Category: NaBloPoMo

Monday morning couldn’t guarantee…

Don’t you hate NaBloPoMo folks like me who tend to puke drivel at the last minute?

Today…

…I watched a guy tune our piano.

…I practiced the piano for the first time in many many years.

…I worked on my freelance project.

…I finished up a review that’s due tomorrow.

…I made a spontaneous dinner plan.

…I enjoyed sushi.

…I tucked the girls in.

And now I shall finish a hat and read a chapter of Middlesex.

But before I go, here’s what I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about: Ellen DeGeneres was on Oprah last week, and at least ten of you just clicked away because you know that any thought process that starts with “Ellen DeGeneres was on Oprah last week” probably isn’t going to be interesting. And I couldn’t disagree with you more. So give me a minute. At one point, Oprah told Ellen that something she has noticed is that Ellen is not fearful of confrontation. Ellen answered by saying that not being afraid of confrontation is new to her—that she’s always been afraid of people not liking her, and has spent a lot of her life wanting people to like her, and that one of the things she has learned as she got older is that it’s not about people approving of what she says, it’s all about if she’s believing what she’s saying and if she’s being completely honest. “I don’t want to be hurtful, but I want to be honest.” I’ve been thinking about that statement every single day. The Pudding House has been experiencing a lot of half birthdays lately, and last week I turned 39 and a half. At 39 and a half, it took Ellen DeGeneres on Oprah to help me See It.

Anyway.

That hat is calling my name. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I would like to introduce you to David Mead.

A good friend of mine had Mr. Mead write “To the Best Angie, David Mead” on a piece of paper for me a few years back.

David Mead is one of my melancholy choices—the perfect voice for an evening during which I purchased a pair of pants in a size I swore I would never wear.

Every time I listen to this song, I make tentative plans to take the girls to Nashville and show them all of my old hangouts, including Pancake Pantry. Wait. What was that I just said about my pants? Interesting. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I threw a cake when I was nine. I’ll tell you that story later.

As you know, I had to take a food item to school yesterday for teachers to snack on during the Parent/Teacher Conferences. Harper and I went to the store yesterday morning, and quickly decided on a cheese and sausage platter with crackers.

When we returned home, Harper looked at me with her big brown eyes and said, “I wanted to take brownies to the teachers because I wanted to MAKE brownies for the teachers.”

Hhhhh. Let’s make brownies.

We had less than an hour to make brownies and still get Harper and the snacks to school on time. Combine brownie mix, eggs, oil, chocolate chips, etc., spread in a greased foil throwaway pan, bake for 42 minutes, take brownies out of the oven, apply plastic lid, shove hand into oven mitt and carry brownies out to the car with the cheese, crackers, and preschooler. Done.

Know this: We bought new boots for Harper a few weeks ago. They’re pink and suede and awkward. (Awkward = Foreshadowing!) Okay. Back to our story.

When we arrived at school, I had less than five minutes to deliver the snacks to the office before delivering Harper to preschool pick-up. I parked the car, wedged the cheese and crackers into the crook of my left arm, shoved my left hand into the oven mitt and balanced the hot brownies on my left hand. (Can you tell that something wicked this way comes?) I then opened Harper’s door with my right hand, and she undid her seat belt and started to climb out of the car. As she climbed down, her boot got caught on the front seat (I *told* you they’re awkward!), and she started to stumble. When I went to steady her with my right hand, my ankle did that thing that ankles sometimes do when they suddenly give out and you lose your balance. When my ankle did that thing, I accidentally chucked the hot brownies like a frisbee across the parking lot.

Me: Shit.

Harper: You can’t say that.

Me: Yeah. Okay then. I just did.

I retrieved the brownies from across the lot (they were all cracked and bent up like they had been hit by a car (surprisingly, the plastic lid stayed on)), returned them to the passenger side of my car, and Harper and I ran in and delivered the cheese.

Super Nice Lady in the Office: Oh! Thank you so much for the cheese and crackers! This is great!

Me (in constant need of both praise and a good confession): Thanks! I just fell down and hurled brownies across the parking lot.

SNLitO (pronounced Sin LIT Oh): Are you okay?

Me (doing the thing that I do): Oh! I’m good. And the lid stayed on the brownies, and they’re the kind of brownies that have chocolate chips on top. I Fell Down!

SNLitO (aka Dumbledore, because she’s so wise and forgiving): Teachers Eat Anything.

So I went outside, tried my best to bend the brownie container back into shape—a feat not completely unlike trying to bend a Cutlass Supreme back into shape—and turned them in to SNLitO. And she complimented their smell. Because she sees the good in everything.

I could learn a lot from SNLitO.

We all could. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I envied him.

Beth asked for it, and I totally love her.

Sir did it, and he is one of my absolute favorites.

And because I spent many lonely teenage hours working on my handwriting (I *really* wanted my signature to look more like a logo than a signature), I’m sharing it with you. Please enjoy my very favorite piece by Mark Strand. It was written about you, you know.

gstrand ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The only problem: Tomatoes aren’t so good right now.

Our parent/teacher conference is on Thursday evening, and I have volunteered to bring a food item to school for the teachers to snack on during the conferences. Because my mind tends to swim around in paltry waters and I want my food item to be a Memorable and Thoughtful food item (preferably containing a protein of some sort because that’s what I tend to crave these days), I’m obsessing about what to bring.

My brain is telling me to buy a 30 pack of Taco Bell tacos.

My heart is telling me to create an out of this world vegetarian taco dip casserole thing.

My daughters are telling me to bake brownies.

My husband is telling me that he’s leaving town on Wednesday and won’t be returning until approximately two minutes before our first conference.

Any recommendations?

In completely unrelated news, if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll notice that I’ve come out of hiding (I’m not so good at Twitter, if one may be considered Good at Twitter) and am now completing nearly every one of my thoughts with #momspotting. I’ll be telling you more about that in the coming weeks, but for now, here’s a video that will surely catapult you to the edge of your seats.

Vegetarian taco dip, right? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

So, on with the boots, back out in the snow…

This afternoon will find us wining and dining a six-year-old girl who has never been to our house before.

(To the mom of the six-year-old girl who has never been to our house before: I’m exaggerating on the wining part.)

We’ll be picking her up shortly and heading straight out to the root beer factory and then back to our house to play until 3:00.

To prepare for this event, I pulled out my Homekeeping Handbook. My kitchen and bathroom floors have now been mopped to Martha Stewart standards, including the wiping o’ the baseboards. All kitchen countertops are spotless. The family room is in need of a good floor suck, and then she’s passable.

All of this for a six year old girl who is not a member of royalty.

As I run around folding clothes and disinfecting sinks and tubs, this song keeps playing over and over in my head:

Also on my schedule for today: processing 28 freelance chapters (heh. whoops.), shooting and editing a short introduction video (I’ll talk about that more later), baking a pumpkin cake (in the shape of a pumpkin farm thing!), purchasing a birthday gift for Jeff’s mom, having Jeff’s mom over for dinner, and reading the final twenty pages of The Shack for tomorrow’s book club meeting.

Enjoy your Saturday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>