Mondays with Meredith

This afternoon during the drive from the grocery store to piano lessons, I tuned the radio to one of the two channels currently devoting all of their time to Christmas music. Sadly, instead of Christmas music, they were playing some sort of commercial for a product that helps one deal with bowel incontinence.

Me (changing the station): You know, when I’m in the mood for Christmas music, the last thing I want to hear is a story about bowel incontinence.

Meredith: It IS the oldies channel. And sometimes old people have those problems.

Harper: I don’t even know what bowel incontinence IS!

Me: It’s when you go to the bathroom in your pants, but you’re not peeing.

Meredith: You know, life is full of surprises, and sometimes those surprises are in your pants.

A few minutes later, Meredith remembered that a woman at the grocery store almost hit her with a cart.

Meredith: Did you hear her tell me that she almost rammed my bum?

Me: I did. Yipes.

Meredith: Why is it called a bum?

Me: I think different people call it different things. When I was a kid, everyone in my family called it a bom bom.

Harper: Are you kidding me?

Me: I’m not kidding. Aunt Boogie says we called it a bom bom because Grandma D called it a bom bom. BUT, I have no idea why Grandma called it a bom bom.

Meredith: Why don’t you ask her?

Me: Because she died.

Meredith: Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Sunday!

Woke up.

Ate two pancakes.

Went to church where the pastor referenced Katy Perry and Hunger Games, and I took that as a sign that I’m exactly where I need to be.

Joined a friend for a nose ring, vegan biscuits and gravy (I know!), perfume oil mixing (Indica! Earth! Black Pepper!), and a soy chai.

Came home and accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

This is what’s happening right now.

Scout is roasting by an open fire.

No complaints. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I did not make the bread pudding.

After spending the morning dancing through a disappointing Fandango debacle, Meredith and I were able to see Catching Fire with a few friends. (Meredith wore her District 12 Tribute shirt and her Mockingjay pin, which means she’s now one of those people who dresses up for movies. I love that so much.)

After the movie, we went home where the coat I ordered a few days back had been delivered! (This is exciting to no one but me: Eddie Bauer told me that the coat wouldn’t be delivered until December 2nd. Because they were able to beat that day by nine days, I’m suddenly full of Eddie Bauer love. That’s how they get you.) ((Also, I feel the weird need to tell you that I did NOT pay anywhere NEAR $159 for that coat. Huge sale earlier in the week and I had a coupon code for free shipping, and I AM TRYING TO BE FRUGAL, DAVE RAMSEY!!!))

Next up? Jeff built a fire and the girls and I went on a soft boot adventure. We had no luck, although Kohl’s DID have a green screen and a downloadable app, so we were able to mess around with that for about three minutes or so.

Upstaging Santa
After returning home, Meredith and I had bean soup leftovers, Harper had peanut butter and toast, and Jeff ate a salad.

I just described our entire day to you. I’m currently sitting here drinking hot tea and thinking about pajamas. Harper is practicing the piano, Meredith is reading, Jeff is watching the Mizzou game downstairs, the dogs are sleeping on the couch, and the fire smells amazing. (I’ll be in bed by 9:30.)

Tomorrow I’ll be returning to church for the first time in a long time. Afterwards? Brunch and browsing things that smell like the way I might want to smell followed by walking through a Christmas light display before it’s opened to automobile traffic. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, you know.

Twenty three down and seven to go, and I’m really not minding NaBloPoMo at all. Here’s hoping you’re not minding it, either. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words, William Faulkner.

This evening after Meredith’s volleyball game, the four of us went out for dinner with my mom and dad to celebrate my dad’s 71st birthday. (Feel free to wish him a happy birthday. 71 is a big thing. 71 means that you pay for dinner and deliver rice krispy treats to the granddaughters, even though it’s your birthday. 71 means that even if you hurt your back earlier in the day, you still venture out to watch a bunch of fifth graders play volleyball. 71 is good.)

Dad & Me

As we were eating our salads, my mom looked at me and said, “You’re showing a lot of Cleveland.”

Me: What?!

Mom: Cleavage!!!

Me: Oh! Yikes!

Mom: Yep. You’ve been showing cleavage all night.

Me: Sorry about that. I haven’t worn this shirt in over a year, but since it’s getting cold outside, this afternoon I decided to pull out my shirt and my boots.

Mom: Boobs?

Me: Yep. Boobs.

Mom: Hey! Yesterday I went to the makeup store, and when I put my stuff on the counter, the girl working the register said, “Nice bras.”

Me: What?!

Mom: Brows. Like, eyebrows.

Earlier this week, I told Meredith to drink water with her soup so she doesn’t get aphrodisiac. (Clearly, I meant Dehydrated.) A few years ago, I spent five minutes telling a story about a woodpecker, and throughout the entire story I referred to that bird as a peckerhead. On accident.

Apparently, my baking skills and sense of humor came from my dad, and my craftiness and inability to speak coherently came from my mom.

I wish this photo was better. My mom and Meredith were totally into the parade.

(Maybe someday I’ll tell you the story about that peckerhead and how he kept me up all night.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Bread pudding? Yes? Yes.

In 2009, we made bread pudding together. 

 We did it again back in March.

A dear friend of mine mentioned bread pudding yesterday, and: Saturday. Let’s put some time aside on Saturday for bread pudding. I’ll be taking Meredith to see Catching Fire with some friends that morning, and baking in the afternoon. Join me.

This is what I’m thinking about:

1. Christmas cards. (I know. 17 of you are SO ANGRY THAT I MENTIONED CHRISTMAS BEFORE THANKSGIVING!!!)

2. The latest Bridget Jones book isn’t sparking me the way I had hoped. It’s a bummer, because the latest Dave Eggers book didn’t spark me, either. I have high hopes for you, Still Life With Woodpecker. Don’t let me down.

3. My immersion blender saved my soup last night. I soaked the beans, I boiled the beans, I put the beans (and potatoes and onions and vegetable broth) in the Crock pot all day, yet they were still too firm at dinner time. Immersion blender. Bang.

4. I ran to Teavana last night while Harp was at Matilda practice. Two pounds of German rock sugar and four ounces of White Ayurvedic Chai. 30% off coupon. It really doesn’t get much better than that. (The 30% Friends and Family sale ends today. If you need tea, get out there!)

5. Freelance deadline. Seven chapters in six days if I don’t want to work over Thanksgiving. Challenge accepted. Reluctantly.

6. Meredith is really getting into the rainbow loom thing. I love when my kids get sparked, even if the spark is fueled by tiny rubber bands.

Hibiscus! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I wanna feel the heat with somebody. In my parka.

Thanks for yesterday. Many of you validated how I was feeling, and many of you admired the knitting, and all of you are appreciated.

Today I finished a few freelance chapters, made navy bean soup for dinner, and shopped for a warm coat.

I currently have two coats. I really like both of them, but neither of them are very warm.

After much searching, I chose a parka that I really like. (I don’t believe I’ve ever owned a parka, nor have I ever used the word parka.)

Because Jeff and I are in the middle of getting into Dave Ramsey, I decided to turn the parka into my Christmas gift.  He agreed that a parka would be perfect.

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And after I cried about Siri’s use of whack, I thought of Whitney Houston.

And then I ate some bean soup. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Stitches In Time

I haven’t spent much time knitting lately, and it’s sort of a bummer because knitting is to me what running or reading or drinking vodka is to many. I’m heavy in freelance work right now, and my only complaint is that a lot of people think Working From Home is the same as Doesn’t Work. Also, I am a Freelance Editor, which many people think means Lady Who Lunches.

I used to set goals with knitting. Knitting goals are safe because missed deadlines affect no one. What I would LIKE to do more often in the next few months (or years) is to knit with my handspun. I finished these handspun mitts last week.

Handspun Toast

(Please trust me that there are two mitts. The other one is warming the hand that was holding the camera.)

This sock has been without a partner for five years. Five years is enough time to figure out who you are (a sock) and what you enjoy doing with yourself (hanging out in a shoe). It’s now time to find someone with whom to share your joy, Sock. (I’m within four inches of finishing the second sock. I’m also within fourteen days of missing a big deadline with my freelance job. The job will get done before the sock.)

Anniversary Socks

People want nice things. They want tiny celebrations and they want to see fireworks every now and then and they want to hear music and they want to feel special.

This is the cuff of a mohair blend laceweight sweater that I wanted to finish before Thanksgiving. Sadly, there is no chance that I’ll be wearing this thing next week. (I’m fine with that. There will be more cold days, and I will never not love orange sweaters.)

Cia Cuff

I’m slowly starting to realize that although people want a parade, it seems that not many people are willing to put on marching shoes or paint a float. People want to go to a party, but not many are willing to make sure there is enough food for everyone who attends. Only 10% of people tend to step up and make things happen behind the scenes. (Eventually, those 10% get to know each other pretty well. Because they see each other during the planning stages of Every Parade. Every Party. Every Everything. Some of my favorite people in the world are part of the 10%.)

I’m making an infinity scarf out of some yarn that I spun over the summer. It may or not be a really great scarf. I won’t know until I graft the ends together and see how the stripes work with one another. (I need to spend more time spinning so I can figure out how to make my yarn consistent.)

Handspun Infinity

I’ve been part of the 10% in many areas of my life, and it has always worked out because I’m pretty good at juggling. Figuratively. (Reluctant Tooting of the Horn: I used to be a pretty good bean bag juggler when I was 12, which is a very uncool time of life to be pretty good at juggling bags of beans.) Lately, it’s becoming a bit more tricky to juggle (figuratively and literally), and I’m finding that my 10% time occurs in unpredictable fits and spurts.

This will someday be a beautiful silk blend shawl. I started it four years ago, and I picture myself wearing it on a spring day when it’s still too cool for short sleeves, but much too warm for a coat. There will be tulips. Perhaps an Easter brunch.

Waves in the Square

Please know that I completely understand that some people in this world feel as if they have no time. None. To me, it’s sort of a Working Mom vs. Stay At Home Mom vs. Conservative vs. Liberal vs. Vegan vs. Omnivore sort of thing. I’m convinced that everyone is doing their best with what time or information they’re willing to give up or buy into. I also know that when you (I) spread yourself (myself) too thinly, the results aren’t good.

This wool has been sitting on my wheel for three months.

Stagnant Wheel

A friend of mine once created an amazing sculpture out of fruit, and she posted a photo of it on Facebook. The very first comment she received was from a woman who said, “You have too much time on your hands.”

I started this cardigan over a year ago. When it’s finished, it will be my favorite cardigan ever.

2013 Cardigan

We all have 43 days until January 1, 2014. All of us have 43 days (unless some of us don’t, but I don’t want to think about that). Some people will spend time baking, and some will spend time eating. Some will spend time working in an office. Some will work from home. Some will create amazing sculptures out of fruit or concrete or wood. Some will read a few books. Some will go to concerts and some will perform in concerts. Some will plan an amazing holiday party. Some will get all dressed up and go to that party. (Some will complain that the food at the party wasn’t so great, and some will try really hard to not say, “Oh! The food wasn’t great? Did you offer to HELP WITH THE FOOD?!”)

We all have 43 days. My goal is to do what I can, try not to create work for others, try not to complain when I’m feeling inconvenienced or overwhelmed, try not to take criticism personally, and let others know when I appreciate what they’re doing or how they’re helping.

My goal is to meet my freelance deadline without losing my sanity.

My goal is to finish these mittens. (I meant what I said and I said what I meant. There WILL be tulips.)

Tulip Mittens! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh Butter! My Butter! Our fearful trip is done, Walt Whitman.

When you are (and when I say You Are, I mean I Am) suffering from feelings of inadequacy (long story, work-related), the best thing to do is eat fig marmalade with a friend and treat yourself (i.e., myself) to a butter keeper, also known as a keeper of the butter, also known as a butter crock. (Crock isn’t a good word for me today, as so many things could be described as being A Crock, and suddenly we lack creativity.)

It’s true that the vegan side of me rarely uses butter. (The clean eating side of me doesn’t mind it in small doses.) It’s also true that I’m intrigued with Little House on the Prairie stories of butter sitting around in a house all day and not getting nasty, where nasty = rancid, Miss Jackson. Anyway, in an attempt to rid my house of unnecessary things, I decided to purchase something that I won’t use very often! I am a walking contradiction (with soft and spreadable butter).

(You’ll have to cut me some slack. The whole Feelings of Inadequacy thing that I mentioned up there at the top has been weighing heavily all day. Lucky for me, I have a marmalade loving friend who presents worry stones with perfect timing and another friend who presents me with frequent knitting challenges. Also lucky for me is the fact that I don’t have to work in an office, so I can pepper my day with canine Wubba tosses. All is well.)

I visited a brand new book store in St. Louis this afternoon (before I became the owner of a butter keeper), and I’m in LOVE with it. Their journal selection was incredible, and they carry a really great blend of heady and quirky. Most stores in this particular location don’t last very long. I hope they are the exception. If you’re a local, please visit STL Books on West Jefferson in Kirkwood. Often.

Let’s talk about knitting tomorrow! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Searching for the Next Nest

We’re slowly coming to the realization that although we often talk about moving, nothing is going to happen unless we actually look at houses. (I would do just about anything to have someone send us to Jackson Hole for a week and then tell us that they’ve moved us into a decent three bedroom house. Honestly. I WOULD DO JUST ABOUT ANYTHING.)

This afternoon we went to see a house that’s less than three miles away from our current house. It’s about 50 years old, has four bedrooms, and I immediately fell in love with it because it was clean and it smelled good and the back yard was fenced in.

This is a crooked photo of the staged master bedroom bed.

Untitled

I love seeing beds that are made. (We don’t make our bed.)

This is what I loved the most about the master bedroom:

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It’s a super soft rug that looks like grass. If we were to make an offer on the house, this rug has to be included.

As we explored the house, Meredith yelled, “MOM! You HAVE to check out the soap in the bathroom! Does the soap come with the house?!” The girls would love to have their own rooms. They would also love some nice soap.

I know we have a LOT of work to do before we can move. (Honestly. A LOT OF WORK.) I really wish it was possible to buy a house and move in at a rate that allows us to clean this house as we go. So much clutter. So much stuff to be donated. And because the thought of it overwhelms me to no end, I never even begin to fill up the very first bag.

Our five year house has turned into a ten year house and we’ve outgrown it. BUT, my next door neighbor is right. I’m lazy. Also, completely lost on where to start.

EDITED TO ADD: I read this at least once every six months. I need to stop reading it and start living it. (Jennifer is brilliant in so many ways.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Saturday!

I don’t have much to report for today. Drank coffee, finished some freelance, took a shower, baked a sweet potato, watched The Hunger Games with Meredith to prepare her for the release of Catching Fire next weekend (She’s read the books.), ate some pumpkin pie, folded some laundry, and decided to pinwheel the hell out of some puff pastry.

I took that pastry out of the freezer, thawed it, spread a bunch of pesto over the top of it, and tossed on some stir-fried mushrooms. I then rolled it up, sliced it into wheels, and baked it at 400 for 15 minutes. Dinner.

I ate three wheels before making eye contact with this guy:

Francis the Pinwheel

I’m sure he’s delicious, but as all of the cool kids say: I Just Can’t. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. (I Just Can’t is in a heated competition with the inappropriate use of the word So for number one on my List of Overused Annoyances. She was SO FIRED. I JUST CAN’T.)

In my mind, Francis Pinwheel has spent many years driving a smelly cab in New York. He speaks with a lisp, he doesn’t take crap from anyone, and as soon as his youngest kid moves out he’s going to pack his bags and try to make it work in Seattle. (That’s where his internet girlfriend lives with her cat, and she likes Al Pacino movies just as much as he does.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>