Fluid Pudding

On Friday, I dipped 74 red velvet cake balls, and then I took those cake balls to an adult toy party if you know what I’m saying and I think you do.

Do you want to know what I purchased at that party? (Seven people just clicked away and might not ever return.) I bought this oil spray stuff (called Body Dew, and be warned that if you Google Body Dew, you might be led to the adult toy site! I just warned you!) that you spray on immediately after a shower and it smells good (because it’s filled with pheromones, naturally) and it keeps your skin soft and winter is coming and winter means dry skin. Body Dew!

This morning I sprayed myself with Body Dew, I participated (passively) in my annual mammogram, and then I went to Trader Joe’s to purchase chia seeds, roasted flax seeds, agave nectar, and jojoba oil because we are becoming the stinky  hippies that we used to make fun of. (I also purchased a cinnamon whisk. I have no idea what I’m doing.) Anyway, fifteen people followed me home from Trader Joe’s. Three of them just wanted to see if I live in a hut fashioned out of patchouli leaves. The remaining dozen are wandering around the house asking me to make out with them, and they have no idea why—because a semi-androgynous 42-year-old me clomping about in ill-fitting jeans and Birkenstocks is not normally the chosen brew of monkey love. (I like to dabble in challenging the minds of those who think they crush on The Lovelies.)

And the thing is, I know you want me to talk more about the toy party, but I can’t. Because I took a pretend vow. Just one thing: I can now say that I’ve seen someone I previously knew only on a professional level (can you tell how careful I’m being right now?) standing in front of a crowd holding a simulated organ (not the kind that plays music. Rest in peace, Ernie Hays.) up to her forehead, and for whatever reason, it seemed Okay.

When I was 18 years old, one of my very favorite people gave me a copy of Illusions by Richard Bach. That book came to me at exactly the right time, which always jazzes me to no end. In Illusions, Richard Bach wrote, “Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.” Clearly, on Friday evening I chose to have a highly-respected professional acquaintance enter my extended social circle and put a fake penis on her head.

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

Clinic Doctor Guy in Doc Martens (CDGDM): How are you today?

Me: I’m great.

CDGDM: It looks like you’ve seen better days.

Me: I have. I was just being polite.

CDGDM: What’s up with the leg?

Me: Stress fracture in my heel.

CDGDM: And I bet you have no idea how it happened.

Me: Actually, I do. I’ve had four stress fractures in the past year. All because of running.

CDGDM: You would probably be better off with swimming.

Me: If I knew how to swim, maybe. My chances of drowning are greatly decreased if I stay on dry land.

(I then told him about my sneezing and coughing, which is the reason I drove to the clinic in the first place, although the side trip to the store for butternut squash soup was a great excuse to leave the house, too.)

CDGDM: Is anyone else sick?

Me: You mean, like, in the world? Because, yes. You should watch the news.

CDGDM: No. In your house.

Me: My husband was sick.

CDGDM: So, this is his fault?

Me: Yes. What a jerk. Actually, no. I was sick first.

CDGDM: But it’s still his fault, right? HA HA HA HA HA!

Me: Maybe if we were living in a lame sitcom, but I like to think we’re more creative than that.

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Did I vote yesterday? Of course I did!

(Parenthetical Trivia: How many times did the man behind us in line touch my shoulder and tell us that he plays the guitar? Three times! Please don’t touch me. With that said, Rock On.)

Am I happy with the outcome? I am.

Would I be happy if we were waking up to a President Romney? I would be. I’m just sort of happy. Mostly. (Knitting and spinning will do that to you. I’ve heard running does, too—if your bones aren’t made of porcelain.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Last Saturday, I was doing this.

For the next three weeks, I’ll be doing this.

(My left foot has become unbearably cocky.)

My heel and ankle were feeling sloshy as I drove home from the race. It’s gotten worse instead of better over the past few days, and in the evenings I find myself wincing and walking around on the ball of my foot. Diagnosis? Stress fracture, right heel.

Ortho Doc: You need to immobilize it in the boot for three weeks.

Me: This might sound crazy, but can I take it out of the boot for a few hours on the 17th to run another 5K with my daughter?

Ortho Doc: I think you know the answer to that question.

Me: Last year I had three stress fractures in my left leg. Now I have one in my right heel. What am I doing wrong?

Ortho Doc: Some people are prone to stress fractures. Your bone density is great and your labs are great. I think you’re just one of those people.

Me: Are you saying that I’m not graceful?

Ortho Doc: I would never.

So, Jeff will be running the Girls on the Run 5K in my place. And I’m bummed. Like, the most bummed I’ve been in awhile. (I just reached the point where I can run for thirty minutes without wanting to die. This stress fracture has squashed my delusions of invincibility.)

Go on with your day. I’ll be sitting over here in the corner eating Halloween crap and fighting the urge to take a nap in our hornet bed. Sort of like Macaulay Culkin in My Girl. But not really. (Know that I know that I’m being dramatic. I’m giving myself 24 hours for operatics. And Indian food.)

Oh, wait. One more thing. Please don’t tell me that I should probably stop running. My ortho doctor and I both disagree with you. My road to “Status: Runner” simply has more than the average amount of hiccups and blips. I’m not closing down my shop. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

First off and most importantly, thanks for hanging out with me during my month of updates! I’m terrible at responding to comments, and you guys are so kind and patient with me. I do appreciate it. (Thanks so much to the folks who left comments for the first time ever. I love that so much. AND, thanks to those of you who commented every single day! Amazing!)

As you know, it’s Halloween. My greatest Halloween occurred in 1992. Some drummer friends of mine shared a house and some ashtrays, and I went to their Halloween party dressed as their floor. Two decades have passed, and I haven’t been able to come up with anything that beats the floor.

Earlier this evening, as Husband Jeff and Neighbor Jeff walked the kids around the subdivision, I did this:

(I’m going to see a guy about an ankle in the morning, and the only time he can meet up with me is 7:45. The thought of sticking my foot in someone’s face always gives me the cringing willies, so a pedicure seemed to be the right thing to do. (I know you sometimes think I’m crazy.))

The girls had their Halloween parties today. Chili cheese dogs were consumed, children were wrapped up in toilet paper, apples were dipped in caramel, and googly eyeballs were attached to pipe cleaner spiders with hot glue. It doesn’t get much better than that, does it?

So, yes. Halloween + the final installment of Daily October at Fluid Pudding. It feels right for me to leave you with the song that used to scare the crap out of me as a kid. At 42, it still scares the crap out of me, but for entirely different reasons.

Thanks for sticking it out with me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Every six months or so, I find myself at the migraine doctor. More often than not, it’s just a simple “Hey there. Things are good, but my cocktail needs tweaking.” She then changes the amount of caffeine, diclofenac, and dihydroergotamine in my little orange capsules, and all is well for another six months. (Dihydroergotamine!)

This morning was different. Quick (!) rundown: I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night with my shoulders up around my ears and I’m often biting my tongue so hard that it’s numb and it’s three in the morning and I can’t swallow and I’m unable to relax my muscles. (My muscles!) I also spend every single afternoon discovering that my legs are completely tensed up, and I can’t figure out how to relax them. (I’ve tried to do the thing where you tense up on purpose and then slowly release the tension. It doesn’t work for me.)

I told my doctor (I love my doctor!) about the tension and how it’s leading to headaches that last for days (and sometimes weeks) at a time. I also told her that my primary care guy (I love him, too.) has put me on a nightly dose of Xanax so that I can relax enough to get a decent night of sleep. I then told her that I’ve been looking into acupuncture. (I also told her that my sweater is knit from alpaca yarn.)

Dr. B: Acupuncture is fine, but we’ve talked about the value of your toolbox. When you walk out of the office after having acupuncture, you have nothing to work with if and when the headache comes back. Does the Xanax help?

Me: It helps a little, but I don’t like taking it every night. I usually take Xanax during the holiday season just to get through the parties. A bottle of thirty pills typically lasts about two years. Now I’m going through a bottle of thirty pills every month. (Except for the months that have 28, 29, or 31 days.)

Dr. B (with my approval) decided to take me off of Xanax and put me on a super-low dose of Effexor as a headache preventative. (Bonus: Effexor is an anti-depressant often prescribed for anxiety. In approximately three to six weeks, you might invite me to a party, and I might NOT come up with an excuse as to why I can’t make it! I might even go out and buy those weird jeans with shiny things on the butt! (No I won’t.) Let’s talk about my jeans sometime soon. I need help.) In addition to the preventative, Dr. B wants me to focus on meditation. (Last year I purchased Buddhist Meditation for Beginners. I never got past the first ten minutes of it without falling asleep. Dr. B says that the falling asleep thing is okay, but once again: It doesn’t add to my toolbox. According to Dr. B, you should be able to walk away from nearly all experiences with something you can use later on. (Tonight at midnight, I want to meet up with you. I would like to walk away with a pair of these. For my toolbox. Size 9. In return, I can offer you three cans of black beans. For your toolbox.))

We also had a motivating discussion about how No One Is In Charge But You. If you want to have a good day, make it happen. Don’t give anyone else the power to take away your good day. Take time to choose how you respond to the outside forces. Live in the Precious Present. I’ve tried to type this paragraph at least six times now, and I can’t make it NOT taste like syrup. Please know that I left my appointment this morning feeling more enthusiastic than I’ve felt in ages. (I found sunflower seeds and peanuts less than fifteen minutes after leaving the office! I’m experiencing the health benefits of Ayurvedic tea! (In a few minutes, I’m going to brew up some chamomile tea. To promote relaxation!) (Tempe! I need to get some of this!) (Tempe is my tea/knitting/spinning/cheesecake buddy for those who just tuned in.) I finished Gone Girl last night and I’m wondering if you’ve read anything good lately. I’m not quite ready to hit Mockingjay, and although I tried to get into Skipped Parts last night, I don’t think it’s a good time. Has anyone read In One Person?)

I started off the day just like any other day. I hugged the dogs. I drank some coffee. I (repeatedly) reminded the girls of everything that needed to be accomplished before school. Showered, ate Blueberry Morning cereal (with a banana!), brewed tea, and let’s fast forward four hours to where I’m eating a samosa wrap and locating a gaggle of local Buddhist monks who teach meditation every week less than thirty minutes away from my house!

The girls had their parent/teacher conferences this evening. We took cheese, sausage, and crackers. (We did NOT take brownies. We will never again take brownies.) The girls are doing well, everyone was happy, we drove straight out for frozen yogurt, and in less than thirty minutes I’ll be sobbing in front of the television. (Parenthood.) ((The show. Not the concept.))

I hope you enjoyed your Tuesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today! Meredith’s friend came over at 6:30 in the morning which always makes for an EARLY morning, and I realize that 6:30 isn’t all that early, but when you have to be ON at 6:30 and you are me, 6:30 is early. I dropped the girls off at school at 8:30 and headed straight to the grocery store where I purchased dinner supplies for the week. $64 for a family of four to eat dinner for six nights, along with a few extras. Not bad. (Note: I was unable to find plain peanuts and plain sunflower seeds. I don’t want roasted nuts or roasted seeds. I don’t want salted nuts or salted seeds. The October 2012 Seed and Nut Hunt ate up quite a bit of time. It’s a living hell out there.) After returning home from the store, I assembled the slow cooker chili, and at one point during the assembly process, I accidentally threw tomato paste all over my glasses, hair, and pants. I met a friend for lunch. I finished a short freelance project. I’m currently getting ready to pick the kids up from school, take them to piano lessons, return home for dinner, and then pass the parenting baton over to Jeff so I can hang out with  Tempe for a bit. (Sephora! Teavana!)

Tomorrow!  Meredith has choir practice at 7:45. Harper has to be at school at 8:30. I have a headache doctor appointment in the early afternoon. Sometime I need to pick up the rest of the girls’ Halloween stuff along with some protein shakes. (I’ve re-injured my ankle/heel, and I’m telling myself that a few protein shakes will fix it right up! If you think I’m wrong, please don’t say anything. Mind over matter! Protein to the heel! (Also, ice and ibuprofen.)) We have parent/teacher conferences at 5:40 and 6:00, and we typically follow those with a frozen yogurt.

Wednesday! Halloween! (I’m not a fan of Halloween.) Also, it’s my final day of posting every day for a month!

This morning I signed on for a mystery hat knit-along. I needed to have something fresh and exciting to get me through the election. This will be perfect.

I hope your Monday is going well. I thank you for your patience. The moon is really pretty this evening. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

As we drove toward the race site yesterday morning, I told the girls about an article I read that claims to help runners get through their first 5K.

Me: So, when you travel under the Start sign, you visualize Yellow. Yellow is a smooth start. Taking it slow. Feeling out your surroundings. Maybe choosing a person you want to sort of stick with during the race. When you reach the 1K mark, you picture Pink. You’re catching your groove. You’re maybe moving a little faster. It’s okay to walk. It’s okay to run. You’re starting to be In It. At the 2K mark, you’re at Orange. You’re starting to think about goals. You’re figuring out where the water station is. You’re keeping an eye on that person you chose as your pace partner. IT’S STILL OKAY TO WALK. You’re reaching the halfway point. All is well. At 3K, you’re Red. Red will take you through the final tw0 kilometers. You’re focused. You’re determined. You’re winning this thing even if you’re not technically Winning This Thing. IT’S STILL OKAY TO WALK. When you finally see the finish line? Picture FIRE. Throw your arms up into the air and take the finish line like a champion, because that’s the winning photo finish that everyone deserves!!! And then you can NEVER say that you’ve never done a 5K.

The girls were in. Totally in. (It also helped that I promised a hot chocolate drive-thru after the race. Hot chocolate motivates more than creative visualization when you’re nine. I’m cool with that.)

Shortly after starting the race (Yellow!) and finding an open area to get going, Meredith asked the question of the day.

Meredith: Okay! Okay! Yellow! Okay! How many Ks in are we?

Me: According to my GPS thing, we’re 0.37 of a K in.

Meredith: So we’re done with 3 Ks?

Me: No. We’re not quite halfway into the first K.

Meredith’s friend: HOT CHOCOLATE!!!

We ran more than we walked, and I’m pleased to report that walking was always their idea. (I was so afraid that I would slow them down. I didn’t want to affect their race, and I especially didn’t want to ask them to walk when they felt like running! Confession: I was really nervous about this.) We ran, we drank water, we walked, we always kept the zebra in our zone, and when we saw the finish line, we felt Fire.

After the race, as we walked back to the car…

Meredith: Mom, in the sunlight, your hair is orange.

Me: What?!

Meredith: Your hair is orange. What does that mean?

Me: It means I shouldn’t have gone with Dark Chocolate Brown just because they were out of Natural Black! Argh!

(Sometimes I use links when I’m talking to my kids so they can catch all of my drifts.)

Meredith: Put your hat back on.

Meredith’s friend: HOT CHOCOLATE!

Meredith keeps me laughing. Meredith keeps me sane. Meredith prevents me from looking like an unintentional Carrot Top. She’s a good egg.

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Tomorrow morning, I’ll be getting up at 5:00 to drink coffee and eat a banana.

At approximately 6:20, Meredith and I will be leaving the house to pick up two of her friends.

We will then meet up with their Girls on the Run group for the girls’ very first 5K.

It will be 37 degrees Fahrenheit, and that’s 2.78 Celsius, and that’s cold. I just put my clothes out. From the top down and outside in, I’ll be wearing a hat (the twin to the hat I made for Bruce Springsteen), a jacket, a long sleeved shirt, an undershirt, a sports bra, running shorts, running capris, underpants, my knee brace, my running shoes, my running socks, and my ankle brace.

When we return to the house after the race, there will be doughnuts waiting for us. Specifically, vanilla long johns. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Hey! Can I talk a little more about running for a second?

(Actually, it’s going to go deeper than running. Stick with me for a minute or two.)

I go to the lake twice each week for a run. If you run around the lake, you score 5.7 kilometers, meaning The Lake is The Perfect Size.

I tend to park near the blue trashcan across from the canoe rentals, and I travel counterclockwise. This means I spend the first ten minutes or so running between a beach and a road. (In my opinion, this is the ugliest part of the path.)

Wait. So, here is the ugliest part of the lake. And it’s gorgeous. And I don’t even USE the word gorgeous.

(I took that photo today while trying to figure out how to do the panorama thing on my phone.)

When I reach the first bridge, I know the roughest part of the run is over. (The first ten minutes always suck. I spend every one of those minutes trying to talk myself into quitting. It’s horrible.) As I pass by trees on the left and soccer fields on the right, I know I’m nearing the halfway point. When I’m surrounded by trees on both sides, the rest is gravy. (AND, by Gravy, I mean I have only three or four more songs before I run under the highway overpass.)

I know I’ve shared this photo before, but just for the sake of taking you with me, THIS is where everything becomes gravy.

(I can’t even look at that photo without getting all smiley and Zen-like.)

As soon as the highway overpass is in sight, I tend to have about two minutes left to run, so I kick it into Haul Ass mode to see how far I can get (normally a tiny bit past the second foot bridge) before the run is over and the cool down begins. But wait. Before we finish out the run, let’s talk about that overpass.

Go here to see what it looks like. When I’m running at the lake, I have to travel under that overpass twice. Every time I’m running or walking under the overpass, I picture a car flying off of the edge and either crashing into me, or crashing into the lake. I wonder how I would handle either dying or having to jerk into disaster relief mode. I picture myself going up in flames. I picture my family having to deal with me as a sack of broken bones. I think about life insurance. I think about that time when I burned my finger on a pot of cream of asparagus soup and I think about how being burnt from the flames coming off of an exploding car would hurt SO much worse than that soup, and that soup HURT. (The soup incident occurred over two decades ago, and I still flinch when I think of it.)

I’ve probably experienced high doses of semi-irrational fears at least forty times while passing under the overpass. As soon as I’m back into the woods, my fears are extinguished and I’m once again all la la laaaahhhhh because it looks like this:

Last night a four passenger plane fell out of the sky and crashed into the lake. In other words, it doesn’t matter WHERE you are. A car could fall off of a bridge. A plane could fall out of the sky. Wild bears. Hunger Games.

This morning I spent my entire run thinking about the pilot of that plane and his wife and his family and how life can be and often is entirely too short and then I ran a little faster and then I slowed down and when I reached the overpass I was about eighteen items into a mental list I was making of all the things I still haven’t done and some of those things are basic, like “figure out liquid eyeliner” and some of them are a little more substantial, like “stop apologizing for everything.” And then there’s “Paris!” and “Rid your life of Stuff!” and “Pet a dolphin!” and “Make sure your kids are having some fun Every Single Day.”

I’ve never tried yucca chips.

I’ve never written a short story.

I’ve never learned how to cut paper dolls.

I’ve never woken my kids up in the middle of the night just to watch the snow fall.

A plane falls out of the sky, and I’m shaken and stirred. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>