Daily Archives : Page 79 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

Not all boys are jerks. But sometimes their parents are.

I’m coming to you from Kansas City, where our hotel shower feels like machine gun fire, and the pool is often filled with young boys who are here to participate in a baseball tournament. Last night I actually ventured out in my swimsuit (for the first time in years) to enjoy some pool time with the girls. When I noticed that the pool was filled with over a dozen boys hurling baseballs at each other, I joined the girls in the hot tub for a few moments, and then I headed back to the room to knit while the girls swam in the pool with Jeff.

This morning we walked over to the breakfast area, where the girls (with their new American Girl dolls) chose a table that faced a table full of baseball boy parents. When the waiter brought special high chairs to our table for the dolls (I know! It’s part of the package!), one of the moms at the next table rolled her eyes, sighed, and LOUDLY said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have girls. I can’t deal with all of that trouble. I can’t do dolls.” (She said this after traveling over 300 miles for her kid to play baseball in stupid hot temperatures! I suppose everyone has their own definition of trouble!)

Me: Shut up.

(Not really.)

Me: I’m just wondering how you’re able to teach your son manners if you don’t have any manners of your own!

(Not really.)

Me: Mmmm! Smell those pancakes! AND, know that girls tend to outperform boys in olfactory sensitivity tests! So, it’s actually EASIER to have girls than boys! You know, when it comes to smelling things and taking tests on what you’ve just smelled!

To me, kids are kids. Girls don’t have to “do” dolls just like boys don’t have to “do” baseball. You do what you do. Also, some parents are assholes. I try my best not to be.

Whoosh! I’m now coming to you from Columbia! Time keeps on slipping, and we’re off to fill my need for broccoli pizza and orange soda. Have I mentioned that we’re just a little over $1,500 away from Aaron getting his bike? This is such a good thing. (Donations are still being accepted! Feel free to join us as we reach our goal!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Couch to 5K and Back to Couch Again?

About six months ago, my doctor and I had a conversation about exercise.

Doctor: So, other than the thing on your hip, how are you feeling?

Me: I’m a little rough around the edges, but I think I’m just getting old.

Doctor: You’re 41. That’s not old.

Me: Are you flirting with me?

Doctor: If you’re having joint pain or muscle aches, you might want to ease into a workout routine. Yoga is a great place to start.

Me: Yeah. I know. I once stopped seeing a gynecologist because he looked too much like Jeff and he had his photograph on his business card! Isn’t that funny?!

Doctor: Are you trying to change the subject? Come see me again for your physical in August, and we’ll talk about how yoga is going for you.

Me: This is our last goodbye. I will see you on the 12th. Of Never.

I looked up a yoga class schedule. I did! And the bad news is that school was ending in a few weeks (My excuses smell like fresh lemonade! Delicious!) and I didn’t have a backup plan for where the kids could go while I was downward dogging, so instead of making a few calls, I decided to ride out the summer in the style of a sloth.

Last night it occurred to me that my physical is less than four weeks away. As I sat at the computer researching local frozen yogurt dumps and looking at cute photos of my dog, it hit me: Maybe it’s time for me to do a Couch to 5K program! THAT will impress my doctor! I quickly Googled Couch to 5K and honest to God, my computer crashed. Seriously. This could be a sign. (Confession: I’ve always been slightly afraid that my heart would explode someday due to overexertion. This is why a comfortable couch and a good knitting bag are so important to me.)

This morning, while standing in the shower thinking, I ironed out my Couch to 5K reality. Here’s the thing: I hate to run, and I hate being outside in the heat. Similarly, I hate to sweat, and I hate feeling that parts of me are being jostled. With that said, it’s a nine week program. Nine weeks! That’s the life expectancy of a honey bee in the summertime! If I start “running” during the first week of September, I will be done before Thanksgiving! And forever after!

Me: Will I ever run outside if it’s hot or raining or there’s a chance that someone will see me?

Me: No. BUT, we belong to the J, so I can do this whole thing inside if I want to. And I can keep my eyes closed and PRETEND that no one sees me.

Me: But what’s the fun in that? Shouldn’t I be signing up for a REAL 5K to celebrate being ABLE to run? Shouldn’t there be slow motion finish lines and crying with people you’ve never met but can’t seem to stop hugging because of joy and pain and epinephrine?!

Me: Better yet, maybe I’ll celebrate by getting up at 5:45 in the morning, driving to the J, running five kilometers on the inside track before anyone else shows up, and then driving back home where Jeff will congratulate me with a plate of pancakes. After breakfast, maybe I’ll attempt to do a cartwheel and the girls will hang one of their Little Gym medals around my neck.

Me: Yes. And then I’ll take a nap and give myself the rest of the day off to knit, spin, or whine about how much it all hurts.

Question: Have you done the Couch to 5K thing? If I do it at all, I’m going to do it on my own. I don’t want anyone else to have to depend on me, because I get all flaky when it comes to sweating. (I went to a garage sale this weekend, and as soon as I felt sweat dripping down my back, I flipped out and went home. I suppose I need to work through this “Sweat? GO HOME NOW!” response if I’m going to experience success on the track.) All caps IF I do it, you’ll be the first to know. Because I’ll need someone to give me some music recommendations. And I’ll need someone to step up and say, “It’s okay to quit if you want to.” And then I’ll need someone ELSE to say, “Hey. Let’s go grab coffee and not work out. Because we’re pretty.” It takes a village. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Shirtsicles will not earn me any coolness points.

A few days back, we had lunch with one of Meredith’s friends and the friend’s mom. It was delightful. As expected, the girls decided to plan a play date. (I still hate that term.) Because Friend wanted to meet Scout, we planned the get together for yesterday afternoon at 12:30. (I’ve gone on and on about how bad I am at inviting the girls’ friends over, so I won’t do the broken record thing with you. You know me.)

Less than an hour into the play date, I noticed that I was sweating. So hot. Crazy hot. 84 degrees in the house. It didn’t help that I had been baking cakes and boiling chickens, but still. Shouldn’t an 18-month-old air conditioner be working better than this?!

I immediately did what anyone would do.

I stuck popsicles down my shirt and sent the kids downstairs to play. (It’s at least 15 degrees cooler downstairs.) ((By the way, do you see the look on my face? My kids know that look as the “We better turn this ship around and start puking random compliments at Mommy!” look.)) I’m sure seeing me with popsicles in my shirt made Friend downgrade my status from Okay to Junk. (Junk was her insult for Miley Cyrus, as in, “I think Miley Cyrus is junk.” I sort of like it, but toward things rather than people. “This fig dip is junk! Diet soda is junk!”)

Side story: At one point during the play date, I offered Friend some gluten-free cookies. She tried them, hated them, and then asked for one of my cucumbers.

Me: Really?

Friend: Yes.

Me: Okay. Do you need me to cut it or peel it or anything?

Friend: No, I’ll just take it.

Me: Do you need something to dip it in?

Friend: Ew. No.

I washed a cucumber, sliced off both ends, and handed it to her. She eats cucumbers like apples. She ate the entire thing. I’m 41 years old, and I’ve never seen anyone do this. Excellent. Anti-junk.

After Friend went home, I went downstairs and noticed that the air conditioner was all iced up. I called our trusty air conditioner guy and he told me to clean the filter and TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER OFF for two hours to let the ice melt. Jeff cleaned the filter and quickly took the girls to VBS—leaving me and the dog sitting in the heat. Scout, sensing how ruffled I was, quickly crawled under the table and took a nap. Me? I raged and cursed and stuck a few popsicles down my pants.

At ten o’clock in the evening, the air had cooled the house to 78 degrees, and this is nothing but good, because I had canceled all plans for today in order to sew a pair of popsicle underpants. Have I mentioned that I’m counting down the days until autumn? Only 72 more days! (My opinion: Summer is junk.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ballad of the Unhappy Hummingbird

Last summer my lovely neighbor presented me with a hummingbird feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and the hummingbirds flocked.

A few weeks ago I pulled out the feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and nothing.

This morning I watched a hummingbird approach the feeder, hover for a bit, and then flit away without imbibing. I could swear I heard a very high pitched, “That place SUCKED!” as his shadow grew longer. Everyone has 24 hours in their day. I tend to sleep for about eight and a half of those, meaning I have about fifteen and a half active hours with which to work. (I use the word Active and Work pretty loosely.) I absolutely hate that I’m going to have to use some of that time to try and figure out why my hummingbirds are so angry and/or anorexic.

Hey, look! I made a skein of yarn!

The wool was dyed by Tempe and sloppily spun by me. (Lots of thick and thin spots, yet I’m pretty happy with the final result.) After finishing it up and thwacking it against the wall a few times, I became overly confident. I pulled out some merino fiber and decided to spin four ounces of lace weight. Last night found me cutting the first ounce off of my bobbin with scissors after it repeatedly broke and unwound. I’ve now ordered a used copy of The Intentional Spinner and am hoping to not lose heart too quickly.

Let’s see. What else? Scout has lost her four bottom front teeth, and it’s so adorable I could cry.

I’m getting my tubes tied the good old fashioned way on August 19th. I finally grew tired of researching all of these new-fangled permanent birth control methods and their side effects and just said, “Forget it! Let’s tie them!” The Catholic hospital where I was originally scheduled to have the Adiana procedure performed told me that they don’t want no stinkin’ tube tying going on in their operating room. The Baptist hospital said, “Us! Come to us! We’ll happily tie your tubes!” And there you go. This paragraph has absolutely nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way. Believe it or not, I love them both equally. We’re more alike than we are different.

Cake Ball Update: I’ve baked two cakes and balled 63 cake balls. So far so good. (It was sort of a fishes and loaves moment in that one cake normally yields about 50 tablespoon-sized balls. For whatever reason, my first cake gave me 63 instead of 50. I used the same mix/icing combination and I used the same scoop. Clearly, I’ve just experienced a miracle. If any of the wedding guests bite into a cake ball and see the profile of Jesus, I really won’t be surprised.) This paragraph has nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way.

The girls have been loving Vacation Bible School this week. (This paragraph has nothing to do with, oh, nevermind.) Next week is our trip to the American Girl Store. (Yes. That’s what I said.) A few weeks later is College for Kids, and then it’s time to think about school. (We’ve already purchased our school supplies. The summer, it flies. And we haven’t even gone for snow cones yet!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Balls, Jack White, and Presidential Pizza

It’s a very exciting week in The Pudding Kitchen. This is the week that will find me mixing, baking, crumbling, blending, balling, dipping, and decorating until I have made two hundred cake balls. Two hundred cake balls that I will then transport to a reception hall for a wedding! I’ve always thought that the whole “Do what you love and the money will follow.” thing was a load of crap, but I’ve now managed to make it work more than once!

(I refuse to make a joke about Jeff being what I love. (“Do what you love.” Get it?! Raunchy!) Hrm. I *do* have more than one person in my life who believes I do nothing but spend Jeff’s money! Whee! My shoes are too nice! Back to the cake balls! 200! The average gestation of a whitetail deer is 200 days! I’m making a cake ball to represent each of those days! Venezuela just celebrated 200 years of independence! My cake balls are metaphorical!)

White cake. White icing. Blue dipping chips. 50 with white stripes and rose pearls. 50 with rose stripes and rose pearls. 50 with white AND rose stripes! 50 of I don’t know yet but it will incorporate sparkles and either the rose or the white stripes! Jack White! (But also, Catholic Throwdown with Colbert! It’s not safe for work! NKOTB!)

You might ask yourself how one prepares to put together 200 cake balls in a kitchen that’s roughly the size of a Toyota Camry. Well, I prepare by meeting one of Meredith’s friends and her mom for gluten-free pizza at Pi! If it’s good enough for President Obama, it’s good enough for me. Thus it is, and so we go. Enjoy your Monday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Love that’s only slightly soiled. Love for Sale.

Scene: I’m in the shower. The girls are on their own with the puppy. The cats are downstairs plotting.

Meredith: Mommy! MOMMY!!!

Me: What? WHAT?!

Meredith: Scout just pooped on her piddle pad and it looks like popcorn!

Me: Okay! I’ll take care of it when I get out!

Meredith: You don’t understand! I think she’s trying to tell us that she wants to go to the movies!!!

It’s Migraine Week at Fluid Pudding! I’ve been able to keep it at bay for the past two days, and as I rest and take pills, the girls have been downstairs planning a garage sale. They’ve created a To Donate stack and a To Sell stack. If you want to buy our plastic baby slide you have to pay Harper eighty dollars, although it’s probably not worth more than three.

Harper: We have to charge a lot of money so people know just how important this stuff IS to us.

Me: If it’s that important, maybe we shouldn’t sell it!

Meredith: But we need money. Mommy, you should think about selling some of your jewelry—like those earrings you were wearing yesterday.

I’ll keep you updated on our garage sale. If all goes according to the girls’ plan, we’ll be selling all of our valuables for lots and lots of money.

Shirtless spinning is not allowed in most establishments.

“Spinning wheel?! What kind of cockamamie Walton Family marathon are you running over there, Pudding?!” Let me explain. A dear friend of mine got a spinning wheel several months ago. I felt a slight urge to learn how to spin, but knew that I needed to start slow. With a drop spindle. And then I never bought a drop spindle, because that’s how I operate.

When I went to Camp KIP back in April, my friend from Las Vegas actually presented me with the spindle SHE learned on along with some fiber. (This is how addictions get started. Don’t EVER give me some free cocaine and tell me that it’s the same brand of cocaine with which YOU got hooked.) ((I have no idea if there are brands of cocaine. Trader Joe’s does not sell cocaine.)) (((Clarification: I am not in the market for cocaine.)))

With the arrival of my 93rd birthday in May, my dear friend with the wheel presented me with a Turkish drop spindle and a bunch of fiber. Shortly thereafter, I joined her and another spinning friend for a raw vegan meal and some yarn admiration. The fever began to rise.

Last week I received an e-mail from my lovely Vegas friend telling me that June was a special month for the wheel I had been wanting, because if you order one, matching jumbo flyers are being either given away or sold at a huge discount! And, yes! This is sort of like saying, “W porz?dku, dzi?kuj?!” Long story shortened: I did a BUNCH of research, figured out what a jumbo flyer is, and decided that it was wheel time. I called a local dealer (because I’m all about reducing environmental impact) on June 29th and bought my wheel on June 30th. (The jumbo flyer special expired at midnight on June 30th! Today I returned a bunch of library books that are due by midnight tonight! Tomorrow I’ll be eating yogurt that has a shelf date of July 8th! This is how I live!)

Here she is. She’s Polish and she’s awesome. Like Jane Krakowski.

I haven’t yet named her, but I’m thinking she looks like a Weronika. (Veronica was on the short list when we were choosing a name for Meredith. Also, Sebrina. Because of the Jellyfish song.)

I’ve spent the past five days spinning and watching YouTube videos about spinning. I’ve learned that I really like Chicks in Rubber, because I can tell that she is an expert, yet I don’t always understand what she’s saying with her lovely accent. This presents a welcome challenge. For example, I know she didn’t just tell me to take my shirt off and use my foot “just to suck on”—but really. That’s what I heard. (This will be the stuff that makes my spinning style even more swanky and unique than the next guy’s, right? (Watch this video at the 1:55 mark. Your shirt will be off and you’ll be sucking on your foot, too.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Everyone takes photos of fireworks.

Yesterday I noticed that my camera has a setting for fireworks. Part of me was excited about this discovery, and part of me immediately felt like I was going to become one of those people who takes 2,493 photos of the ocean or 7,594 photos of a sunset or 34,293 photos of the Cinderella castle, but with fireworks instead of oceans or the sun or castles. If I thought you might be interested, I would share all 118 photos I took last night. (Yes. Really. 118! It’s as if I watched the entire display through my CAMERA instead of just watching it in the sky! Embarrassing.) Instead, I’ll just share one.

If Van Gogh were to paint a sunflower on fire at midnight, I believe it would look something like this.

By the way, we’re now about halfway to our goal of getting a bike for Aaron. This makes me so happy. Thanks again for your help with this, and please know that if you still WANT to help, it’s not too late.

Also, please know that I’ve been making yarn. I’m not very good at it, yet it’s possibly the most relaxing thing I’ve ever done.

(Related: I learned to play this in the third grade, and I’ve been singing it in my head every time I spin. It’s a cute habit right now (mostly), but I need to get it under control.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Not all fish have souls.

It’s a big day! (For me! And Canadians!) As of today, if you don’t count one poorly-timed pulled pork sandwich (I was in Memphis! At Neely’s! I still feel guilt about that stinking pulled pork sandwich!), I have been a vegetarian for one year! As of today, I will no longer say, “I don’t eat meat.” Instead, I will say, “I’m a vegetarian.” (In my head, it takes a year for the transformation. Obviously, I have no idea what the rules are.) ((Happy Canada Day!!!))

This is my third attempt at vegetarianism, but this time around I’m noticing a difference. My two other tries often found me sitting by a steak-eating friend and thinking, “Hrm. That looks great, but I can’t have it.” This time around, I’m finding that I don’t WANT it. Huge difference.

Also on the plus side? I’m down about fifteen pounds from last year at this time, I rarely get the “My stomach hurts so badly I can’t straighten my back.” thing, and while most people shove approximately twenty seven chickens into their mouth each year (I read it online, so it must be true!), I’ve let my chickens walk. You’re welcome, chickens!

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Infections and Door Rainbows

If I test positive for an MRSA infection, my entire family will have to be medicated. We won’t have the results until Tuesday, but Meredith and Harper are already Very Angry. If my test result is negative, I know two little girls who owe me big apologies. (Incidentally, research shows that the at-risk population for an MRSA infection includes high school wrestlers and people who live in crowded conditions. As you know, my house is VERY crowded. AND, just last week I put the Five Moves of Doom on a babyface!) ((I had to look it up. Wrestling terms! So many languages out there, and I know only English, a bit of Spanish, and Knitting! Life really is too short, and here I sit with a potential staph infection! I’m so gross!))

In less than two hours, I will be entering a local shop and purchasing a spinning wheel. The thought of this is both highly exciting AND terrifying, because it’s a big purchase, and big purchases tend to make me all squirrelly and apologetic. (Also, I cry and whisper “I’m so sorry” every time I vomit. Can we please hang out sometime?!) In my mind, I’m going to spin fiber into yarn and then knit that yarn into a cowl or something and then give it away on my site because you guys really are the greatest. (Thanks for all of the positive feedback on my post about Aaron’s bike! As of this morning, we had collected $800. It’s definitely a start! And there’s still time to contribute!)

One last thing! Yesterday I received a wonderful gift in the mail from Sarah M. I was completely floored and excited, and whoa! When I told Meredith about the gift and how it’s from someone I’ve never actually met, she said, “Wow. Sarah is really nice. I bet her door has a rainbow on it.” I love that. Sarah’s door definitely has a rainbow on it. Each of you who contributed to Aaron’s bike? You have rainbows on your doors, too. I’m so lucky to have so many rainbow doored friends here. Have I thanked you lately?! Because, really. Thank you. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>