wrapped up in a zoo themed party I saw on Pinterest I would be ordering Brooks' friends cheetahs as party favors.

Well, emotions aside, Florida is beautiful so far. The area we live in is a bit like Stepford Wives, with perfect palm-tree lined streets, running trails, swimming pools and ice cream trucks. But I really miss my friends in Texas. I miss being able to text my friend Jess "can we run and vent in 20 minutes" and she would be on my door step with a McDonald's coffee and a smile.

I can tell it's only a matter of time before I'm going to have to really step it up in the looks and maintenance department if I'm going to make it here. All the Stepford Wives here are perfectly groomed, botox and tanned and I'm the schlump in workout clothes in the corner of the park with macaroni glued to my butt...and I'm probably quietly sobbing. I tried to get my butt in gear at the YMCA and went to a class called "Pump It" but everyone was in Lululemon workout gear and had their hair done, and the teacher taught half the class in Spanish. I was out of my element and retreated to the treadmill to sweat alone.

So to all the schlumpy, sarcastic, Housewives-watching, over-emotional Florida mommies, if you're out there, call me.

Football for life

I have a really sweet friend named Mia who is a Football Wife and posted the story below on her blog. (Here is the link to her blog! It's awesome! http://www.msmiamaree.com/)

It touched me so much I had to share it. When I started this blog I meant for it to be a story about our family but I must admit I have been very selfish with it, sharing stories from my labor and waxing my pikachu to my frusteration with daily mommy life.

However, it has given me so much joy, which was my original intention. So I am satisfied with what I set out for this blog to me. Below is a little something about football wives....

THE FOOTBALL WIFE

The good Lord was creating a model for football wives, and was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared. She said, “Lord you seem to be having a lot of trouble with this one. What’s wrong with the standard model?”

The Lord replied, “ Have you seen the specs on this order? She has to be completely independent, possess the qualities of both father and mother, be a perfect hostess to 4 or 40 with an hour’s notice, run on black coffee, handle every emergency imaginable without a manual, be able to carry on cheerfully, even if she is pregnant and has the flu, and she must be willing to move to a new location 10 times in 17 years. And oh, yes. She must have six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head. “Six pairs of hands? No way.”

The Lord continued, “Don’t worry; we will make other wives to help her. And we will give her an unusually strong heart so it can swell with pride in her husband’s achievements, sustain the pain of separations, beat soundly when it is overworked and tired, and be large enough to say, ‘I understand,’ when she doesn’t, and say ‘I love you,’ regardless.”

“Lord,” said the angel, touching his arm gently. “Go to bed and get some rest. You can finish this tomorrow.”

“I can’t stop now,” said the Lord. “I am so close to creating something unique. Already this model heals herself when she is sick, can put up six unexpected guests for the weekend, wave goodbye to her husband and understand why it’s important he leave.”

The angel circled the model of the football wife, looked at it closely and sighed, “it looks fine, but it’s too soft.”

“She might look soft,” replied the Lord, “but she has the strength of a lion. You would not believe what she can endure.”

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her fingers across the cheek of the Lord’s creation. “There’s a leak,” she announced. “Something is wrong with the construction. I am not surprised that it has cracked. You are trying to put too much into this model.”

The Lord appeared offended at the angel’s lack of confidence. “What you see is not a leak,” he said. “It’s a tear.”

“A tear? What is it there for?” asked the angel.

The Lord replied, “it’s for joy, sadness, pain, disappointment, loneliness, pride, and dedication to all the values that she and her husband hold dear.”

“You are a genius!” exclaimed the angel.

The Lord looked puzzled, and replied, “I didn’t put it there.”

I teared up a little when I read this. Being the wife of a football coach is very special, and it isn't for everyone. I am one of the crazy people who not only grew up in a football family, but married into one as well. This life has brought me so much emotion, both joy and heartache, but I wouldn't trade any of it for anything. It has been an awesome ride and I consider myself very lucky.

I am very excited about this next step in the Taylor Family's adventure. I am extremely proud of my husband because he worked really, really hard for this opportunity and he is so smart! But I do feel a little sorry for myself too. I love this town. College Station is very unique. Despite it's biggest fault, having literally no shopping, it has really been such an amazing 4 years here.

I love the size of the town. It's that perfect small-town feel but not too small. I will miss Texas A&M. I don't think there's anywhere else in the country that has traditions like the Aggies. It is very different. There are some things like the War Hymn that you really can't help but tear up. The people in this town are so kind. People really watch out for one another. I am very envious of all those that get to stay!

We are headed to Miami....being the geography idiot that I am, when we got the news, I immediately google mapped it on my phone. I mean I knew it was close to Cuba but seriously....you could like throw a rock at Cuba. No wonder people swim from there! It will definitely be different as evidenced by my 3-day trip there to find a place to live. I of course am used to smiling at everyone in College Station, and it is a little bit different there. People aren't quite as warm but that's ok. I know there will be fun different things too and I have to remember that.

I move on February 29th and leave for my best friend from high school's wedding 6 days after that, so I may be weak on the blog front for about 10 days, but I'm sure I will have some stories soon enough!

Traveltastic

Well, on Monday's late-night blog I promised all 8 of my readers I would post the next one about all my frustrations with traveling so here I am! So pull out your annoying travel U-shaped pillow you traveling douche bag. Go ahead, I'll wait. Put it on your neck and pretend it's really helping, as you sit there all stiff like you're going to take the "best nap ever" and wake up "so refreshed" in Cleveland. You think you're better than me because you spent $75 at Brookstone before you boarded the plane? PUH-LEEEZE. I spent $3.99 on my issue of UsWeekly and $1.79 on my enormous bag of Funyons, and once I'm done eating these Funyons, I will let loose a 2 hour long farting brigade that smells so much like onions you may consider asking me if I am carrying onions. So I guess we will just see who comes out the winner on this one. Row 27 is going to get interesting.

The technology post really leads into the traveling post, for me anyway. Whenever I am traveling I am always really alarmed at the lack of updates in technology. Um, excuse me American Airlines but are these the same seats you introduced on your intro plane in 1972? The in-plane phone appears to be non-working, I guess you have unplugged it since everyone age 8 and up HAS CELL PHONES NOW.

When something has happened with your flight and they are trying to rebook you, is it just me or are those monitors the kind of computer Doogie Howser used? Have you ever slightly leaned forward to see what they're doing because it appears they're typing haphazardly and not purposefully? And then when you lean forward they slightly turn the monitor, right after you realize the screen is black and the letters are green, just like that first computer you had at your house in 1988 that you could just play solitaire on?

My father just told me a hilarious story about traveling that really tied in closely with the technology post. He is "about" 50 years old and weighs 200-something lbs, and was traveling in one of the regular seats, not business class. According to him he is "stuffed in like a sardine." He is a large man and I have to admit I am so annoyed when I realize I'm sitting next to a man his size. But I actually totally sympathize because I am pretty average sized and feel like the seats are smaller every time I travel. Getting out to go to the bathroom, which I do every 10 minutes, is like a test of what you learned in the 2 years you took gymnastics as a child. The first stress is whether to go front or back, thus either pushing your booty in the poor passenger next to you or your pikachu. Either is horrible and awkward. Additionally, people are so closed in nowadays you feel horrible for even breathing an inch outside your seat area, not to mention the tense 3 minutes when you are both sitting there thinking, "who is going to have this arm rest."

So my dad goes on to tell me about how once the plane takes off, there is a couple in his little row who have proceeded to take out an entire meal they had obviously brought on to the plane.

This brings me to traveling etiquette tip #397. I know I joked above about the funyons but I really do only do that in desperate times. I.E., if I just really feel like having a bag of funyons. But for the most part, this is just a really rude thing to do. If you are traveling for over 120 minutes in a very confined space, it is probably best you do not open your steaming hot steak sandwhich next to me and eat it with your au ju sauce dripping down your chin, or I may have to throw up all over you.

This particular couple brought on a Boston Market style meal, according to my father, a whole chicken. As he recalls, the entire bird was on American Airlines Flight #2997, bones and all. Understandably, watching this disgusting pair work their way through a whole bird worked up his appetite, but at this point, we all know that we can now only purchase in-air snacks, which are overpriced Teddy Grahams, and when you are a middle aged normal sized male, it's just not going to cut it.

So he moves on from the snack and decides he at least needs a distraction. He tells me he decides he will fork over the $5.95 to buy the airline headphones and watch the TV. Well of course, this is only in my family, because we are just walking jokes, he gets the only pair of headphones in their batch of 10,000 that does not work. Despite the fact that he does not need the $5.95 back, he goes on to ask if he should return the head phones because he cannot hear the show, how would he go about getting a refund? Well it turns out you have to fill out a form and turn it in, all in the name of getting 6 bucks back for an in flight movie gone horribly wrong. My dad loses his keys, credit card, and wallet all at least once a week so the chances of him bringing home the form, filling it out and sending it in are pretty much not happening.

I am about to travel to Miami in 7 days with my 1 year old little boy. I know I must be able to get at least a few blog-worthy stories from my trip as I am traveling alone and no longer have my secret weapon we used last summer when we took him on a 4-hour flight to Boston: Breastfeeding. He was about 8 months old at the time and since he was a growing boy, he would go on the boob pretty much anytime, so I used this as my way to calm him and keep him happy during take off and landing. Oh did I mention I would do this in the wide open, on the aisle seat? By the end of 8 months of breastfeeding I had fed Brooks so many times in random places I would have done it with my top completely off it it meant silence.

With no breastfeeding tool this time, I'll be like a Pioneer in the days of yore, relying solely on books and toys. Prayers would be appreciated.