Orange is My Lucky Color – Part

Raise your hand if you’re an Orange Theory fanatic!  Raise your hand if you’re wondering if Orange Theory is some kind of poison kool-aid?  Have no fear.  No cult here.  Orange Theory is a gym that focuses on the orange zone of your heart rate with a targeted work out that includes treadmill, rowing, and weights.  During the workout, you wear a heart monitor that tracks your heart rate and you work to get to the orange zone (if you stay in the orange zone for 12 total minutes, you capitalize on the after-burn – burning calories after the workout).

My IC partner convinced me to try it out last November and I caved because I have seen her calves.  After one session I was hooked!  One of the benefits is that you can work out at any Orange Theory location.  Fast forward to January.  Several of us traveled to Ft. Worth for TCTELA and of course I researched OT locations.  Lucky me – there was an OT just a few minutes away!  Normally, I wouldn’t have gone to work out, but I go on the days that I don’t have my kids.  That week I was unable to go because of the kid and travel schedule. So, I definitely wanted to fit in a few sessions while I was there.  I booked a class on Saturday during lunch and headed over after a break out at TCTELA.

Near the end of the class, my heart was in the green zone (the level below your target zone) when I felt a huge THUD heartbeat and my heart began racing.  My heart rate jumped from 78 beats per minute to 205.  Yes.  205.  I stopped working out and sat on the bench.  My heart had done this before (two times after working out pretty hard) and it stopped within 15 minutes.  I took some deep breaths and watched my heart rate on the TV monitor.  It continued racing along at 205.  After 45 minutes, with no sign of stopping, I decided to head to Urgent Care.

The thing about Urgent Care is they freak out.  Fast.  On the EKG machine my heart was crazy and I could see how concerned the doctor was.  She made a call and then things got scary.  They thought I was having a heart attack, called an ambulance, and gave me nitroglycerin and aspirin.  My heart was STILL racing.  The nurse decided to try carotid massage (she basically rubbed my neck) and ten minutes my heart rate dropped to 75.  Not gradually, but instantly.  Then, I felt fine and was ready to go.  However, the doctor did not agree.  Thankfully they canceled the ambulance, but I had to agree to get someone to drive me immediately to the ER.

Y’all.  I am healthy.  I work out.  I eat right.  I am at my target weight.  This does NOT happen to me.

I made a phone call and my amazing coordinator drove straight over (she was at the conference too) and we went to the ER.

When you say Urgent Care sent you and you were having heart issues, there is no wait.  I was triaged, given another EKG, and moved to an observation room within 30 minutes.  At this point, I feel great.  My heart rate is normal and I am ready for a shower.  The ER doctor comes in with that look.  You know.  The one that means you’re not leaving anytime soon. He has consulted with the cardiologist and my troponin (a protein that is present when your heart muscle is injured) levels were elevated and my EKG was still a little off.  I need to be ‘observed’ overnight.  I have stayed in a hospital over night twice.  I have two babies. I do not stay in a hospital.

Part 2 tomorrow!

#firestarter #busduty #houstonhumidity

I try.  I really, really do!  My goal every morning is to keep my hair out of a ponytail until at least lunchtime.  When I’m feeling especially bold, I aim for the end of the day.  But I am fighting a battle with an enemy that is more powerful than my Chi and my ‘product’.  I have bus duty EVERY morning.  Outside.  In Houston.  My hair cannot compete.

This morning I turned on my Chi.  Five minutes later it was pouring.  Turned that bad boy right back off again.

As I walked outside to duty my hair expanded, curled, reveled in the moisture until it’s other worldly.  Not in a good way.

And this is what I call ‘firestarter’.  I just can’t.    17192659_10212031803101221_5592528661088050353_o

Giraffe Babies

I’ll be honest.  This has no literary merit whatsoever, but I need to vent.  I’m ready to see this giraffe baby!  I’ve grown attached to the pacing mama, watched as little hooves stretch out her belly, and awed as her much younger mate dotes on her.  I need a status update.  Can we not get a dilation approximation?  I wonder if giraffes are measured in inches.

I do not plan on sharing the amount of time I have kept the live stream going in the background.  I do not plan on sharing the amount of time spent conversing about this giraffe.  I do not plan on sharing the names I’ve brainstormed for April’s baby.  No, I am not ashamed that I refer to her in conversation.  By name.  And everyone knows who I am talking about.

Nor will I admit that I laughed out loud for five solid minutes when I saw the pregnant woman with the photoshopped giraffe head pacing in her bedroom.

Employees Only

We had a few hours to kill before the grocery curb side pick up, so clearly that’s a perfectly good reason to check out a new bar.  Like really, really new.  The taps weren’t working yet, there were workers working on things, the brunch menu wasn’t ‘ready’.  Despite those issues, the available food and drinks were on point.

Smugly (some other schmuck was pushing a cart through the grocery store at this very minute getting MY groceries), I ordered another beverage and lazily dipped another fry in ketchup and the urge hit.

At the back of the bar is a beautiful red, sliding barn door.  Well, that must be where the bathrooms are, right??  I head back there and discover multiple doors that all say “Employees only” amidst several cases of alcohol.  Since I”m not very shy, I push one of the doors open and discover a BATHROOM!  Never mind that the toilet paper won’t fit on the rolls.  Never mind that the toilet seat is up.  Never mind that the sink is dirty.  Never mind that there isn’t a trash can.

Exiting the bathroom (employees only) I run into a worker who gives me a very strange look.  Back through the barn door, I sit at the bar.  The worker slides the barn door closed and I see him laughing hysterically.  Puzzled, I look around.

Just to the left of the barn door I see a sign for the restrooms.


Brunchy Brunchy

Brunch even sounds fantastic.  You can’t go wrong with brunch.  Lazy days, patio weather, fizzy drinks.  Spring in Texas equals brunch.  Usually.  Yesterday I ran the AC, today I turned on the heat.  But that didn’t stop me from making this super delish dish this morning.  I promise you it’s easy, and you’re going to love it!

Heat up 2 cups whole milk in a saucepan very gentle like.  You’ve got to have some patience here.  Pour in a half cup of stone ground corn meal and stir it until it thickens. Here’s the challenge.  You have to multitask just a bit.  In a skillet, brown some ground chorizo.  So. Much. Better than regular sausage.  Now, go back to your grits and give them some love.  Once they are thick enough, shred a bunch of sharp cheddar and mix it in.  Then, add in some butter for good measure.  Let that sit and go back to the chorizo.  Drain the fat and wipe the skillet.  Fry some eggs (1-2) for each person and leave the yolk runny. That’s it except for assembly.  Put some grits on the plate, top with some chorizo, and end with the egg.  If you want to be fancy, and really, who doesn’t?  Throw some pickled jalapenos, sliced avocado, and chopped cilantro on the top.

Pour some bubbles, add a few drops of juice,and sit back as the compliments roll in.  #notimeforapicturethismorningbecausetheydevouredit

Curbside Pickup

Baseball is in full swing.  That means two boys have practices.  Two boys have practices on the same day.  At different locations.  Twice a week.  Or they both have practice on a Sunday back to back, so that a tired mom is sitting at baseball practice for four hours. She cannot even FATHOM cooking, so a trip to the grocery store would equate to torture. Literally.  People.  She just can’t take it.  So, instead of thinking about any of those things, she scrolls Facebook and it was serendipity (isn’t that word just fun??  and don’t get me/her started on the movie) because the first picture was of her bestie at the curbside pickup on OPENING DAY of curbside pickup and the mom was ELATED!  Somehow between all the baseball she missed that memo.

She logged on to the site, loaded up her ‘cart’, and picked a time for delivery.  After all the practices, the mom pulled into a spot, texted the number, and the nice people brought her groceries out (after they brought cookies because they needed to get a few more items!).  THEY BROUGHT THEM OUT.  The mom didn’t even have to get out of the car!

She felt victorious and happily let the kids eat cookies in the car and smiled despite all the crumbs.

Not All is Lost

More days than I’d care to admit, I question my momma choices.  Is that the right consequence?  Should I let him play in the front without supervision?  Is the lunch healthy enough?  Should I let them have more freedom in choosing the crap they eat?  Should they be doing more chores?  Less chores?  It’s an endless litany and I know that I have to stop. Did I handle that situation appropriately?  Do I need to apologize?  Do I play with them or let them play alone?  It’s daunting.

Then, I walk in on this.  He could have been watching TV, he could have been on his device, he could have been fighting with his brother.  Instead, he chose these and wanted me to play too.  Maybe I’m doing ok.  Maybe not all is lost.