Daily Archives : Page 91 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

Never forget the thumb.

A few days back, Harper decided that along with being a Doctor of Bunnies, she would also like to work in a nail salon when she grows up.

She knows how important experience is when applying for a position in a nail salon, so she asked Jeff if he would like to be her first customer.

He sat down on the (sort of filthy) kitchen floor and gathered his nerves as Harper prepared her polishes.

It isn’t often that the girls notice Jeff’s missing toe. (Long story short for those who aren’t aware: Jeff accidentally cut off his thumb while working in a blacksmith shop several years ago. A plastic surgeon decided to amputate his toe and place it where the missing thumb used to be. All is well, and Jeff still plays basketball.) Anyway, Harper felt a bit cheated when she realized that she had five polishes, and only nine toes.

Harper: Give me the thumb.

When the polish dried, Harper encouraged Jeff to show off his complete set of freshly painted toes.

The next day, when Jeff went to work, his boss immediately noticed the sparkly toe thumb.

Later that evening, Jeff and the girls went to the pool, where I’m sure the other dads admired his rainbow toes.

———————-
The Puddings are Camping Out! Come over here to admire our tent and earn a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Am I forgetting anything?

Shirts (long/short), skirts, tights, jeans, underclothes, cardigan, shoes, jewelry, and socks.

Makeup and remover and fiber and deodorant and pills and retainer and camera and hair goo.

Pajamas and book (The Elegance of the Hedgehog and Shirley Jackson) and iPod and yarn (with patterns) and travel notebook (with pens).

Almonds and coffee.

Ziploc bags.

(Lines three and four are the most important to me.)

Enjoy your week!

(I’ve scheduled a post to go up all by itself on Tuesday, and am wondering if that sort of thing actually works. Apologies for leaving you in Suspense.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s hip to be square.

Before I even started typing this post, I hesitated.

Because it’s about my maladies. (Look away, Reader Eddie. These are the posts that burn you to bits!)

Admittedly, my maladies are lame. AND, the only reason I’m even USING the word malady is because I like to pronounce it mah-LAY-dee, as in “Would you fancy a cup of tea, mah-LAY-dee?”

This morning I loaded up the girls and took them to see my doctor. I’ve been waking up with one hell of a backache for the past three weeks, and it doesn’t really matter how much I bend and flex and worm around on the floor—it’s not getting better. I would continue to ride this storm out, but we’re leaving in a few days and I really don’t feel like going all Fred Sanford with a cane in Wyoming. Also, I’ve got a spot on my hip. <—Did you notice that? Totally secondary to the back thing.

My doctor laid me down (Billy Joe’s “Piano Man” was playing in the background. My doctor had me feeling alright.), checked out a few things, asked a few questions, and decided that a week-long course of anti-inflammatory drugs paired up with a few muscle relaxants and some exercises will have me Couch to 5K-ing in no time. (As if.)

Me: Oh! I also want to show you this thing on my hip.

Doctor: What’s going on?

Me (all red-faced and trying to pull my too-tight skirt over my cushioned hip): I’ve got this spot thing that showed up a few weeks ago, and now it looks like it’s growing and, well, I can’t wear pants that touch it because yee-ow!

Doctor (examining the map of South America that is slowly forming on my right side): Ooh. Is it draining at all?

Me: I don’t want to talk about it. Um, no. It’s not draining. But it feels like an eruption could take place near Paraguay.

Doctor (poking me): I think you’ve got a touch of cellulitis.

So, anyway. It looks like I’ve got a touch of cellulitis. And now I want to show it to you, because I’ve got a blog. (Please know that according to Wikipedia, Cellulitis is unrelated (except etymologically) to Cellulite. Except etymologically. I love that.)

And let’s just get something straight. It appears that I am showing you my butt in this photo. By now, we all know that I would never do such a thing. Please be aware that the spot is actually above my hip bone. I have no idea what sort of contorted move I did to make it look like I was dropping low on the skirt. Anyway. This photo? Totally rated PG. And another thing: Since when do I have an Adam’s apple?!

I should end on a positive note. In the above photo, I like my pointed shoulder. I also don’t mind the crazy veins that sit on my fourth knuckle. Best of all? I’m wearing a Nashville Flood Tee.

Okay, then. Back to your day.
———————-
Fluid Pudding has Smoothie Moves! Come over here to watch the video and earn a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Dear Salad: Be what you want to be.

Me, calling into a local dive restaurant: Hello there! I have a Buy One, Get One Free Entrée coupon, and I was wondering if a salad counts as an entrée.

Guy of Local Dive (GOLD): A salad is not an entrée, Ma’am.

Me (feeling sort of ridiculous): Is a sandwich an entrée?

GOLD: I don’t think a sandwich is an entrée. You have to order from the Entrée section of the menu.

Me (holding back tears of laughter/pain): Okay, well, I have your menu in front of me right now, and I’m not seeing anything that’s labeled Entrée.

GOLD: I’ve never actually seen our menu, so I’m not sure how to help you at this point.

Wait. I want to repeat that (in italics!) for you.

GOLD: I’ve never actually seen our menu, so I’m not sure how to help you at this point.

And I should have asked for a manager, but I believe my time would be better spent actually driving to the restaurant and giving GOLD an awkward hug. And then we’ll eat cheesecake. As an entrée. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m now taking a probiotic pill, so there’s that!

This morning I remembered that I’ve been meaning to check in on Fluid Pudding. So, hello there! The past week has been insanely hectic, but I can’t really name more than five things that we’ve done. (Such is the life of the sporadic freelancer/perky homemaker I suppose. Jeff returns from work in the evening, and I often cannot report on any sort of progress that I’ve made during the past nine hours. Perhaps I should start charting my input and output. I really do need to drink more. I sometimes have pillow creases that last until the evening hours!) ((Note: Jeff doesn’t really ask me to report on progress. I’m not sure how I would respond if he did.))

Speaking of Jeff, it seems that his job leads him out of town every year over the Memorial Day weekend. It all has to do with a human anatomy and physiology symposium (this particular one was in Denver), and if I wasn’t completely secure in our relationship, I might suspect that “human anatomy and physiology symposium” is a pretty clever way of saying “out of town tail” but deep down I know better. (I’m the perfect blend of lovely and psychotic. No one in their right mind would ever stray.) Anyway, this symposium forced me to single parent once again, and that experience never fails to lift me toward a new level of appreciation for those who single parent every day. I wish I could buy each and every one of you a funnel cake.

Let’s see. Harper and Meredith had their yearly examination at the doctor’s office this afternoon, and Harper received what we like to call her kindergarten shot, which is the simpleton way of saying she is now immunized against Diphtheria, Tetanus, Pertussis, and Polio. (Oh, Pertussis. You are definitely not welcome around here.) And I know how controversial this sort of thing is, so I’ll now point my finger in the other direction and scream, “Hey! We’re leaving to go on vacation in a little over a week!” AND, someone will actually be staying at our house during that time, meaning I really should do something about the 84 baskets of laundry that have been sitting around in the front room for the past several months. (Believe me, my intentions are always good. It’s just that I’m often L to the AZY. That hairball thing has been growing in the shower for weeks.)

Anyway: Vacation. I’m very pleased to report that we’ll be heading out to Jackson Hole, Wyoming in about ten days. And wait a second. Do you remember a few paragraphs up how I sort of complained that Jeff has a job that sometimes takes him out of town? Well, because he’s sort of good at his job, he was recently given the Editor of the Year award, which included this very vacation. Seriously. L to the AZY is sort of schmooing into L to the UCKY. (Clarification: I’m the lucky one. Jeff totally earned this gig.)

What else? I’ll tell you what else! I purchased three skeins of laceweight merino a few nights back. I haven’t purchased yarn in months, but as soon as I saw the phrase “1,312 yards” coupled with “$16.00” and “Fleece Artist”, I couldn’t resist. And while we’re sort of on the topic of yarn, this morning I fell in love with a yarn store in London that isn’t yet open, but will be in a few weeks. Anyway. Are you still with me?

We’ve been doing an awful lot of this lately:

I hope you are the same.

———————-
Fluid Pudding has Smoothie Moves! Come over here to watch the video and earn a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ending the Year on a High Note

Today was the last day of this particular school year. As I’ve mentioned in the past, every morning I drive Meredith to school, and every morning the coach gets her out of the car with a smile and a “Good morning, Meredith!” (This is the coach involved in the Great Hat Drama of January 2010. But let’s not talk about that.) This morning we happened to arrive at school before the coach came out to retrieve kids from their cars. As we sat and listened to Justin Bieber (Yep. Let’s not talk about that, either.), Coach exited the building (always so cheerful!) and started opening car doors for kids. When we got a bit closer, I noticed that he was carrying a note in his hand.

Me (simply killing time as we waited our turn in the circle): Hey! Coach has a note in his hand! I wonder what it says.

Meredith: It probably says, “Christmas is coming, and I need to buy a present for Meredith.”

Me: Excellent. I hope he gets a present for me, too!

Harper: I know exactly what that note says.

Me: What does it say?

Harper: It says, “Don’t forget to take off your underpants right now.”

Me: That’s not what it says. Do you realize how inappropriate that is?

Harper: I do. Let me try again. I bet it says, “Take off your PANTS right now.”

Me: Interesting. Who do you think the note is for?!

Coach (opening the door and hopefully not noticing my perky eyebrows): Good morning, Meredith!!!

(Apparently, it wasn’t for me.)
———————-
Fluid Pudding has Smoothie Moves! Come over here for a chance at a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Some apples barely fall from the tree.

Meredith’s elementary school is hosting their annual field day on Monday.

If I understand the process correctly, during the field day each child chooses a few events in which to participate. Events include activities like baton relay races, distance jumping, potato sack scrambles, bean bag tosses, et cetera. (Jeff has taken a half day of vacation so he can help out with something that I believe involves vulcanized rubber tires, raw sweet potatoes, and a baby manatee. The details are a bit fuzzy to me.)

Me: Meredith, are you excited about the field day?

Meredith: I’m VERY excited about the field day!

Me: Have you chosen your events?

Meredith: I’ve chosen one event that I’m very good at.

Me: Excellent! What is it?

Meredith: It’s called Snack Bar.

Me: How do you play Snack Bar?

Meredith: It’s easy! You go there and you POLITELY ask for a popsicle or some water, and I’ve heard they might even have crackers this year!

(If you need to write a report on Behavioral Genetics, Meredith and I will meet you for popsicles.)
———————-
The Puddings are drinking juice and rolling on the river! Come over here for a chance at a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The photos serve as antihypertension vehicles.

So, I’ve got this happening on my front porch.

And I’ve got this happening twice each week.

I started my summer project.

(It will eventually look like this.)

And yesterday I made a blackberry cobbler. (It didn’t last long enough for photographs.)

Seven more days of school.

Only seven more days of school.
———————-
The Puddings are drinking juice and rolling on the river! Come over here for a chance at a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Nothing But a Number

For exactly one year, I am not unlike zirconium.
(Please know that short term exposure will cause minor irritation.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I call you on the telephone, but you’re never home.

Last night Jeff presented me with a birthday gift.

For the first time ever, we now have Caller ID and Call Waiting.

I’m a terrible (TERRIBLE) phone person, which is odd when you consider that two of my very first jobs involved lots of telephone action. (While in college I was one of those people who called you during dinner to ask if you were interested in having Olan Mills take portraits of your family. I was oddly successful with that job, but the only real memory I took away from it was when my co-worker presented me with a six-pack of Fat Tire and a cassingle of “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. (She was paying me back for the bread sticks I often bought for her during our breaks. She was broke, and NOT very successful with the Olan Mills gig.) When I returned home that night, five people (3 roommates and 2 friends) were scheming in the living room. We quickly divided up the beer and listened to the cassette one time. ONE TIME.) (Please know that if you live in a house where Rage Against the Machine holds a permanent spot in the CD changer, Whitney Houston is definitely not invited to stay for very long. Also, please know that I rescued Whitney from the trash that night and kept her hidden in my car for those times when I found myself hoping that life treated you kind and that you have all you dreamed of. (I also wished you joy and happiness, but above all this, I wished you love.))

(Sometime I’ll tell you all about my roommates and how we once ate an entire turkey (minus the innards) with our bare hands (on the roof of our house!) to ring in the new year. Wonderfully stinking cretins we were!)

What were we talking about? Phone jobs! The second phone job I had (that’s starting to sound dirty, isn’t it?) involved fighting unemployment claims made by people who were fired from their jobs for misconduct. In other words, I can tell you (off the record, of course) entirely too many stories of Denny’s employees who actually DID pee into the coffee and movie theater employees who were found with their pants down when their pants should have been up (and fastened). Urban Legends Revealed!

So, anyway. Up until now, I either answered the phone or I didn’t, and whoever (whomever? I can never get it down.) was calling either left a message on our machine or they didn’t. It was all so serendipitous and twirly! But now that has changed, because I KNOW it’s you (if I actually get up and look at the phone) and there are four people I do not wish to talk to right now (five, if you count the owner of a local Roly Poly whose employees took me to a level of anger yesterday that led me to type a terribly mean e-mail that I later regretted sending. Oomph.), and those four people currently think that I’m never home, but now they know that I KNOW. (And I know they know I know et cetera!)

And this adds a whole new flavor to the mix: I just now received a call, and the caller ID thing said ADA. Could it be the American Dental Association (I have a dental appointment on Monday!) or perhaps the American Dietetic Association (Just this morning I was thinking about nutrition, and there is no such thing as a coincidence!)? Because curiosity always kills me, I picked up the phone. It was the American Diabetes Association, and they were thanking me for my contributions and wanting to know if I could send letters out to everyone in my neighborhood. When I told them that I was really strapped for time in the coming weeks, they tried to talk me into finding extra time in my schedule. (Believe me, I’ve looked for extra time! Unlike the Whitney Houston cassingle, it’s nowhere to be found!) When I reached the point where I could feel my voice shaking, I finally hung up on them. And now I’m feeling an unpleasant blend of Guilt and ShouldHaveSaid.

The mailman just delivered, and I’m steaming potatoes covered in dill. (And because of my poor sentence structure, you’ll never know if it’s me or the potatoes covered in dill. Use your imagination.) Harper is taking her first karate class, and Meredith has finished two of her homework pages.

Most importantly, I now own three different types of basil plants. It’s the beginning of an excellent summer.
————–
I’m still going strong with the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND I’m giving away another $50 Visa gift card!) Follow this link! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>