Operation Sleep Like a Baby

Dear Baby Blogworthy,
This past few months has been fun, hasn't it? We've done so many fun things together as a family. We've visited Downtown Disney, got strawberry-fied at the Strawberry Festival, smelled the stinky animals at the zoo, walked around Gainesville for babies.

You know what else has been fun? The five-month sleepover we've been having! It's great! Remember that time you would only sleep for 1 hour at a time? How about the month you slept in your carseat because you wouldn't sit anywhere else? Oh, we've had a blast, especially around five AM. Let's see....you've been in your swaddle blanket for about four of these five months, and I re-swaddle you about three times every night, so that means I've tightened up your sleep sack 360 times! Wow, it only feels like 250!

All good things must come to an end. It's better you start learning that now before you have too many disappointments in life. That's why it's time for you to mosey along to your own room.

Listen, Baby Blogworthy, we basically spent the better part of six months getting that room ready for you. It has everything a baby could need: darkness; white noise; a small nightlight; a soft, cozy crib. A FAN. You know, Mommy never had a fan growing up. Just color yourself spoiled.

Basically, Mommy wants her room back. She wants to get ready for bed without tiptoeing around your basinette. She wants to read in bed with the light on. She wants to watch a few minutes of TV before she hits the hay. She wants to be able to say goodnight to Daddy without having to SHHH him for being too loud. She wants to sleep at night without hearing you thrash around, trying to stick your toes in your mouth in your sleep.

No, no, no. Just stop it right now with the big, sad eyes. It's for your own good. I'm sure you'll sleep much better without Daddy snoring three feet away from you.

On second thought, maybe I'll move to your room, too.

I also think it's time for you to think about maybe possibly considering a move outside your swaddle blanket. What do you say? I mean, as much as I'd enjoy another 100 re-swaddles, I just have this gut feeling that you'd really enjoy sprawling out and rolling around. I mean, really, you're missing 10 or more hours of putting your feet in your mouth. Those toes won't suck themselves.

And say! While we're on the subject, hows about reverting back to the way you slept about three weeks ago? You know, all, go to bed at 8:30, wake up at 5 to nurse, go back to sleep until I wake you up for the day. Those were good times! Why do you want to get up every three hours and scream at me? Is it because I'm so beautiful? I bet it is. Don't worry, Mommy will be beautiful in the morning, too. In fact, I'm going out a limb here, but I might even be MORE beautiful when it's not 1 am!

So your take aways are: sleep in your own crib, without a swaddle, for several hours un-interrupted. Operation Sleep Like a Baby is commencing. Ready? GO!

Love,

Mommy

So this is where y'all come in. I need to wean him off his swaddle and help him soothe himself to sleep when he wakes up. I've tried soothing him without picking him up to try and "coach" him to put himself back to sleep, but he just gets hysterical and makes it worse. I'm worried the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to break the habit. And I feel like maybe he's playing me a tiny bit.

Please no judgys here, just want to know WWTID (what would the internet do)?

3.) What is going on in the bedroom? Describe a memorable sleeper.

Wordless Wednesday: My men

This picture shows why I get up in the morning, wade through the rivers of bullcrap flowing through a corporate job, and race out the door at 5. This picture is why Saturdays and Sundays are so special. This picture shows my hopes and dreams and my future. This is my present.

This is my heart and soul.

You've come a long way, baby

As we were packing to leave on a weekend trip to Tampa on Friday, I found a tiny, yellow hat under the bassinet. It took me back to the last time Luke wore that hat, the first week we had him home from the hospital when he would sleep approximately never hours and zero minutes. The first night we tried to get him to sleep in pretty much every device made for baby sleeping and some that were not. We tried the swing with and without a swaddle. We played the music that comes with those baby swings, mechanical renditions of classical pieces that circled through my subconscious as I slept.

We tried lights on and off, the pack n play, the crib, and in a moment of sheer desperation and exhaustion, we tried laying him on our chests while we sat sleeping up. Turns out, rocking in someone's arms for the better part of the night was more his cup of tea.

Then there was the matter of his temperature and general comfort, because as you moms and dads know ,and we found out quickly, parents don't really know if the baby is too hot or cold unless they are screaming, and even then it's sort of a crap shoot. Our son was born in November, but also November in Florida, so it is hot, then cold, then hot. Rinse and repeat. SO, we dressed him layers at night: onesie, socks, blanket sleeper, and a hat. The hat was an exercise in futility; it never once stayed on for more than five minutes. And of course, with an anxious mom and worry wort dad, we checked constantly to see if it was somehow smothering him.

Three months later, we don't mess with the hats, he sleeps laying down in his bassinet without music hours at night, for which I'm eternally thankful to the big guy upstairs. He's learning to hold on to toys and his feet, and learning to roll to his side. He;s laughing and smiling and clearly thinks we're so silly. Those times are simply the best.

But I'm learning there are challenges with every age. I always naively though I could just keep on doing whatever I did before, but with a baby in tow. After two consecutive baby meltdowns in restaurants this weekend, I realize my life as I knew it is gone. Long gone. Riding into the sunset with its friends, happy hour and a clean house.

Even when he's at his crabbiest, ripping us all a new one because the sun is just way too bright for his liking, all he needs to do is smile at me and I fall more and more in love. We've come a long way in the past three months, Luke, me and hub, us as a family, and we have so much more to learn.

I can't wait to see what other changes are in store.

For you moms and dads, did you realize your life had changed sooner than I did, or am I just slow?

Love Letter to my future teenager

Dear Luke,

As I'm writing this, you're 2 months old.

Sweet boy, you've been a joy to us, an incredible blessing. You've grown my heart to lengths I never thought existed. You're starting to discover the world: the mobile above your bed, your little hands, our faces. You laugh when Daddy and I don't know what we're doing, like the time I put two legs in one leg hole. You thought that was hilarious.

You also laugh when we're just looking at your beautiful, innocent face. That smile melts my heart every time.

But by the time you read this letter, you'll be a teenager. You can put on your own pants and probably don't think it's funny anymore when we don't know what we're doing (I'm sure you'll think we NEVER know what we're doing). Long gone will be the days when just looking at us made you smile, but I'm sure that smile will still melt my heart.

If you're like your Daddy, you'll love sports. You'll probably be playing a few, too. I'm sure I'll spend lots of nights and weekends sitting on cold, hard bleachers or lawn chairs on a sideline.

Baseball and basketball are fine, but you'll play football over my dead body.

Soon you'll be bringing home girlfriends. It might start with a girl who you swear is a friend, nothing more, but you text (or whatever kids are doing 15 years in the future) with her non-stop. Or it might be a date to homecoming. Or hanging out at a football game.

Son, it's important that no matter how you meet your first little girlfriend, you should treat her well. Hold doors for her, answer her phone calls. Call her back. Listen to her. Surprise her with her favorite things. Don't take her for granted. Above all, treat her with respect.

Also, remember this: no matter what girl rushes in or out of your life, your Mommy loved you first. And if that girl breaks your heart? I will cut her.

There, I said it. Right there on the Internet for all and sundry to read. My heart will burn with hate for any girl who breaks yours.

I probably won't like her at first. I might not like her EVER. There may be other girls that come around who I will also hate. Someday the right one will come along and I will like her, but expect me to want to break most of their legs.

Sorry, son, but you're my precious little boy and ain't no girl out there good enough for you.

Love, Mommy



*Post inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop with the writing prompt: Write a letter to your future teen.*

My first four days as a mother

Consider this a part two of my epic journey into motherhood. Here is part one.

Right after Luke was born, they whisked him away for some tests in the nursery and Hub went with them. I had them leave the picture they took right after his birth so I could just stare at it. I was a little shocked that he was actually there, live and in person, and mine (all mine). I kept looking at the picture and picking out features I didn't see. It was a picture of a tiny little stranger that I sort of knew because, well, he was my tenant for 9 months. This picture was so different than the grainy black and white of our ultrasounds.

As I mentioned in the first post, I hadn't eaten in close to 24 hours and you know what they gave me? The crappiest breakfast known to man: ONE biscuit, two slices of bacon, a tiny bowl of fruit and a bowl of grits. Come on now. I just pushed out an almost 9 lb baby and you're going to feed me grits? I'm offended professional and personally.

They moved me to my room for the next 24 hours, and I was running on pure adrenaline. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. The room was in the fancy new wing of our hospital and super nice (as nice as a hospital could be). My sister and in-laws came by to visit and stayed for a little while and around 4 I finally got an hour nap with him on my chest -- which felt like I slept hours. It was heavenly.

The downside to the new side of the hospital is that there is no nursery, so I woke up at every little sound he made. I would change him and then try to feed him and then pray he went to sleep for a few minutes. He hated being in the dark, so we slept with the lights on. Meanwhile, my body felt like I had been hit by a train. It wasn't the funnest of nights.

The next day the feeding problems continued. I wanted to breastfeed. I took the classes. I thought, "this will be a piece of cake". It wasn't at all. He wouldn't latch -- just refused -- and then cried bloody baby murder because he was so darn hungry. I talked to every nurse on the unit and then to the lactation consultant. They all gave me advice and none of it was that good. I'll write more on this whole journey later, because I know you all love to read about my boobs.

We left the hospital about 24 hours after he was born. I hadn't showered and because I didn't realize I would be staying for the long haul, had forgotten my toothbrush, so I was ready to get back. As they wheeled me out and we fastened him in the car, I was thinking, "what now? What am i supposed to do with this child?"

The first night was brutal. He hated being in the dark, still. He hated the pack n play we set up for him to sleep in. He was grumpy. He still wouldn't eat. I still hadn't slept much AND I was recovering from delivery. It was by the grace of God I got through that first 24 hours at home.

The following days weren't much better. We saw a lactation consultant a few days after we left the hospital and she informed me that our baby wasn't sucking right, that he had a suck more like a baby who was pre-term, and that he'd lost more weight since his delivery than she was comfortable.

And after that appointment, the inevitable crash happened. My girlfriends at work had warned me that my emotions would catch up with me and I'd have a breakdown, but that it gets better after that. Seventy-two hours after my child was born, I lost my mind.

I cried over everything; the biggest, saltiest, fattest tears you'd ever see. I should have gotten an award for the amount of liquid that came out of my eyes.

I cried because he cried, I cried because he was asleep. I cried because he spit-up and I cried because he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I screamed at Hub and told him he was unprepared for me after pregnancy.

I snapped at my in-laws.

I told Hub that we had a terrible child.

And in the dark of night, when no one else was awake but me and the baby, I thought to myself, "Where is the warranty on this child?"

And it made me cry that I thought that.

But just as it got bad, it got good again. I mean, it's not good all the time, I'm not going to lie. I hate that I don't get to sleep much. I hate the feeling I get when he cries. I hate feeling helpless, like nothing I can do will make him happy.

However, I love looking at his face. I love when he makes eye contact with me. I love his tiny fingers and toes, the way his little baby butt fits into my hand, the curve of his tiny little spine, his sweet pouty lips. I love nursing him. I love the special connection I have with him because I'm his mother.

He's been in our lives over a month and it gets easier every day. Thank God for my Twitter friends and Mommy friends at work, or I'm not sure I would have made it.

He's changing daily and I can't wait to see what the next month has in store.

No porch light means I'm not interested

Last year Hubby and I went all out on Halloween. We carved an awesome pumpkin.

See? Awesome. Hubby carved that last year.

We had some spooky Halloween music and set up a nice little operation from our driveway, including some pretty stellar candy options. I'm not talking, like, the generic kids mix. I'm talking Hersey's bars, Kit Kats and Nerds.

We got about 3 kids. The rest of the candy went straight to my thighs.

This year we decided to be grinches, or whatever the Halloween equivalent is. Hubby and I went out to dinner and ran errands, then lost track of time and came home right about when Trick-or-Treat was starting and our street was SWARMING with those little sugar-hungry brats.

We rushed inside so we wouldn't be spied, left the door closed and the porch light off. A few minutes later, our doorbell rang.

Who sends their child up to a dark house? Seriously, who does that?

Luckily, we had some 6-month old suckers from ye olden days of my 1st trimester morning sickness, so I popped those bad boys in the bags of those eagerly awaiting children, while their mother graciously shone her flashlight onto our sidewalk so the kids could see the dark house they were approaching. The dark house containing who knows what manner of grumpy, angry people. I mean, hypothetically, if we're cantankerous enough to deny kids their God-given, red-blooded American right to free candy on Halloween, what other deep dark secrets could we be harboring?

And additionally, I thought the international sign for, "I'm not giving out candy because I hate you. Please go away" is to turn off your light. Maybe things have changed in the past 18 years since I've been begging for treats.

We decided since we've already broken the seal, as it were, that we'd flip on the light and continue giving out stale suckers until it was over. All in all, we got about 10 kids. That includes the kids who were in such a hurry that they couldn't wait 60 seconds for me to rock my pregnant butt out of the recliner and waddle to the door. Ungrateful.

Did you give out candy? What percentage of children, would you estimate, forgot to say either "Happy Halloween", "Thank you" or both?

Newsflash: It's hot

So guess what, y'all? It's really hot out! Like record breaking hot! Because of that, the media are crawling like cockroaches to my garage to this particular sensational story. I mean I'm sure eventually someone will come up with a new angle for it! OR NOT. Because it's the same old story every single summer. Guess what, people? We live in FLORIDA and it's AUGUST. Heat is hardly newsworthy AT ALL. It seriously burns me up NO PUN INTENDED.

Here's how it goes: media calls, one of us takes it. They say, effervescently, "Hi, it's Amber/Ashley/Jennifer from [insert student radio station or newspaper here] and it's hot out! so we want to do a story about how to stay cool! Is there a doctor who is available to talk to us?" Then we call and bug the emergency department or an emergency medicine doctor; not like they aren't busy enough tending to sick people in emergencies. The emergency people tell us the same old crap that your Mom told you growing up: Stay inside during the hottest hours, drink lots of liquids, use sunscreen,  so on and so forth. I mean it's not brain surgery, people. It's staying cool. There's no science to it.

One of my coworkers got one today and asked who I'd talked to last time. I decided next time I'm going to  tell them I'm the expert and then read, verbatim, from either our online health encyclopedia or WebMD. You know, maybe I'll just take the story from the same publication that was written last year and read it to them. They can quote themselves. Wouldn't that be fun and inventive!?!?!?!?

Or I could say, "why don't you just go ahead and reprint last year's article? Nothing has changed.

Or I could lie completely and say, "you know what, actually, its' amazing you called today because they are releasing this brand new device called the 'personal air-conditioning unit'. It's the latest and greatest. It's a big bubble lined with effervescent liquid that works to cool your body. You can just walk around and do everyday tasks and not worry about the heat! It's genius! What will they think of next!? I'll definitely try and find somebody to talk to you about this!" and then block that number from my phone.

Of course, I'm just kidding. I would never do that, and will keep finding sources for all these perky little students. I dont' want to crush their journalistic dreams too fast.


This post has been a part of Word Up, Yo!, a vocabulary meme. Go play along!

Another good idea, another chance for you to STEAL IT

Ok, seriously folks, I'm getting ready to lay another great idea up in this piece and it's going to explode with awesomeness like a stick of dynamite, so please be prepared. I know we all sort of let our guards down on Fridays so this is just a warning.

Yesterday I talked about my idea for ghost tours, which won't work because I'm lazy and not in a place where people would fall for that take advantage of such an opportunity. But I do live in a college town. That means we have lots of hungry, poor and sometimes drunk college students. When we moved here from WV, we noticed a real lack of hot dog eatery establishments. WV is like, hot dog capital of the world. These poor students just have to forgo the taste of mystery meat, covered in sauce, wrapped in a deliciously steamed bun? It's just wrong.

Thus a dream was dreamed. A dream of our very own hot dog cart.

Hot dogs are, like, the cheapest thing to fix. That's why there are twice as many hot dogs as hamburgers at cookouts -- look next time, it's a fact.

Hot Dog Cart

 First we'd have to buy a hot dog cart. This is by far the biggest expense, but also will pay for itself. There's some term in economics for that, I think, but guess who doesn't know much about economics? Anyway. I browsed Ebay and found this lovely cart for only $400. And it's nostalgic. You know what students love even more than cheap stuff? Kitsch.

Even the seller knows what a gem he's got on his hands:
"Theres [sic] nothing like this full-service pushcart to deliver nostalgic charm and modern convenience," he proudly proclaims. That's correct sir, NOTHING like it.




The cart comes with  a hot dog roller, a two lidded steaming/warming trays, a beverage cooler, a service shelf and three inserts "for condiments such as chili and sauerkraut."

Then we go on to the basics of any good hot dog business. I just spent an hour researching how to buy wholesale hot dogs and finally found them (Bee Tee Double You, if you want to find wholesale hot dogs on Google, you have to use the keyword "bulk foods, hot dogs"). I can get some Oscar Mayer's, a case of 330, for $110. Now that I'm thinking it through, maybe bulk hot dogs aren't a good idea, as I have no space to keep them. Other than my fridge. Can you imagine if somebody came over and looked in my fridge and they were all, oh, so you like hot dogs? Awkward. So if worst comes to worst, I'll just buy some at Walmart for 99 cents for 12. Buns are 89 cents for 8. *high  quality* is what we'll be known for.

Then there are a whole bunch more variables, like how much mustard costs, if I'll be serving relish or sauerkraut, and how many hot dogs we'll really need. And I dont' have time for all that right now, so I'll get to the really brillant part: Location, location, location.

During regular school days through the semester, from 11 till 2, we'll push that little bad boy around trolling from customers. What more perfect lunch can you think of for rushed, poor students? So that's 3 hours out of the day. Then when the sun sets, our hot dog cart will become a beacon for drunk bar flies. Picture if you will: 3 a.m. You've been dancing and drinking and it's time to go home. Nobody is sober enough to drive to Taco Bell and nothing else is open. Suddenly, like an angel made out of streel, plastic and animal byproducts, the hot dog cart appears, waiting to satisfy the cravings of wasted 20 year olds. I mean it's like a money pit waiting to open up. So 2 till 3:30 we'll work the night shift.

We'll name is something  University of Florida-y, like Swamp Dogs or something vaguely sexual like Hot Buns & Wieners, Inc. Then we'll become millionaires.

On my last blog, Ally left the following comment:

My big idea was... to serve frozen/umbrella drinks from the ice cream truck. I mean, no ice cream...just alcoholic beverages. How stellar is that?? I love to drive and I love to watch drunk people so if I could make a profit off of them, all the better! All I need is a driver's license (check) and a liquor license (if drinking made it so, I would totally have that one, too). I think we could be on to something. But if I see a drink truck driving around, you'll be the first person I'll be looking at. 

Now I'm thinking, perfect. This is the best duo ever. We'll park the hot dog cart right next to the ice cream truck that sells liquor and make money off the kids who just aren't ready to stop partying quite yet, but also need a snack break.

Speaking of breaks, if you steal our ideas, we'll break your toes.

What's your best 'brilliant' idea?

It's been awhile -- wanna hear some work stories?

My team has access to the production studio at work, which is much less impressive than it sounds, although the most wonderful, cool, dark and quiet room you'll ever see in your life. Don't think I haven't thought long and hard about napping there on occasion. Anyway, we do some video editing and podcasting there. Our studio is located within a suite that holds our call center, an impressive 5 employees strong. That's right -- we're so awesome we only need 5 people in our call center. 

I was editing some video yesterday and when I walked out one of our call center employees whispers to me to come over to her desk. She's a really nice lady, a little older, always so happy and positive. We work in the same department but not really with one another, but I knew OF her. So I head over to her desk and have the following conversation:

Her: Let me ask you something. Don't you get mad at me, now. [places her hand on my belly] Are you pregnant?

Me: Yes!

Her: I knew it. You're having a girl, aren't you? [as she continues to rub my belly]

Me: Actually no, a boy. We just found out last week.

Her: That's just so wonderful! [tone change to angry] Did that big tall girl have her baby yet?????

Me: [taken aback] um, well, I don't know. Maybe? 

Two things: my belly is not that big, so touching it at this point is still a little more in my personal space than I care for an almost stranger to be. I mean when the baby gets bigger, maybe. But right now, I'll take my belly untouched, please. Also? I don't know what girl she's talking about. Like no clue whatsoever. It was a strange transaction.

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Our little intern, bless his heart, he's 21 years old. It's just precious. I love 21 year olds because they are still filled with goodness and wonder and positivity. They still think liberal arts is a good, strong choice. They like things such as napping and doing projects and going out to bars. They have time for all that stuff.

I gave him a project to help me with this summer -- taking photos of some nurses for our website. He came in with the photos and he's all, look how they all posed and stuff for me. They were really friendly. Another coworker teased him about giving the girls his number and he said, "naw, they were older." Older. Guess what's older to a 21 year old? TWENTY-FIVE. Yeah, the ripe old age of 25. Over the hill, certainly. I mean after the metabolism starts to slow it's all over. 

We all enjoy our intern.

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Not really work related, but since this blog is turning out pretty random anyway, here goes. In the past two weeks, we've had one almost fatal lightening strike in the area and one not really close to be fatal but still scary anyway alligator attack.

The alligator attack was on a researcher who was snorkeling in a river about 30 minutes south of where I live. The alligator was all, Oh, my food delivery is here NOM. And the guy was apparently big and strong and wrassled him off. The guy got a bite on his neck and some cuts and bruises but was OK and would make a full recovery. The alligator was murdered by the Fish and Wildlife people. Let's be clear here -- if you were in your living room and a some terriyaki chicken wings just sauntered in like they owned the placed, kicked up their drummettes and sat a spell, you'd bite them...right? Same with this gator. Dude was swimming in his house! And I'm sure he smelled delicious.  So whatever, I'm over it now but there was a hot second where I was sitting here with tears in my eyes after I found out the alligator was shot.


These two things together make Florida seem like the most terrifying place on the planet.

How many inches is your personal space bubble? How much do you enjoy interns and/or 21 year olds? Are you scared of Florida?

Teens say the darndest things. Also, some recipes.

Some kids stopped by Sunday night to watch the Kentucky game. That was their cover, but their real MO was to play Hubby's Play Station 3. Here are some gems from the evening:

"I want to tell Ke$ha what to do and she does it."
"Coach, today my sister slept till 1. She's lazy!" (this was said with no context)
"Hey Coach, what kind of tattoo should I get?"
"The other day our friends stayed over and we talked about who all we wanted to punch in the face."
"I'm going to put that I'm dating Ke$ha on my Facebook. It'll be Facebook official."
"Let's drink some victory Mountain Dew!"
"Are there any brownies left?"

There was also an inordinate amount of screaming at the last second shots thrown up ON A VIDEO GAME. I still don't understand boys.

A few people asked about the recipes I fixed for my little party on Friday. The first is just a link because I dont' feel like typing it out. This is from Rachael Ray (feel how you will about her, but she makes a mean cheese infused dip. I found the recipe while watching 30 Minute Meals right before New Years Eve. That's the first time I made it and it was a huge hit. It's so super easy. I leave out the artichokes because I really can take em or leave em. The spinach gives it plenty of flavor and consistency:

Spinach Artichoke Dip recipe

The next two are from Cook This, Not That .

Spicy Potato Skins

You'll need:

• 4 small russet potatoes
• olive oil
• salt and black pepper to taste
• 1 cup 2% milk (I used skim and it turned out fine)
• 2 tbsp butter
• 1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese, plus more for garnish
• 4 scallions, chopped, plus more for garnish
• 1/2 tbsp minced chipotle pepper
• 1/4 cup sour cream (I used low-fat)
• 6 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled (I used turkey bacon)

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.  Rub the potatoes with a bit of olive oil and lightly salt the skins. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes until tender. When they have cooled slightly (enough that you don't burn your hands), scoop out the insides of the potato. Leavea  thin layer of potato intact around the skin to keep it from tearing. Add the milk, butter, cheese and scallions to the scooped out potatos and stir until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

Preheat the broiler. Scoop the potato mixture into the hollowed-out potato skin halves. Top with a little extra cheese and place under the broiler until the tops are brown and crispy (about 3 to 5 minutes.)

Mix the chipotle with the sour cream and place a dab on top of the cooked potato. Finish with a bit of crumbled bacon. (I actually didn't use the chipotle seasoning in my sour cream because I'm not a big fan of spicy stuff. I served it with extra sour cream for dipping -- low fat, of course).

Makes 4 servings (so you get two skins in one serving) and it's 310 calories, 11g fat.

Chicken Fingers with Chipotle-Honey

You'll need:

• 1 lb boneless, skinless chicken tenders
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 3 egg whites, lightly beaten 
• 2 cups panko bread crumbs
• 2 tbsp dijon mustard
• 1 tsp chiptle pepper puree
• 1 tbsp honey

 Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F. Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Place the egg whites in a bowl, and place the bread crumbs in another bowl or plate (season these with salt/pepper or really anything else in my own opinion -- I usually put a little bit of garlic powder on it because I loves me some garlic.) Dip the chicken tenders into the egg, then toss in the crumbs (make sure you coat them fully.)

Spray some non-stick cooking spray on a baking sheet (I use canola oil -- obvi -- heart health central over here) and place chicken on the sheet. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes. The crumbs should be brown and the chicken should be firm. (I kept them in for closer to 14 minutes, but I think it was just because of my oven. They weren't done at 12.)

Combine the mustard, chipotle and honey in a large bowl. Toss the cooked chicken tenders in the mixture so they are all coated with the sauce (again, I left out the chipotle, but did put a dash of the Cajun seasoning that we love. I'm sure chili powder would work too.)

Makes 4 servings. 250 calories per serving, 1.5g fat (0g saturated fat).

I didn't use a whole pound of chicken and I cut them into nugget form so there would be more, but smaller. I was really surprised how good these were. The sauce was exceptionally good.

Do you guys have any go-to recipes for pot lucks or impromptu parties?

It's a par-tay at my house, y'all, a basketball par-tay

I'm still recovering from this really wild party. And by wild, I mean a booze-free party with lots of teenage boys. Wait. That sounds bad. The teenage boys were here for my husband. Wait. I mean, they are his students and members of his basketball team.

I'll back up just a tad. Remember how I told you guys that my husband Loves with a capital L basketball season. And if there was an emotion stronger than love, that's how he'd feel about the three weeks of March Madness. In fact, once we had a conversation in which I asked him, "if I were preg and in labor and there was a UK tournament game on, would you be with me or at the game?" and he said the game. That's his commitment to UK basketball.

For the past four years, this has been my view during the tournament:

I didn't think that you get the full breadth of this so I took a video of it for you guys:







I took that half day from work yesterday. When I got home, Hubby said to me, "Honey, some people might be coming over." And me being a complete and total control freak, I wanted to know exactly how many people and exactly what the plans were. Would there be eating during or before? Are people going to be bringing food, or are we providing it? What time would they be there? How long would they stay? I mean, a girl needs to have her plans in place, people.

I LOVE to entertain and stuff people to the brim with good food and don't get to do it often enough, so I came up with a big plan to cook bad-for-you-bar-food-without-the-bar for all the peeps coming over (the headcount was 10). We just checked out the book Cook This Not That from our local public library. This book is fab and I recommend it for anyone who loves to eat out and wants to watch their girly figure.

Aside: I hope someone realizes one of these days how much I love shilling stuff that I like and gives me gobs of money for it, but for now I'll just write about it for free.

The menu was:

• Chicken tenders with spicy honey mustard sauce
• potato skins
• sliders, half were bacon and cheddar and half were swiss, onions and mushrooms
• cheesy spinich dip
• cheese fries
• Taquitos
• brownies

Of course, of all that stuff I cooked from scratch -- the Gorgonzola cheese I melted into the spinach, the burgers I cut out myself, the chicken tenders I lovingly breaded -- the biggest hit of the whole party was -- you guessed it -- TAQUITOS. Mystery meat central. And also? The brownies.

"Mrs. Austin," a couple guys said, "these brownies are amazing! thank you!"

You're welcome, but they are from a box. SADS.

I got to participate in some fun girly chat at the dining room table with a friend who stopped by with her hubby while 10 teenagers and three adults screamed and carried on using words like "that's sick!" "Nasty!"and "Body up!" and "he ooped it!" As the clock moved toward 10:30, the screaming grew louder. I popped my head in to see what was going on and I discover they are playing NCAA 2010 on PS3. Lovely.

As I mentioned before, it was peticoat rule at my house so male culture really fascinates me. It's like watching a pack of gorillas. My home was a zoo yesterday.

So, question is, who wants to come over to my house for a party?

When did I get so old aka music ain't what it used to be

So do y'all know about the singer named Ke$ha?

I like to pronounce it KEE sha. Hubby works with teenagers and is a little more in tune with what the youngin's are listening to and he says it's pronounced KESH uh. You know what? It's not pronounced either way because it is written with a dollar sign for that middle S and therefore is unable to BE pronounced. I mean honestly.

I guess it's because I really don't listen to top 40 music. I'm too old and married and lame to go to clubs and listen to it there. And top 40 stations are so annoying in the mornings, with all the loud talking and prank calls and whatnot. Please, top 40 station, I haven't had my coffee, keep your voices down.

Sidebar: Is it even called top 40 anymore? I mean what's like, KIIS FM called. Or the stations that play Ryan Seacrest's show. Is that top 40?

So I listen to the "adult contemporary from the 70s, 80s, 90s and today" station. Lots of soft talking and low tones and unoffensive music. Colbie Calet followed by the Eagles and then a little Billy Joel to round out the half-hour. That's what gets my blood pumping in the AM.

Then I tune into 90's on 9 on XM radio as soon as I hop in the car. I do love me some 90s tunes, y'all. If you were born in 1980 or after, listen when I tell you this, YOU ARE NOT AN 80S BABY. You are whatever type of music that was playing when you were in the 6th to ninth grade and to a certain extent, your freshman year of college. If you danced to any of these songs during your 7th grade dance that took place the last hour of the school day in your school gym, you're a 90s kid. You heard it here.

So K-E-dollar sign-H-A. No offense to anyone reading who busts a move to her songs, but the other day, Hubby and I were listening to her song in the car and I was appalled that 13-year-old children listen to this stuff.

Like:

Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back

Jack, like Jack Daniels? 'Cause that seems unsanitary. And:

I’m talking about - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys trying to touch my junk, junk

and WHAT?

Come put a little love it my glove bag
I wanna dance with no pants on
Come meet me in the back with the jack and the jukebox

 "Glove bag", really? Teenagers are listening to this? I mean I'm sure we had the same things going on when I was 13 but I truly don't remember songs with nasty lyrics like this. I sound like a total prude right now. I just get sad hearing young kids idolizing and singing along with adult lyrics like this, because being an adult is HARD and music like this is just the gateway into adulthood and I want to tell them, STAY YOUNG AS LONG AS YOU CAN!

Because one day you're listening to Ke$ha sing about a no-pants-dance, rocking your Ke$ha t-shirt from Hot Topic and the next thing you know, you're getting up every morning at 7 am to work. And will continue doing this for the next 35 years of your life (if you're lucky).

So who out there can explain Ke$ha to me?