Robin's Chicks

Nudge The Nest & Pray They Fly

Rubber Chicken Madness

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I met Ms. Rubberchicken via the Lady Blogger Society’s weekend tea party. (There’s a sentence you don’t say everyday.) I wanted to share this post (“I Want to Be a Gym Rat”) with y’all because not only did she make me laugh until I snorted (always a good thing) but it made me think, “YES!!! That is egg-zactly what I want to do and EGG-ZACTLY how I feel!”

Then I ended up in full-on stalker mode and spent several hours reading Ms. Rubberchicken’s blog posts and actually e-mailing her to ask her what kind of running shoes she bought because I was dying to know. Dying. And because I’m a total over-acheiver, I went and bought the exact same shoes in a different color. (But not just cuz I’m a crazy stalker lady, the tread on my tennis shoes was completely gone and I actually slipped and fell while holding Sadie a few weeks ago.)
At any rate, Ms. Rubberchicken is FUNNY. Check her out.

As those of you who’ve been following me for a few weeks already know, I’ve been training for my first 5K . Ok. Truth be told, it’ll also be my first 1K, 2K, etc. Never mind that agreeing to run this 5K was an oral contract entered into while ingesting some of Kansas City’s finest Boulevard Wheat with a lemon wedge (HEY, don’t judge! It’s a fruit serving, right?).

But, as a woman of integrity, I’ve been keeping my word. And I’m kind of glad about it. I have hit the gym several times. Even bought a membership (and with the help of the colossally cool LT, I bought new running shoes which are the BOMB, I tell ya!). And for the record, I’m not the most out of shape person at the gym. I’m about average. Not super athletic. Not hopelessly tripping over my own two expensively-clad-in-new-running-shoes feet.

To be fair, this IS the first month after New Year’s Resolutions. I fully expect to be the most out of shape person still hanging out there by February 1, but hopefully I’ll make some C25K progress by then. And, God willing, I’ll still be there trying to juggle the exercise app on my smart phone and move my feet at the same time.

So, tonight was my first “long” visit to the gym. Thing One had his Friday night teenage ninja class and I had two hours to kill. Off to the gym I went.

I did my C25K training for about 40 minutes, and then I headed to the locker room to change for a nice Friday night treat of relaxing in the spa. Changing INTO my swimsuit wasn’t a problem. Finding the spa proved to be fairly easy too.

Deciding to actually put my body toe in the spa was a little tricky. You see, there was one man already IN the spa. And although I’ve got enough hair on my head to populate a small country of hairless people, he had enough hair on his back to populate a small PLANET.

I shuddered, but realized that I was standing on the pool deck in my MiracleSuit (which doesn’t REALLY work miracles, or the person who invented it would have achieved sainthood already, and if there was a Patron Saint of Swimsuits, I’m sure I’d have heard about it by now being the good Catholic girl that I am try to be), so there was really no going back.

I took off my glasses. Great. Now I can’t SEE the hairs floating my way to deflect them. But if I wear my glasses, they’ll fog up like the windows in the back seat of a teenager’s late model SUV. So I decide that “glasses off” is the only way to go. At least that way I won’t look ridiculous. [Note to self: eye surgery has just skyrocketed up the priority list]. [And secondary note to self: WHY do you care if the man with the back hair supply for alien planets thinks if you look ridiculous???]

Sigh.

I eased myself into the spa. And the water did feel amazing. I took one whiff and knew that anything that coming out of that pool of water was definitely chlorinated to death. I could relax.

After my prescribed 15 minutes of avoiding floating back hair relaxing hot water, I decided that I’d better get ready to pick up Thing One. Lord knows that the ONE day I’m late to get him will be the first day in recorded history that they’ll finish ninja class on time, right?

I drip my way blindly out of the water and head for the women’s locker room. But, I don’t have my damn glasses on and almost stumble into the men’s locker room. Thank God for Braille signage.

Once inside the correct locker room, I proceeded to try to change from wet swimsuit to dry clothes quickly. I had planned on a shower to rinse away someone else’s excess back hair, but decided that I couldn’t let my feet touch the bare floor longer than absolutely necessary and since I had no flip flops (the neurotic beast ATE my most recent pair), I had to kind of hop around (as if hopping reduces contact with nasty germs like the one that causes athlete’s foot, right?) and try to dry and get myself into clothes again. I think I got a more intense workout trying to get dressed than I did C25K-ing.

As I sat down to put on my amazingly comfortable running shoes, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over and saw a cute chubby girl in a coral t-shirt and grey sweats. She had the same running shoes as me. I started to smile (as in…Hey! Great choice in running shoes!).

And then I stopped in my tracks.

She WAS me (in the mirror). I’m that chubby girl. And I had a moment of overwhelming “holy-crap-that’s-really-me” feeling. Then I realized:

Yeah, sister, that may be me, but not for long.

As long as someone can answer me this: Where do you buy flip flops in January?

Aubrey Breaks It Down

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Aubrey went to a dance party yesterday and I’m not even exaggerating when I say that she dominated the dance floor. The other little girls were playing and talking, but Aubrey had her game face on.

Oven Fried Chicken

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Sister Wife made this at one of our Daddyless Dinners (dinner with us and our 6 kids when our husbands are out of town for work.) I’ve been meaning to make it for months, and now that I’m on the straight and narrow as far as eating goes, I’ve been pulling out all the light’n’delish recipes I can find.
This chicken is amazing. Every bit as good as fried chicken. No, really. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you.
Here’s what you do:
You need boneless skinless chicken breasts OR tenderloins. (If you get breasts cut them in half, so they will be thin and pound them with a meat mallet. Cover the chicken with wax paper or a kitchen towel to keep the raw chicken pieces out of your hair.)
If you use tenderloins, just pound them a little bit so they are all the same thickness.
In three small bowls put the following:
1) 2 eggs, lightly beaten
2) 1 cup of flour
3) 1 cup of Italian style Panko (This is Japanese STYLE breadcrumbs with Italian seasonings mixed in. Don’t be skeered. I’ve never steered you wrong before.) and shake about 2 tablespoons of grated parmesan cheese in there and mix it up with the breadcrumbs.
Get a little olive oil and pour it on a cookie sheet, rub the olive oil on with a paper towel just to get a thin coat on the cookie sheet and preheat your oven to 400.
After you’ve pounded your chicken until you are no longer angry at your mother-in-law, (not MY mother-in-law. My MIL is awesome, she cleans like a wild woman when she comes to my house and keeps my kids at the farm whenever we ask and always sends them sweet little care packages. But I know everyone hasn’t got it like that.) Anywho, after you get all your frustrations out, dredge the chicken in this order: flour, egg, and breadcrumbs. Shake the excess off after each step. Then lay the pieces on the cookie sheet.
Bake for about 12 minutes then take the cookie sheet out and FLIP THEM ALL OVER. Don’t just leave ’em in there. The bottom side will get crispy and brown first. Put them back in the oven for another 10-12 minutes.
Serve these babies with anything. I’m going to make them with some Barilla Protein Plus Pasta and a side of marinara, sort of a Chicken Parm without the grease. (I was not paid to say that, but I’ll be glad to send you my mailing address Barilla. *charming smile*) I love this pasta because it’s not DISGUSTING like whole wheat and spinach pastas and not as bad for you as plain ole pasta.
Y’all lemme know what you think!

Anybody Seen Paula Deen?

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Last night I made my kids some Kraft Easy Mac for dinner. It was Friday night and we usually do pizza or take-out but Momma is tryin’ to get her groove back so I made a very healthy and slightly disgusting dinner for me and Hubs and Mac and Cheese for the girls. (You have NO idea how hard it was not to face plant in the bowl when it was done.)
I got the family-size box because one little box just isn’t enough to feed all three kids anymore. Normally I just make it. I don’t read the directions, I add a little milk and that magical orange powder and maybe a tablespoon of butter and stir. But last night I happened to pick up the box and look at the directions and I almost passed out, right there in my very own kitchen.
Do you SEE how much butter it calls for? (It says margarine, but WHO on God’s green earth is going to put margarine in it? If that’s you, don’t tell me because I can’t handle it. Margarine disgusts me.) Four tablespoons of margarine disgusts me even more than an ENTIRE STICK OF BUTTER.
Are these people serious?? I love butter, but this seems excessive even to me. I’d like to know where Paula Deen was when Kraft needed these directions written up. I’ve got my money on her standing in their test kitchen.