Oh, to be 14. Or pregnant. Just not both. Or either really.

I don't know why it is that when you become pregnant for the first time that suddenly any tiny tid bit of personal information regarding the little peanut growing in your uterus becomes public domain.

Cart blanche on Twenty Questions? Can you really see yourself asking a woman in the grocery store, who is by no means pregnant, how much weight she's gained in the past forty weeks? Put a prosthetic belly under her shirt and suddenly the gloves come off.

No, I am totally not with-child. Not in the least. I'm loving the idea of sporting a bikini for the summer even if it does invite questions like, "Aren't you, like, Justine's stepmom?" Teenager for "Are you stoned out of your mind? Where do you get off thinking you can wear anything besides a moo moo to the pool? Enter motherhood, exit mid-drift revealing clothing."

Over the past few days I've exchanged conversations with people who were thinking of becoming pregnant, and so were curious about my two-fold journey down that lane. How much weight did I pack on? How did I manage to get my little darlings to sleep through the night without having to stuff a pillow over their face? Did I swell up like a balloon at the end of my pregnancy? What kind of birth did I have? Did I tear? Drugs, did I use them? [Yes, quite heavily as a matter of fact.]

But I think it's the most absurd yet equally amazing thing that pregnancy and kids can truly tear down the walls of ambiguity, and break out the sentiments of brutal honesty. When you enter into pregnancy, you become a part of this secret society of motherhood where you realize you all go through similar journeys to bear children, your hearts bleed the same as you experience heartache together, and likewise can totally relate to the necessity of scrutinizing your child's poop for about the first four years from infancy to toddler. Unbelievable.

Then I sit next to one of these grown up babies at the pool yesterday. A clan of teenagers, in fact. Something I fear and loathe my boys to become. Worse yet: something my boys will like.

As the valley girl clique readied to sunbathe beside me, I stumbled through Sense & Sensibility, while one of the five vixens bared her bikini body for all the rest to see. I didn't look up. Their squeals pierced my ears and made me burn my eyes deeper into Austen's novel even though I cannot get past the nineteenth century lingo.

"OOOOOOOooohmigod. Seeeery-us-leeeee, your boobs look huge!"
Eh, what?

"I know, right? Aren't they uuuuh-may-zing?!"

Then I revert in my mind back to the cart blanche mode, that I also inherited since having children. And I realize that she's not pregnant and so I can't ask her a brutally honest question like, "Sweetheart, if you only knew where your leopard print bikini, 32DD boobs, navel ring, and naivete are going to take you in life you would be so inclined to keep your nose in the books instead of the help wanted ads for the adult film industry, right?"

No, no. She's something far different than a pregnant woman. She's a teenager, and unfortunately she's quite the opposite. Her demeanor invites all the questions like the former, but she however is more cunning and will deliver no answer.

Hello, [salad] lover

Ok. So even though all I really want to do is continue my rambling of why Edward Cullen is an amazing, chivalrous, quintessential romantic who I wish could just hook up a few pointers to my husband now and then [and possibly recite some lines from any four of the Twilight books to yours truly] I will digress. Cool off a bit... and just munch on some salad.

Not as much fun, BUT this salad is bangin' if there ever were such a description of rabbit food. It has a little kick, a whole lotta gah-lic, and it's healthy so you don't have to feel guilty licking out the bowl. Not that I do that.

I cannot take credit for this Rachael Ray creation, but it's still my go-to salad and being that it's summer and I miss Austin Texas yet again, cheers to this fine Caesar.

Tex-Mex Grilled Chicken Caesar [serves 4]
2 T chili powder
1 teas. Ground cumin
½ cup EVOO
1 ½ lbs. boneless, skinless chicken breast
5 garlic cloves, 1 clove cracked from skin, 4 cloves finely chopped
3 cups cubed sourdough bread (half around loaf)
1 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
3 anchovy fillets, drained, finely chopped
½ teas. Crushed red pepper flakes
1 ripe avocado
Zest and juice of 2 limes
1 T Dijon mustard
2 teas. Worcestershire sauce
2 T chopped fresh cilantro
Coarse black pepper
2 large romaine lettuce hearts, coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees, and preheat a grill pan or outdoor grill on high.

In a shallow dish, combine 1 T chili powder, the cumin, 2 t of the EVOO and some salt. Add the chicken cutlets and coat in the seasoning. Transfer the cutlets to the grill and cook for 3 to 4 minutes on each side. Remove from the grill and slice into very thin strips.

While the chicken is grilling, rub the inside of a salad bowl with the cracked clove of garlic. Set aside. Then place the cubed bread in a clean bowl with the garlic clove and drizzle about 3 T of EVOO and the remaining T of chili powder over the cubed bread. Toss with about ½ cup of the grated cheese and toss to coat thoroughly. Spread the croutons evenly on a rimmed baking sheet and bake until crisp and golden, 10 to 15 minutes.

To make the dressing, place the remaining ¼ cup of EVOO in a small pan with the anchovies, red pepper flakes, and the finely chopped garlic. Stir together over very low heat until the anchovies melt. Remove from the heat and cool.

To prepare the avocado, cut all around the circumference of the ripe avocado, lengthwise and down to the pit. Twist and separate the halved fruit. Remove the pit, scoop the flesh out in one piece from both halves, and cut into bite-size pieces.

In the bottom of the reserved salad bowl, combine the lime zest and juice, mustard, Worcestershire, cilantro, salt, and pepper. Whisk in the cooled EVOO with the anchovies and garlic. Add the romaine to the bowl, followed by the croutons, avocado, and the remaining ½ cup grated cheese. Toss the salad to coat, adjust the salt and pepper, and top with sliced chicken.


Like I said... bangin'.

Enjoying the ride

Delayed as ever, I decided to take up the offer to join the Twilight band wagon and began reading the saga series last week.

I've never read Harry Potter or other mythical series like Lord of the Rings or Percy Jackson. I just don't really "do" fantasy-like books. Nothing personal against J.K. Rowling, but I'm just more acclimated with tragic drama and romance to really take up the idea of fiction beyond my imagination [or reality for that matter].

So why not read on some vampires and werewolves, right?

I'm currently finishing the third novel, Eclipse, in the saga series which should indicate that it's suspended my disbelief in fantasy fiction having any deeming qualities.

I have one confession, however, but I'll get to that later.

As I mentioned I am a fan of romance and usually reread one of my Nicholas Sparks novels and become indulged in the twisted fate of a couple who fall in love and likely ends in tragedy. I'll admit that some end happily, but mostly always end tragically; regardless, I read these tear jerkers repeatedly with the same result. Another trip to Costco's to replenish the tissue supply in our house. So why do I do that?

I asked myself the same questions about the Twilight series, but the question was phrased more like... why do I like this stuff?!

My step-daughter is also a pretty big fan of the series, being that all I've read is borrowed from her Twilight shelf of her bookcase. She'll be fifteen this Fall. When I was her age, I definitely focused on falling in love and looked for it everywhere, to put things mildly. I don't know that her thinking is quite as warped as mine was. I suspect she wonders what the love fall is all about too.

She forwarned me the second book in the series was a bore to her before I started the book this weekend. I finished it on Sunday and realized her boredom was due to the absense of details pertaining to the passion of falling in love that are exemplified in book one and three. I'm sure it's all over the final book as well, I just haven't reached that point yet. Without saying it, she too was drawn to the acute details of the two people falling in love-- the sheer physical, emotional and mental states that are completely overpowered by nature. Perhaps that intrigued her in a way of not having experienced that euphoria, the same way I would have viewed it at fifteen.

Enter: confession. At twenty-seven, I still look at it similarly, but in a way of nostalgia.

In a way of totally and completely missing it.

We lucky ones who have made a journey in our life and managed to fall helplessly, sometimes blindly, in love can remember the unbelievable array of emotions resulted from that first trip.

I was well into college when I realized that I was helplessly in love with a coach, yes my coach I met the last three months of my senior high school year, who I kept in contact with after graduating. I remember the visits to my dorm, our dinners out to local restaurants and the electricity that seemed to flow from him to me, and how the cheeks on my face would blush instantly when I thought about being around him. To say I had butterflies in my stomach with or without him in my proximity was a vast understatement and just one of the many physical results I felt after crashing head over heels in love.

I remember the first time he kissed me and how it literally left me breathless. When he returned to his home after that visit I remember replaying that kiss in my memory leaving me without oxygen again and again.

Poetic conversations, and lofty ideas of what the future could hold. I repeatedly thought of these words endlessly over in my mind during the time we spent a part. When I wasn't with him, I was completely out of myself and loathed the idea of feeling incomplete. Without any reservations I was overpowered by the notion that he was the one I would spend the rest of my life with, unquestionably.

The journey of falling in love is a profound, albeit an amazing experience too. I feel dismayed right now as I'm staggering through these vampire novels because it acknowledges that the high of falling in love is a temporary state, something I obviously knew before now. At the time, you feel compelled the emotions could last forever, and when it fades I think it's safe to say you miss it. Being in love is quite different and soon follows "the fall". The former almost always requires a commitment of faith and unlike the latter is not necessarily an amazing act of nature.

Regardless of the literature that gets me to relive those early days of our relationship, to be able to recount and revisit that experience vicariously through fictionalized characters, even vampires dare I say, is totally worth it.

Surrendering to the daybed

In the past month I've managed to do very little for myself, in terms for writing. Ob-viously.

Jason and I did manage to throw a cocktail party Friday night. So every last nook and cranny of the house was investigated, fixed, touched up with paint, six scoops of mulch spread around the house, and our square foot garden appropriately decorated with flag stones. Just so... ya know... his friends don't think we're sloppy home owning parents of some toddlers and a teenager with oodles of free time that is not spent on our humble abode.

That was fun and I intend to post some delish recipes I tested at a later time.

Right now I sit here a bit more stable minded than I was eight days ago. It started a few days before that too. Suddenly my oldest son, Mason, discovered that hurdling over the crib railing was incredibly similar to that of the bathtub, a new trick he recently mastered. Lo and behold my future Army grunt began sneaking out of his crib and tiptoeing over to the basket of stuffed animals only to create plush chaos all throughout the room until he burst out laughing at the madness.

It's just a phase, I told myself the next day, as I wiped the mulch off of my hands, when my stepdaughter came out to tell me Mason just came downstairs to visit after he was seemingly napping. No naps for the next two days. I was going out of my mind. Finally on Saturday I conceded to the idea of converting his crib. Being a crib railing hurdler was one thing, but him forgoing an afternoon nap was just about as awesome as beating my head against a brick wall.

The rest of Saturday, since he wasn't napping Mason helped me spread mulch which meant really that he picked up every last piece in front of him and directed his new favorite question to me, "Mommy, what's that?" In between repeated questions I repeated to him that tonight was the last night he would sleep in a crib. Tomorrow, I continued, you'll be in a big boy bed.

I took pictures that evening. He looked so proud standing beside those crib rails. He stood off to the side a bit and propped one foot on the rail and it reminded me of the stupid soccer poses we would do as kids when it was picture night with our feet posed on top of the ball. He defeated that crib, and I succumbed to letting go of it.

That night, I wept in the shower, on Jason's shoulder, and also on Mason's baby quilt that was temporarily stored in our bedroom hanging on the extra pack in play. I wrote in Mason's journal and as the tears stained the pages my mind retraced back three years when my Dad and Jason put together the new glistening cherry crib. Now, teeth marks remain literally everywhere and it looks "lived in". But that's what I love about it.

Sometimes I feel guilty that a larger portion of this blog site is dedicated to the realization of Mason growing up, and not collectively shared between the boys. An entry struck me sometime back in December which is entirely about Peyton, but somehow because Mason is my first babe, I seem to get choked up quite easily because I am letting go of him first while somehow still holding onto Peyton. Or maybe I just know that some day way too soon Peyton will also become a crib hurdler so I'm preserving the tears for a later date.

When I step outside of myself to reflect on this, it is obviously just a crib. But it's more than that. It's a close to a chapter. He's growing up. I know that time marches on and is most certainly one of the only constant factors in life, but it still leaves me a bit misty-eyed and my heart aches a little. Okay really misty-eyed, and my heart aches a lot.

But if there is a silver lining in any of this, it's that right now-- he's napping.