Everything you ever wanted to know about flu shots and my meals

I got my flu shot this week.  I had to pep talk myself that if Max can get 3 shots in one day, I can get one measly flu shot.  Even after all the pokes and prods of having a baby, I still get scared to get a flu shot.  And as soon as they stick me, I'm like, hey now that wasn't so bad!!  But within a day I forget that it really doesn't hurt and I go back to being a weenie.  I mean come on...I had a freaking epidural, for goodness sakes...a little prick in the arm should be nothing!  But there I am, shaky and feeling weird after the 1 second flu shot.  The nurse was ready to give me the shot while I was standing up.  Something about that felt unsteady and weird.  Mostly I was scared that if I remained standing, I would be more inclined to jump away from her.  So I asked if I could sit.  Then the nurse told me I didn't need a band aid, but I insisted.  There is just something about the pressure of a band aid that makes it feel better.  On the way back to my office, my arm stung and I felt weak.  A quick investigation revealed that it was the band aid pulling on my arm hair that hurt, not the injection site.  Phew.

This weekend, a grand reunion/introduction is taking place!  My college gal pals are getting together for Homecoming, and while this is something we often do, this year will be especially adorable as there are lots of new babies that joined the world this year.  It was quite the baby boom with our little clique: March-Jonas; April-Emerson; May-Maxwell; June-Sophie; July-Jackson; November-TBA.  The TBA baby will be honored with a little baby shower while we're all together too.  Weekends like this make me wish that my best pals lived closer together.  Some of my very best friends live much too far away.

In honor of Crocktober, I performed my very first crockpot meal yesterday.  I have known that crockpots are sweet for a while now, but I never really did anything about it.  But finally...yesterday, at 6:30am, I threw some frozen chicken, salsa, taco seasoning and water into a crockpot.  Then, when we finally got home last night at 7:30, we feasted on delicious chicken tacos.  Mike should get the majority of the credit though, as he shredded the chicken (the worst part, I think) made a delicious chopped spinach/avocado/tomato salad, AND went above and beyond the call of duty by grilling the tortillas to add a little crispiness.  If we had tacos every night, I don't think either of us would be sad.  However, most week nights I do my own thing because he is working, which results in me making one weird meal in bulk on Sundays and eating the same thing every night - this way, when I get home and I am FAMISHED like usual, I don't have to choose between making dinner and loving on Maxer. The last couple of weeks has been Meat Cakes - meatloaf baked in a muffin tin.  I like to "ice" the meat cakes with some mashed cauliflower - I find that since it looks cute or comical, it helps me to forget I am eating meat wads and fake mashed potatoes.

Whenever I am in meal prep mode on Sundays, Mike offers me the challenge to make something that looks so good that he can't resist eating.  So far, I haven't been successful in that.  I would say that's both a good and a bad thing.  I haven't quite reached the balance of healthy AND appealing to many.  I'm not so sure I'll ever get there...my staple meal used to be a baked potato with ketchup (special occasions called for baked potato with black beans and avocado).  I mean come on...how is that not delicious!  But when I revealed that meal to Mike when we first started dating, he was horrified.

As I blab on and on in this post, I realize that this is not fulfilling my blog's goal of helping me to remember the special moments of my life.  Try again tomorrow, I suppose!

Helicopter mom

I'll be the first to admit that I am an extreme worrier.  Duh.  I worry about everything.  I worry that the second I stop worrying, the worst will happen.  So, I continue to worry.  It's my way of forecasting the horrible things that can happen, so that I will never be caught off guard.

But what started as a funny phrase now offends me.  "Helicopter Mom".  Oh I'm sorry, did you mean that I care for my child's safety and well-being?  Because that, I'm fine with.  What I'm not fine with, is the visual of me fluttering around Max like a psychotic butterfly, and being so up in his bizness that I don't allow him to flourish.

What offends me the most is this:  All my life I have wanted to be a mom.  Throughout my life as I realized things that I am not good at, I always had in the back of my mind, the idea that I would be a mom and I would be a good one.  So, if my worrying keeps me from being a good Mom, then what the $@%# am I good at???  Piano lessons didn't pan out...  Sports, nope... Science/Math/school in general, that's not on the list of skills.  So come on, life, please.  Can I just have this one thing:  Mothering.

I want to be cool, calm and collected.  I want to always be one step ahead and be prepared for everything, but have it all appear seamless.  Is this possible?  All of that takes effort, but if the effort is so apparent, then does that still count?  Am I trying too hard?

I haven't had a pity party in a while, so I guess I am due.  Table for one please.

PS. To add insult to my injury, I attempted to put on this pink lip stain so that I would stop biting my lips.  It backfired in the worst way possible.  Now my lips are: raw from trying to rub off the stain; still stained; clown-like.  Can I go home yet?

Week in Thoughts

Target has scary produce.  This week, they had the largest, creepiest apples I have ever seen.  (exhibit A).  I can't even imagine eating that.  I would feel like I was eating a prop from Honey I Shrunk the Kids.

Exhibit A

In other news, our health insurance is going up $111 per month next year.  Which is fine...I work for a non-profit and Mike is self-employed, so we will probably just pay for it from our treasure chest that is filled with gold coins and diamonds.  This is just an added incentive to reach Mike's goal of having Max potty trained by 6 months - then we can use diaper money on health insurance.   See, it's tricky. I'm not mad at ya, Obama.  You my boy.  You have a tough job and you gotta start somewhere.  But, with the way my health insurance plan is looking for 2014, I can guarantee I will not be visiting a doctor when I'm feeling a little under the weather.  I generally don't do that, but even more so now.  And the problem I have with that, is that the purpose of this legislation is to provide health insurance for those who previously couldn't afford it.  But, I still see quips on Facebook of people saying they still can't afford it and will continue to refuse health insurance.  So, I'm trying to be responsible and healthy and have health insurance for my family, while bozos who claim "can't afford it" will refuse coverage, inevitably end up getting sick and go to the doctor, and the responsible ones will cover those costs.  Why I oughta........... I have been following a pretty fascinating debate on The Book, and saw this quote: "You're driving a car?  You are required to have car insurance.  You are living a life?  You are required to have health insurance!"  Now as I've mentioned in the past, I'm no politics expert.  But that seems pretty solid right there.  These are just my thoughts.

I had a realization last night: I am no longer the center of attention queen.  It is theme week in GoKickball world and so we got Mike dressed as his staple "Blind Ref" and got Max into his FREAKING ADORABLE hot dog costume (exhibit B).  We didn't have time for much else, and on the drive there, I was thinking...aw shucks, I am totally missing this opportunity to wear a costume!  Then I realized, while I am not giving up costumes all together, it is time to pass the torch to Maxwell.  I need to take on the role of getting him gussied up and parading him around while in my civilian clothes.  I would hate to steal the show from him.  So, while I still plan on begging for attention in other ways, it is kind of cool to assume this new role of Assistant {to the} Center of Attention.

Exhibit B

Maxwell woke up twice last night.  Each time, it was so hard to get out of bed...but once I'm in his nursery with him and we are snuggled in the chair, I don't even care what time it is.  He has started to rub my arm when I am nursing him and it is 1 part: adorable; 1 part: funny; 1 part: similar to a massage.  That kid is my fave!!  I can't wait to get home today and introduce him to snow!  Because, it would appear that winter has arrived in Denver.

I am getting a hair cut today.  A significant cut.  Not a mom pixie cut, but something substantial.  I realized that I get a lot of comments about how long my hair is, but that's not necessarily a good thing.

"Your hair is so long!" - what I generally hear
"Your hair is so long and it looks great!" - what I should hear
"Your hair looks great!" - what I'd like to hear

So, armed with a photo of Selena Gomez's shoulder length hair, I will hope that this hair cut doesn't result in tears.  Oh that's never happened before, but I'm just saying.

Welp, see ya!

On a Todd Helton high

I am on a Todd Helton high.  Last night, watching him play his final game as a Colorado Rockie...I mean, come on.  There were multiple times during the night that, if I allowed it, I could have let it loose and ugly cry.  Watching his little girls run out and hug his legs??  Listening to different athletes and well-known people recount the good times with the Todd-ster?  Hearing Eric Church's "Springsteen" over and over and getting chills just hearing the "dong, dong..." of the song...you know what I'm talking about!!!

And as I sat there with my sweet Maxwell (yup, turning it into a post about my baby...#sorrynotsorry) I just think to myself, isn't it the hope of every parent that their child can turn their passion into a career, and do something that makes people feel good?  No matter what it is...music, sports, etc...if Max gets to follow his dreams AND do something that people are interested in, I would say he is a winner.  I can't imagine the pride and emotion that Todd's family feels as they watch an entire stadium stand on their feet and cheer for Todd.  It's amazing.

I would also like to challenge the people of Denver to cheer for the home team.  How many of you fools in Boston gear have actual ties to Boston?  How many of you just like to cheer for them because they win a lot and it's the cool thing to do?  Maybe it's not always "cool" to cheer for the Rockies, but I'd rather be loyal and cheer for a losing team than sneak onto a winning bandwagon and hope that no one asks who the starting pitcher is!  I say this more on behalf of my husband and father-in-law, who are die-hard Rockies fans.  They'll be the ones who get to cry the hardest when the Rockies win a World Series.

Additionally, I'm very curious as to what Todd's retirement will look like.  Sounds like the man is set.  Many messages wished him "good luck" with his retirement.  I'm quite positive that with his $130 million fortune, a secluded ranch and a beautiful family, he's going to do just fine.  Except for that horse that they gave him last night... he probably had plans to sleep in this morning, but instead had to get up and feed that dang horse!  How exactly does that work?  Perhaps the wealthy folks board their horses.  If anyone has any information on how Todd handles horse ownership, please let me know.

Welp, off to sign Maxwell up for infant baseball lessons!

Mike used Max as a cute way to tell the obnoxious
Red Sox fans behind us to "behave".

Phobias and some photos

Aside from the obvious phobia of elevators, I am also scared of the following:

Sometimes at work, I'll sit on the edge of my chair.  Perhaps I do this so that my feet will touch the ground like the rest of the adults.  Either way, I always imagine the chair wheeling backwards, which would then make my chin hit the desk and my teeth shatter.  Always.

I am all about big, volumized hair.  When I'm in the bathroom, I flip my head over to tousle up the strands a bit.  I've started to visualize that as I flip my head over, I whack my head on the corner of the counter.  This would probably result in me passing out, but no one would know, since the door is locked.

I used to work at a smoothie shop in high school.  And college.  And maybe for a little chunk of time after college.  Anyway, as I would be watching the blender blend the smoothie, I would imagine the blades coming unhinged from the blender and slicing into my stomach.

We went to a little housewarming party this weekend, and Max stole the show.  Thank goodness...just as I mentioned before about how my pregnancy gave me things to talk to strangers about, now I'm able to talk to strangers about Maxwell.  I always try to let them continue on the topic of my baby, as I don't want to be "that woman" who won't shut up about her child.  

We made sure he passed out with his shoes off.  

Guess which one is 12 months old and guess which one is 4 months old...

More powerful than the President

A few weeks ago I had jury duty.  I wasn't annoyed by it, I was actually kind of excited!  The only factor that caused me a bit of anxiety was the logistics of how I was going to pump during the day, but I emailed in to make arrangements and they assured me that there was a "Mother's Room" that I could use. (See exhibit A)

I showed up and was fascinated by the process immediately!  We all checked in, and then different courtrooms would show up and request a certain number of jurors, and they would call out numbers of who was going to that courtroom.  We watched a video about how important jury duty was.  The video even mentioned that we, as jurors, were more powerful than THE PRESIDENT.  Oh reallllllllllly!?

Senator Michael Bennett was even there.  He walked in and it was like a political ad.  Women coming up to him for a hug.  Men shaking his hand.  He sat towards the front and stormed away on his blackberry.

A girl walked in wearing lace shorts and a shirt that said "POT HEAD".  Listen, sister...we all know your game.  You aren't getting dismissed by dressing like a bohemian druggie!

I thought there would be coffee?  Is that wrong?

I still hadn't been called around 9am, so I went to the front and told the lady I would need to pump soon.  She was extremely kind and told me I was being called with the next courtroom, so if I could wait a bit longer, I could be escorted to the "Mother's Room" by the court clerk.  Sure enough, I was called shortly thereafter, and sure enough, I was escorted to the "Mother's Room" by the court clerk, aka a 25 year old intern dude.  We walked to the 1st floor, checked the key out with security (had to provide my ID and everything!), then intern and I walked down to the basement, through a long hallway, and he dropped me off at a little room with a picture of a woman and a baby on the door.  He said he'd come back to get me...is 10 minutes enough?  TEN MINUTES??  Bitch please...I'm feeding a human here.  See ya in 30.

So, I settled in to the room and did my thang.  As I emerged from the room, there was intern, waiting like a good boy to escort me back upstairs to our courtroom!  And even better, all 50 potential jurors were lined up in order, waiting for me to return before they could enter the courtroom.  Maybe I AM more powerful than the President....

We filed in, and I was part of the first 17 that got sat in "the box" for questioning.  This was just so so so so interesting!  We were told about the case, and were instructed to let the judge know if there was any reason we shouldn't be a juror on this case...do we know the plaintiff?  the defendant?  the law firms representing either side?  Yada yada.  People who haven't learned how to be sly yet went on and on about why they shouldn't be on the jury.  I just decided to accept my fate and if I was chosen, so be it.  I had this attitude until they said the trial would last 7 days.  Seven WHAT????  And right before a holiday weekend?  Oh hellllllno!  I was nervous.  But I didn't want to join the group of those who were so painfully obvious about not wanting to be chosen, so I settled for telling the judge/attorneys (in private, in the judge's chambers, of course) about how I would need to pump every 3 hours, and that it would not affect my ability to serve on the jury, but I just needed them to be aware of my scheduling needs.

Anywayyyyyy, after a full day's worth of them asking us questions at random, and dismissing some weirdos, and replacing the weirdos with newbies, and then asking more questions, and hearing a vegan potential juror tell everyone that she was probably going to judge the plaintiff more harshly because she was overweight, etc....it came down to the final selection.  Both attorneys felt they had a good group to choose the 7 real jurors from.  They did a little song and dance about passing a piece of paper back and forth and crossing off juror names.  Meanwhile, the hate crime detective/potential juror that was sitting next to me was taunting me, saying I hadn't said anything weird enough to be dismissed so I was definitely going to be on the jury.  I watched the next 7 days of my life get flushed down the toilet.  But then, glory hallelujah, I was dismissed!

In summary, the entire process was extremely fascinating.  I'd like to serve on a jury, but on a case that lasts for 2 days, tops.  I'd also like there to be coffee. 

Sincerely,

The most powerful woman in America

Exhibit A: the Mother's Room

Controversial craft?

Over the weekend, I was a part of a special invention with a potentially controversial name: "the Talibun". 

(I worry that the more I put this word out there on the interwebs, the more the NSA will be a'watchin me. Oh wells!)

I found these awesome headbands on some random site, and I was determined to make them for myself, my sis, my cousin, and any other human who was interested. This craft was especially simple which made it all the more realistic that I would actually complete this craft. A few yards of jersey fabric and/or a few old tshirts, a couple folds/loop throughs/fabric smoothing, and my new headband was born!! They slightly resemble a turban. Initially, the group concluded that we would call them "turbuns", as the headband is a perfect compliment to a good 'ol messy bun. But then we started to joke that I had found this craft on www.taliban.com (hi, NSA!) and then we started to call them the "talibun". It took off! We made talibuns for all the gals, swept our hair into messy buns, and my new weekend hair was decided.

However, my friend mike still needs some convincing. He said the Talibun is not allowed in our marriage bed. Whaaaa??? 

I wore it to the grocery store the next day and I sort of expected to be so bombarded by compliments that I would have to set up a make-shift stand in the parking lot to take orders. Not so much. That might be because I started to frequent the Sprouts that all the grumpy old ladies go to. 

Anyhow, I look forward to incorporating the Talibun into my life and I also hope that Mike can find room in his heart for my new craft.

I present: The Talibun Gang!

Then, check out this tummy-time pro!

And heck, how about a sleeping baby pic just for the fun of it: