Florida Chick's moment of genius

It used to be that my moments of genius could be measured by an award recieved or an amount of recognition given. It might have been a great gymnastics score, a 4.0 gpa, or the number of students who had passed a test...today, however, my moment of genius was less momentus yet equally important...it was the day that I remembered to take the chicken out of the freezer before work, marinate it, and prep the salad all so I could walk in the door at 5:45 and not wonder what's for dinner...it was glorious!

I was so excited as I walked in the door - no cereal for dinner tonight. No mac'n cheese with hotdogs (believe me, occasionally you can add hotdogs and convince your familiy it is a "casserole"), no breakfast as dinner (which, is really just an excuse to use the 'just add water' pancake mix in the back of your pantry), it was a full-blown, sit-down, planned meal in which any working mother could take pride. Don't get me wrong, I love to cook, I just seem to not be organized enough to plan ahead and be prepared during the school year. Walking into a pre-planned meal was a moment that would erase certain memories of the day which include announcing to a classroom of middle schoolers that if they didn't feel like listening I certainly didn't feel like teaching, after which I sat at my desk, picked up a book, and left them to figure out their homework on their own (not one of my better moments). It is notable to add that as I pulled the marinated chicken out of the fridge at 5:45, I fleetingly realized how much smaller chicken thighs are than chicken breasts -and as I sauteed the spinach, garlic and tomatoes, I realized that an entire bag of spinach shrinks down to fit into a shot glass. I refused to be fully concerned, however, until I began filling up dinner plates. One for Kaitlyn, one for Carson, one for Chris...

Yup, that's it, my moment of genius came to an end as I realized that my well intentioned meal was going to fall short...I, perfectionist extraordinaire, did not have enough food for my family dinner. To be honest, Chris fought with me to give me the last plate of food, but I was not about to lose an opportunity to play the martyr...if I couldn't enjoy the well-planned meal, the least I could do was earn everyone's pity. Which I did - the evening prayer went like this..."dear God, thank you for this food...and please help mom to eat something...amen." Worried that I had caused my children to think I suffered some sort of anorexia, I made a turkey sandwich and watched my family as they enjoyed the meal that I had so geniously remembered to prepare.

The story doesn't end there, however, sitting at the table, I realized that I had had another moment of genius, just two days ago I had picked up a bottle of Pinot Grigio that would go well with my turkey sandwich. I was feeling hopeful again until I took out the bottle...and the wine opener...and realized that my wine came with a twist off cap...a TWIST OFF CAP...sigh...but despite the twist off, (don't tell my wine conossieur parents) it did go well with the turkey sandwich...I suppose all I can do now is plan for tomorrow, I think I'll plan for pancakes...

Lots of love from a slightly hungry Florida Chick

Florida Chick Catches Olympic Fever

I don't know about you, but I have spent the past week in an olympic-sized black hole. I have been completely consumed by every single event and have tried to watch NBC, MSNBC, USA, CNN, and UNIVISION simultaneously in order to not miss any big moments that I might hear about from someone else. I have sobbed uncontrollably over Michael Phelps, Dara Torres, the entire American gymnastics team, the Jamaican runners, the Latvian men's beach volleyball team, and the African swimmer who had never seen an olympic-sized swimming pool until his first heat at the games. I have ignored my children, my husband, and multiple phone calls to watch every possible olympic event...and although I did make it to Bible study this week, it was completely hard to concentrate because I knew someone was in the pool winning a medal.

The olympics has also made me a little nostalgiac for my younger days as an athlete...no matter that the current sprinters cross the finish line in the amount of time that it would take me to set up my starting block, or that the gymnasts throw tricks that are so amazing they are named after themselves...there is something magical about the olympics that makes me think, "you know, I could probably do that..." and with the encouragement of the 33 year old gymnast who won the silver on the vault last night, I have come up with 4 sports that I think I might be able to work on in the next four years in order to earn a spot at the 2012 games in London, here goes...

Number 1 - Shooting. Okay, I haven't actually seen this sport on TV, but I'm assuming you take a gun and shoot it at a target. Now personally, I am opposed to guns and am kind of afraid that if I had one I would accidentally shoot my big toe off - but with practice....

Number 2 - Speed walking. I'm not really a runner but I think that speed walking might be, well, more my speed. This is a sport that I have watched and as far as I can tell, the goal is to wear short shorts and walk a marathon route while stepping heel-toe and moving your hips back and forth - a definite possibility.

Number 3 - Fencing. Currently the U.S. has the number 1,2, and 3 fencers in the world, but I think this might be the possible sport to break into. The goal is to touch your opponent with your pokey-thing before they touch you. With enough practice I think I could become a pretty good poke and ducker. The only thing is the uniforms...I'm not crazy about the uniforms.

Number 4 - Tae Kwon Do. This is definitely the best bet, I have multiple Power Ranger DVD's in my house that have already given me amazing skills. Seriously, I'm pretty confident that I can take down multiple alien-like creatures from the planet Zordon...a human from the Ukraine shouldn't be that hard.

So, there is only one week of olympic awesomeness left, so please don't be offended if I don't answer your phone call in the middle of a synchronized swimming routine...it's not personal and actually, I need to start scoping out my competition. Seriously - I'm ready, I'm fired up...and currently I'm eating a bag of lime tostitos, no seriously...the whole bag. But no worries, I'll start training tomorrow...or at least the next time I put on the Power Rangers movie...and after I finish these chips...and the other bag that's in the pantry...enjoy the games!

Lots of Love from a not as athletic as she used to be Florida Chick!

Florida Chick in Michigan

So I'm wearing a sweatshirt. It's the end of July - the heart of summer - and I'm wearing a black velour hoodie just to keep warm...this is definitely not South Florida. I realized it last night when I took the kids for ice cream and it didn't drip down their arm in a sticky mess...and when I had to turn the air off in the car because the kids were shivering...and when we slept with the windows open and had to all snuggle tightly together to stay warm. It's like Dorothy when she sees the Oompa Loompas and announces "Toto...we're not in Kansas anymore" (actually I've never seen the entire movie, but I'm told this is what happens - and, okay Oompa Loompas are from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) but honestly, it's much the same...we're definitely not in Fort Lauderdale.

It's funny the things that you begin to accept as normal once to adjust to the pace of a new surrounding. For example, we were sitting at a stoplight yesterday, second in line, when it turned green. The car in front of me didn't notice the color change so Kaitlyn looks at me and says, "Mom, honk the horn - this guys just sitting there," which he was. But even more surprising than the fact that my daughter was ready to honk the horn at this poor guy, was the fact that not one person in line was yelling out their car window or honking their horn at him. Now, we were all complaining to ourselves about this idiot who wasn't moving...but not one person threatened to shoot him for dozing off at a red light...something that has become part of everyday life down south...it's probably the heat - 100 degree weather could make anyone crazy.

I have to say that the cooler weather and calmer pace of West Michigan has many advantages (including not feeling panicky at the stoplight) for example, my hair looks fantastic! I flat ironed it yesterday and it has kept its sleek and smooth shape...no frizzy curls that sneak up on you because of the humidity index of 96. And there are coffee shops on every corner...this is a huge blessing to me because down south my only choices are the ridiculously expensive (but so worth it) Starbucks or the cheaper (and slightly bitter) Dunkin Donuts which has the scary drive through where I always worry that I might get mugged.

As different as my two hometowns are, I'm glad to have two places where I love to be, and to top it all off regardless of where I am, I'm less than a mile from the beach. So that's today's plan, brush my nice flat hair, take my time at thh stoplights and hit the beach...although, today I will be hitting it with a blanket and sweatshirt as well as a mug of off-brand coffee, and off course parkas and mittens for the kids!

Lots of Love from a slightly chilly Florida Chick

Florida Chick Embraces Nature

So, I'm not really an outdoors person. Actually, that's an understatement...I just really don't like the outdoors period. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the environment - as in please recycle and use re-usable grocery bags, and conserve energy in whatever way possible - but loving the environment is completely different from loving the outdoors...which I don't. In fact, I have two major fears in life, the dark, which I think is probably pretty legitimate, and grass, which I know is irrational...but even as I write about it I get a little panicky thinking about walking barefoot through my backyard, seriously, ask my friends...

All that being said, I feel that it is rather ironic that Chris and I have settled down in South Florida. Living down here in July is somewhat like living in the rainforests of Belize...not that I've visited the rainforests of Belize (actually, are there rainforests in Belize?) Anyway, you get the picture - it's hot and steamy. Multiple times a week we find a slug or a toad stuck to our glass doors, and I think that currently there is an infestation of gnats because everytime I go running with Kaitlyn, I seem to run through this black cloud of tiny, flying parasites that get into my eyes and stick to the sweat on my collarbone...seriously, and this is at six in the morning when it's only 92 degrees and 90 percent humidity.

To top it all off, I think it might be critter breeding season. Everytime I open my front door there seem to be 5 billion geckos that go running in all directions...I have no doubt they are making thereselves comfortable in one of the corners of my home. They are gray and green and yellow and all shapes in sizes...and I swear that each day there are more than the day before. Not to be outdone, there now seems to be a family (meaning brothers, sisters, cousins, and grandkids) of giant yellow grasshoppers who are living on our patio. I have never seen anything like these completely disgusting insects but here they are, hopping 8 feet in the air all over the backyard. They are 3 inches long and have managed to eat a majority of my bougain villea...they are not my friends.

Finally, you will be glad to hear that there are now 3 giant iguanas on our school playground instead of two. Usually, since this is summer, it wouldn't be a problem, but since I'm teaching summer camp, I get to hang out with them multiple times a week. Everyone insists that giant iguanas are more afraid of humans than we are of them, but I'm not convinced...and even if they are afraid, they're ugly and I just don't like them.

So here I am...the girl who thinks a great sunny Saturday should be spent curled up indoors with a good book or chick flick, living down in the South Florida rainforest and sharing my home with geckos, gnats and grasshoppers, and sharing my workspace with giant iguanas. My resolve to stay indoors and off of the grass has been strengthed knowing that each of these animals crawls through the lawn and uses it as a toilet and I guess my only comfort is knowing that by going green I am embracing all elements of this great planet...that, and the fact that I have air conditioning, thank goodness!!

Oh, and just so you know that I'm not exaggerating I've included a picture of one of my grasshopper friends...

Lots of Love from the Florida Chick

Florida Chick gets reflective

I haven't had a wake-up call like this since my freshman year in college when I visited the dressing room of the Gap and realized I could no longer button a pair of size ten jeans...not a big deal to some, but since I had begun the semester as a size six...I'm sure you get the picture.
Today's wake-up call started much the same way, except is was an Old Navy dressing room, and I haven't gone up a size in a while (which is surprising since I go through a bottle of Spiced Vanilla Chai coffee creamer every three days) but it was distressing none the less.

It started about a month and a half ago when I went ahead and did what all good spa-junkie girls know they should never do... I peeled off my malibu sunset acrylic nails. It had been about a year and I needed a break, I figured it was an expense I didn't need in my life and I couldn't really find a good time to get a fill anyway...so I peeled. I followed that little ritual up by taking a bottle of nail polish remover to my toes. The paint was chipping a little anyway, so I figured what the heck, I'll leave them bare. From there I'm guessing it just kept snowballing because without even realizing it, I ended up in the Old Navy dressing room this afternoon looking at the reflection of a girl I didn't even recognize. Now I realize that many of you are already rolling your eyes, but for those of you who know me well...I know you can feel my pain.

I was trying on the first of many pairs of half-priced shorts when I looked up into the face of a girl with a greasy ponytail and bushy eyebrows. Seriously, I did a double take. When I tell you that my ponytail was greasy, I mean it looked like the Exxon Valdez had sailed across my head and left behind an oil spill...it was bad. To top it all off, my ponytail holder was stretched out so the pony hung limply in the middle of my head - not perky, not sleak and shiny, just greasy and floppy - the worst combination.

Slightly below the oil slick on my head sat two caterpillers...oh, my bad, those are my eyebrows! They were thick and prickly and I think I even had a little hair curling up right in the middle. But wait...it gets worse. As I began to panic about what I had let myself become I realized that I was also wearing a bright red summer camp t-shirt about a size and a half too big for me, a pair of black pinstriped capri pants with a bleach stain on the right leg, and flip flops...not cute, sassy, flirty flip-flops...ugly ones black, thick flip flops, ones designed for hiking - not for shopping.

It's okay, I know that not everyone will get it, and many of you are already tossing around words like "vain," and itching for the chance to remind me that beauty is only skin deep, but honestly, as a self-proclaimed spa junkie, it was bad...even if I weren't a spa girl it still would've been bad. There is a light at the end of the tunnel however, I've already plucked and tweezed those stray eyebrow hairs (what I didn't catch the wax girl will fix later this week), I scheduled a haircut for next weekend (not to mention deep conditioned right when I got home). And just to set things right and correct any wrongs that started me on this slippery slope, I'll be at the Nail Haven tomorrow getting a pedicure and a new set of acrylics, and when I get the urge to peel them off, I'll head to the Old Navy dressing room, stand in front of the mirror and remind myself that beauty may only be skin deep, but my skin deep looks much better with a pluck and a shine!

Lots of Love from the Florida Chick

Florida Chick is an Embarrassment

It's official, my daughter has finally crossed the line from "girl" to "tween." I should have realized that the obsession with Hannah Montana and the innocent crush on The Jonas Brothers were first signs of this twisted journey into pre-adolescence, but no, I just chalked it up to the marketing genius of Disney and continued tacking posters onto the walls, oblivious to what I'm sure any notable psychiatrist would have picked up as the daughter stage known as "mom, I'm way too cool for you."

Which brings me to my current dilemma...and the reason I have finally realized that my daughter is moving into tween-hood. It's not her age, not the Hannah/Jonas obsession, not even the fact that she is now better at math than I am...It's the fact that two days ago she said, "oh my gosh mom, stop dancing, you are embarrassing me!" Not only that, but she said it while I was dancing in the living room...with the curtains closed.

Now I understand the dilemma of the daughter whose mom is a "professional dancer" (read my blog about Rock of Love if you have any questions on the definition of this occupation) and is saying "oh my gosh mom, stop dancing, you are embarrassing me because men are putting dollars in your thong." But really, in the living room? curtains closed? getting down to Toby Mac? It's too much. To top it off, I thought I was a cool mom...I mean, not a cool mom like in Mean Girls (you know, you know what I'm talking about) but a cool mom none the less. I wear low-rise bootcut jeans (seriously, skinny jeans...not happening) with my Hannah Montana t-shirt, and wear cool shoes and shiny lipgloss, and big sunglasses. I read BOP magazine with her and pick out who was a fashion hot or not at the Nick Kids awards, and most importantly, my students at school think I'm cool...why wouldn't she? Even worse, it was my dancing that embarrassed her... I have flashbacks of Elaine on Seinfeld doing the thumb-out half-kick dance that made Jerry and George cringe and wonder when I went from center-of-the-dancefloor-girl to girl-who-reminds-daughter-of-a-Seinfeld-episode. Sigh...

I suppose there is a reason that God gave tweens and moms multiple years to figure this whole thing out, in the midst of the eye-rolling embarrassment, he gives us moments like last night when Kaitlyn looked up and me and said, don't forget to check on me before you go to bed, or moments like this morning when she handed me the brush to make the perfect ponytail...or moments like right now as she's playing "school" with her best friend and says in her best teacher voice "I'm Mrs. VanHekken..." and then looks at me... and smiles.

Lots of Love from the Florida Chick

Florida Chick's Poison

So, here is my confession...

I cannot stop watching Bret Michaels' Rock of Love on VHI.
I know, this confession is probably less exciting than if I were to tell you that I were growing pot in the basement or something equally oh, I don't know...illegal? But seriously, if you grew up like me, listening to Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant, you will understand my complete fascination with this amazing subculture of women who feel the need to flaunt the fact that they have chosen stripping as their career in order to attract the likes of a severely needy rocker who is obviously in need of a reality show to boost any sort of music he may want to write in the future (yes, I know that was a very long sentence).

Let me start from the beginning for those of you unfamiliar with "Rock of Love." You first need to know that Bret Michaels is (or was) the lead singer of Poison - you know, big hair band, eyeliner, drugs, etc. It is quite possible that some of you may not have been able to listen to Poison because again, like me, your parents probably thought that they were Satan worshippers (although c'mon, Every Rose Has its Thorn? One of the best rock ballads of all time - I danced to it with my 7th grade boyfriend in Kevin Crandall's basement - yes!!) Apparently Bret, who is on the road a lot and loves to party, has had a difficult time finding that one special woman to call his own. Now seriously, is this a surprise? You're in concert every night, women are throwing their underwear at you, you have an unlimited supply of vodka and whiskey and through the haze of marijuana that you have been smoking all night you can't find the woman that you want to spend the rest of your life with? Shocking.

So anyway, Bret has decided to follow in the very classy shoes of Flavor Flav (who I am proud to say, I never watched) and decided to star in a reality show similar to The Bachelor - except that he has added to the Bachelorette house an unlimited supply of vodka and beer and I'm not positive, but it seems like one of the requirements just might be that the women are required to dance around in their underwear at least once a day. So far, there have been a lot of tears over the fact that Bret has made out with all of the girls at one point or another leaving someone with hurt feelings, and there is a lot of cattiness over who has real breasts and who has fake as well as whether or not being a stripper makes you a "ho." Hmmm...good questions.

OK, so I'm making fun, but there is something completely addicting about watching tacky drunk girls cry because Bret slipped someone else the tongue and they only got a peck. Maybe, I like watching because afterward I feel so much better about myself knowing that I would never be caught dead trying to get Bret Michaels into bed - especially on TV. And then again, maybe I just like it because it makes me laugh and gives me something to watch that I don't have to think too hard about...I don't have to call in my vote or become emotionally attached to one of the contestants and then become heartbroken when they are voted off (think Daughtry or Melinda Doolittle). So OK, I confess, it's tacky, it's tasteless, it's just plain wrong...but I love to watch it - and next Sunday night, when there is another episode and two more girls go home, completely shocked that they haven't made a connection even though they've spent countless hours in a liplock with a hopeless badboy, I'll cuddle up with Chris and feel a little better about myself knowing that at least I didn't have to throw my underwear on stage to get my husband to marry me. Until next time...

Lots of Love from the Florida Chick