Fluid Pudding : Page 78 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Close your eyes, and I’ll fish you.

I carry a notebook with me everywhere I go. I have six or seven of them, they’re small enough to fit into my bag, and I rely on them to help me remember grocery lists and books I should read and funny quotes and how to take care of a puppy and exercises my ankle needs to perfect before I can FloJo myself around the track again.

This morning I took one of my notebooks to my eye doctor appointment.

While there, I took the following notes:

November 28th
topical steroid for Henry to remove cataract risk
Costco mussels for $12 on weekends
flaxseed / flaxseed oil DHA/EPA
Royal Chinese BBQ—seafood chow mein
Dim Sum past RCBBQ on right—Won Ton King

Only one of the five notes I took has anything to do with my eyes. This is why I love going to the eye doctor.

When he told me that I should consider taking fish oil capsules in the winter months, I asked if I had any other options.

Doctor: Do you eat fish?

Me: I’m a vegetarian. BUT, I sometimes tell myself that fish don’t have souls. And that’s when I go out for sushi.

Doctor: It’s interesting that you would say that. Yesterday I opened up the Wall Street Journal and saw a full page ad that featured Paul McCartney at his current age, in his current stage of life, and at the bottom of the ad was a blurb about him going fishing and how when he looked the fish in the eye, he realized that he and the fish both consider their lives to be important, and that killing the fish for pleasure seemed wrong. The ad was for vegetarianism.

Me: You just ruined fish for me.

Doctor: I think you could get away with eating trout or shrimp. Maybe you should just stay away from the big guys.

Me: No dolphins?

Doctor: No dolphins.

Here is the ad. I know some of you will look at it and roll your eyes into the back of your head. (If they freeze that way, let me know. I have a great eye doctor for you!) I’ll just say this: I may have just removed fish from my If All Else Fails list. (It fell between Eggplant Stackers and Fries with BBQ Sauce!) ((I don’t really have a list.))

My greatest quote from the eye doctor appointment: “It all depends on how much you love your gerbil.”

Twenty Eight Down, Two To Go. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

How lovely are my branches…

My big announcement for today: I have boxed up two freelance projects to be returned to their primary editors tomorrow morning. Two (mostly) down, and one to go, and then I can attack Christmas. Relief tastes like a handful of roasted peanuts chased down by another handful of milk chocolate chips mixed with the slight hankering for something carbonated and pomegranate-esque.

We’ve been talking a lot about Christmas trees over here, and I think I need to ask you a question.

Our Christmas tree is a fifteen year old VERY unstable artificial tree that my parents bought for me when I was living in an apartment in the city. (It’s held together with tape!) If you’re into the Major Life Event sort of timeline, this tree has seen me move to Nashville, marry Jeff, and push out two kids! (I didn’t really push the kids out.)

What?! Hey!

As much as I would love to go out to the garage right now and start putting the tree together, this year I have to consider our new roommates.

They’re adorable and I love them, but they will DESTROY my Christmas tree in the same way that they have destroyed our couch and our carpet. (And a few hairbrushes and a TV tray and a Frisbee and our elderly cat’s joy.)

A real tree is not an option, because I’ve seen how they chew on the real trees in our back yard.

What are we to do? If we leave the tree in the box this year, we could hang tinsel and lights around the family room and then decorate the tinsel with ornaments. The kids are willing to deal with that option, as long as the final product looks something like this.

Jeff has suggested that we quickly invent a tree that will spray a bitter dog deterrent every time a quadruped approaches. With less than a month to go before the big day, I really don’t think we have time.

Am I missing an obvious solution? (I tend to miss the obvious solutions.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Going to the Mattresses

This morning The Pudding Family met up with Doug from Laid-Off Dad and The W Family for brunch at Duff’s.

It was delightful and time moved entirely too quickly while we were there and when we left, I was filled with the urge to put more life into what I do. Revivification! (I really love that photo of us, but if you’re in need of something that involves more eye contact, then here you go.)

I also left thinking that I need to learn how to quilt. (The walls at Duff’s are currently bedecked with gangster movie themed quilts made by a local artist.) Can you imagine an entire series of quilts based on quiltworthy Ben Folds songs? There’s Always Someone Cooler Than You Quilt! Stumblin’ Home Winter Blues Quilt! Best of all? Sleazy Quilt! (Fun Fact: Sleazy has been in my head for over 48 hours now. Do me a favor and ask Jeff how awesome it is when I cover Ben Folds covering Ke$ha. He loves it. But not really. Not really at all.)

After returning home and studying my little notebook where I had jotted down “Scarf Ace” and “Plants vs. Zombies” during our encounter at Duff’s, I worked on some freelance and then headed out to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Craft Show with my mom and sister. I went with one goal in mind: To Purchase a Pillow that Looks Like a Log. Sadly, I believe all log pillows had sold out. (Luckily, the Squaresville pot holders were still available.)

After leaving the craft show, we headed straight to Jilly’s, where I ate the cupcake that won Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. Banana toffee cake stuffed with toffee dulce de leche and topped with caramel cream cheese swirl and chocolate astronaut ice cream. That’s right. Chocolate astronaut ice cream.

My mom, who I shall now refer to as Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater, packed this in:

First you make a cupcake. Then you stuff it with a piece of pumpkin pie. Then you top it with cinnamon nutmeg buttercream and ANOTHER piece of pumpkin pie. It’s sort of like the cupcake form of turducken, minus the flesh and the slaughter, plus some cinnamon and deliciousness.

As I sit and type this out for you (only four more days of NaBloPoMo, you know), the girls are finishing up their one week anniversary lice treatment. We have now been completely bug free for over a week, but I will NOT accept victory without one final Phthirapterian sucker punch. It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

In case you’re wondering, those are bullet holes. And that makes it even more perfect.

During our Thanksgiving celebration, I wandered downstairs into my aunt’s basement and found the most amazing parenting guide. Children in the Family—A Psychological Guide for Parents was written by Florence Powdermaker and Louise Ireland Grimes. It was published in 1940 by Farrar & Rinehart, Inc.

How many times have I walked around the room once or twice saying, “Loose, loose, loose” to all my muscles? Zero times! BUT, it’s not too late to start. Because if I shake or slap my kids, then we have a real fuss.

I’ve always wondered about sissy boys and masculine girls and what happened to make them that way.

I *still* don’t feel secure in my knowledge of how things really are and function. I wonder if I will EVER be ready for fairy tales (especially the classics)?!

Just this morning I sent the girls outside with some rope, a shovel, and rocks. Thank God for Urgent Care.

Suddenly, I know why I’m so screwed up. I went on entirely too many excursions when I was a child. What a preposterous stunt world I have seen! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I have some coupons and a half tank of gas.

Last year at this time, we were doing this:

This year at this time? Let’s just say that I’ve eaten my share of sweet potatoes and corn and cranberry salad and rolls and caramel pie, and am getting ready to head to the couch for a few hours before I hit the streets for Black Friday. That’s right. Black Friday.

Please know that I’m not one of Those People. Tempe and I head out mainly to drink coffee and watch people and maybe grab a gift or two. I’ll be back home shortly after the kids roll out of bed, and will spend tomorrow chilling out with a Harry Potter movie and some more sweet potatoes.

Remind me to tell you the story about this afternoon’s schizophrenia accusations and the unlikely bullet holes I found downstairs at my aunt’s house. (THIS is why I love Thanksgiving.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I finished a fingerless mitten…

Hopefully I’ll have a pair before the first week of December…

Physical therapy this morning followed by work, birthday shopping, more work, sushi with friends, and changing all of the sheets because I’ve become obsessive. Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s 9:45.

You guys, I feel like I’m being totally lazy with the NaBloPoMo thing. I promise to give you more actual STUFF next Month. I promise.

Here is the breakdown of my day:

I sent the kids to school this morning.

At 9:15, I drove to school for a quick meeting.

At 9:45, I drove to school AGAIN for a quick meeting.

At 10:10, I started my freelance for the day.

At 11:45, I had lunch with friends at Flavor of India.

At 1:10, I once again pulled out the freelance.

At 4:00, the girls came home from school. I continued to work.

Dinner at 6:00. (They had sloppy joes. I had a few handfuls of peanuts. Don’t judge.)

At 8:45, I stopped the freelance for the day. And, it’s funny, because if you add up the time I was sitting at the computer, it would look like I worked for about eight hours. BUT, because of the frequent ups and downs associated with phone calls and dogs who pee and dinner preparation and talking to kids, I clocked only three hours and forty five minutes. (I use a stopwatch.) BUT, it was a productive 3.75 hours. All is well.

Good news: I received my tunic in the mail, and when I tried it on, it just seemed really BIG. So, because I’m crazy awkward and have no fashion sense, I took a photo of myself and e-mailed it to Ruche with a message that said something like, “Hey. Does this look right, or are tunics supposed to cling a bit more?” They replied with “All tunics vary in fit and style, and this particular tunic is meant to be worn loose. Personally, I think the size you have works great!” They didn’t tell me that *I* look great, but they DID say that the SIZE works great. I have chosen to take that as a compliment. The end.

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I have a Sonata. She has a Ladybug. Only 17% of you know what I’m talking about.

This evening I found myself at Barnes and Noble purchasing two magazines. (Titles are not important.) ((Wait. What magazines do you THINK I was purchasing?)) Anyway, the woman working the register complimented me on my mitts. I asked her if she knits.

She knits, she spins, and she used to work at a yarn store. I absolutely LOVE meeting fiber studs in random places.

It has been a long day.

I made turkey tetrazzini for my carnivorous family.

I worked through two freelance chapters.

I gave spelling tests to first graders.

I went to physical therapy, where I learned that it hurts like hell (if hell hurts, and I believe it does) to walk backwards up a hill. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Sunday Bloody Sunday is played at a tempo of 103 beats per minute.

You guys, I was just getting ready for bed (at 8:55 because I’m cool like that) when I remembered NaBloPoMo. Is this month almost over?

I’ve spent a lot of time in my car (driving to the store and back home and to the pharmacy and back home and to the bookstore and back home) this weekend. I’m pleased to report that listening to Keith Olbermann reading James Thurber is just about the greatest thing I’ve ever listened to while running errands. Driving and laughing.

This evening for dinner I had lentil soup with garlic breadsticks. Afterwards, I snacked on the pumpkin pie that my parents delivered yesterday afternoon. They also delivered a steam cleaner and a Christmas ornament that counts down the hours and minutes until Christmas.

The girls are in bed, and I’m getting ready to do the same. BUT, please know that sometime after midnight I’ll be receiving the food issue of The New Yorker on my Nook, and within that issue is an eight page article on SweeTango apples. I may not be able to sleep tonight. (I love pre-ordering things for the Nook and then watching them magically appear. ‘Tis a gift to be simple.)

I still haven’t decided what to contribute for the Thanksgiving meal.

Good News: We haven’t seen any lice in 22 hours. The End. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh! The Google!

Lady at Pharmacy: You’re back again?

Me: I’m back again.

Lady at Pharmacy: You’ve still got the lice?

Me: I don’t have the lice. BUT, both of my kids do. It’s SO much better than it was two nights ago, but we’re still not completely done with it. We’re close.

Lady Behind Me: Oh! YOU’VE GOT LICE?!

Me: I DO NOT HAVE LICE! My kids are getting over it.

Lady Behind Me: I bet you have DOGS!

Me: I do.

Lady Behind Me: Well, THAT’S where you got it!

Me: No. I learned yesterday that dogs and people don’t share lice. Lice is species-specific. My dogs are protected. I wish my kids could take Trifexis. Please add these Pretzel M&M’s to my stack.

Lady Behind Me: My kid had lice FOREVER. I’ll tell you what you need to do. You need to Google it.

Me: I’m sorry?

Lady Behind Me: Yes. Get on your computer and go to Google Dot Com. Then search for stuff that gets rid of lice.

Me: I’ll do that.

We’ve now done two applications of RID on Meredith, the whole family did an overnight mayonnaise treatment (Puddings believe in solidarity!), both kids have dealt with Cetaphil treatments, we’ve used the blow dryer daily, we used the flat iron this morning, and as I type this update, both kids have LiceFreee! on their heads. (It’s already one hour past bedtime, and we can’t rinse this stuff out for another half hour. And then we have to comb out the nits. Nits. NITS. Oh Dear Lord Help Me Right Now Please.)

Our washer and dryer have been running around the clock.

Jeff steam-cleaned the rugs today as I cried and cranked out some freelance work.

Promise: This will be my final lice entry. I’m sick of talking about it. You’re sick of hearing about it. I might give you a little “Hey! We beat the bugs!” blip when that actually happens, but for now? Let’s change the subject. ALSO, please know that I will NOT send my kids to school if they have even ONE nit in their hair on Monday morning. AND, we’ll be shampooing with preventative shampoo at least once each week forever and ever amen, Randy Travis.

Hrm. I wonder what we’ll talk about tomorrow. Hey! Maybe we need to Google it!

(I know she was trying to help. AND, she was very nice about it. It’s just that I’m three inches away from throwing my fist through a wall (I’ve never done that before!) and the last thing I need is for a stranger to blame this whole thing on Scout and Henry. Because look at them.)

(Jeff thinks Scout looks a bit like Dave Navarro.)

((I’m gonna kick tomorrow.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>