Fluid Pudding : Page 85 of 123 : It's the old small talk!

Shirtsicles will not earn me any coolness points.

A few days back, we had lunch with one of Meredith’s friends and the friend’s mom. It was delightful. As expected, the girls decided to plan a play date. (I still hate that term.) Because Friend wanted to meet Scout, we planned the get together for yesterday afternoon at 12:30. (I’ve gone on and on about how bad I am at inviting the girls’ friends over, so I won’t do the broken record thing with you. You know me.)

Less than an hour into the play date, I noticed that I was sweating. So hot. Crazy hot. 84 degrees in the house. It didn’t help that I had been baking cakes and boiling chickens, but still. Shouldn’t an 18-month-old air conditioner be working better than this?!

I immediately did what anyone would do.

I stuck popsicles down my shirt and sent the kids downstairs to play. (It’s at least 15 degrees cooler downstairs.) ((By the way, do you see the look on my face? My kids know that look as the “We better turn this ship around and start puking random compliments at Mommy!” look.)) I’m sure seeing me with popsicles in my shirt made Friend downgrade my status from Okay to Junk. (Junk was her insult for Miley Cyrus, as in, “I think Miley Cyrus is junk.” I sort of like it, but toward things rather than people. “This fig dip is junk! Diet soda is junk!”)

Side story: At one point during the play date, I offered Friend some gluten-free cookies. She tried them, hated them, and then asked for one of my cucumbers.

Me: Really?

Friend: Yes.

Me: Okay. Do you need me to cut it or peel it or anything?

Friend: No, I’ll just take it.

Me: Do you need something to dip it in?

Friend: Ew. No.

I washed a cucumber, sliced off both ends, and handed it to her. She eats cucumbers like apples. She ate the entire thing. I’m 41 years old, and I’ve never seen anyone do this. Excellent. Anti-junk.

After Friend went home, I went downstairs and noticed that the air conditioner was all iced up. I called our trusty air conditioner guy and he told me to clean the filter and TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER OFF for two hours to let the ice melt. Jeff cleaned the filter and quickly took the girls to VBS—leaving me and the dog sitting in the heat. Scout, sensing how ruffled I was, quickly crawled under the table and took a nap. Me? I raged and cursed and stuck a few popsicles down my pants.

At ten o’clock in the evening, the air had cooled the house to 78 degrees, and this is nothing but good, because I had canceled all plans for today in order to sew a pair of popsicle underpants. Have I mentioned that I’m counting down the days until autumn? Only 72 more days! (My opinion: Summer is junk.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ballad of the Unhappy Hummingbird

Last summer my lovely neighbor presented me with a hummingbird feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and the hummingbirds flocked.

A few weeks ago I pulled out the feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and nothing.

This morning I watched a hummingbird approach the feeder, hover for a bit, and then flit away without imbibing. I could swear I heard a very high pitched, “That place SUCKED!” as his shadow grew longer. Everyone has 24 hours in their day. I tend to sleep for about eight and a half of those, meaning I have about fifteen and a half active hours with which to work. (I use the word Active and Work pretty loosely.) I absolutely hate that I’m going to have to use some of that time to try and figure out why my hummingbirds are so angry and/or anorexic.

Hey, look! I made a skein of yarn!

The wool was dyed by Tempe and sloppily spun by me. (Lots of thick and thin spots, yet I’m pretty happy with the final result.) After finishing it up and thwacking it against the wall a few times, I became overly confident. I pulled out some merino fiber and decided to spin four ounces of lace weight. Last night found me cutting the first ounce off of my bobbin with scissors after it repeatedly broke and unwound. I’ve now ordered a used copy of The Intentional Spinner and am hoping to not lose heart too quickly.

Let’s see. What else? Scout has lost her four bottom front teeth, and it’s so adorable I could cry.

I’m getting my tubes tied the good old fashioned way on August 19th. I finally grew tired of researching all of these new-fangled permanent birth control methods and their side effects and just said, “Forget it! Let’s tie them!” The Catholic hospital where I was originally scheduled to have the Adiana procedure performed told me that they don’t want no stinkin’ tube tying going on in their operating room. The Baptist hospital said, “Us! Come to us! We’ll happily tie your tubes!” And there you go. This paragraph has absolutely nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way. Believe it or not, I love them both equally. We’re more alike than we are different.

Cake Ball Update: I’ve baked two cakes and balled 63 cake balls. So far so good. (It was sort of a fishes and loaves moment in that one cake normally yields about 50 tablespoon-sized balls. For whatever reason, my first cake gave me 63 instead of 50. I used the same mix/icing combination and I used the same scoop. Clearly, I’ve just experienced a miracle. If any of the wedding guests bite into a cake ball and see the profile of Jesus, I really won’t be surprised.) This paragraph has nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way.

The girls have been loving Vacation Bible School this week. (This paragraph has nothing to do with, oh, nevermind.) Next week is our trip to the American Girl Store. (Yes. That’s what I said.) A few weeks later is College for Kids, and then it’s time to think about school. (We’ve already purchased our school supplies. The summer, it flies. And we haven’t even gone for snow cones yet!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Balls, Jack White, and Presidential Pizza

It’s a very exciting week in The Pudding Kitchen. This is the week that will find me mixing, baking, crumbling, blending, balling, dipping, and decorating until I have made two hundred cake balls. Two hundred cake balls that I will then transport to a reception hall for a wedding! I’ve always thought that the whole “Do what you love and the money will follow.” thing was a load of crap, but I’ve now managed to make it work more than once!

(I refuse to make a joke about Jeff being what I love. (“Do what you love.” Get it?! Raunchy!) Hrm. I *do* have more than one person in my life who believes I do nothing but spend Jeff’s money! Whee! My shoes are too nice! Back to the cake balls! 200! The average gestation of a whitetail deer is 200 days! I’m making a cake ball to represent each of those days! Venezuela just celebrated 200 years of independence! My cake balls are metaphorical!)

White cake. White icing. Blue dipping chips. 50 with white stripes and rose pearls. 50 with rose stripes and rose pearls. 50 with white AND rose stripes! 50 of I don’t know yet but it will incorporate sparkles and either the rose or the white stripes! Jack White! (But also, Catholic Throwdown with Colbert! It’s not safe for work! NKOTB!)

You might ask yourself how one prepares to put together 200 cake balls in a kitchen that’s roughly the size of a Toyota Camry. Well, I prepare by meeting one of Meredith’s friends and her mom for gluten-free pizza at Pi! If it’s good enough for President Obama, it’s good enough for me. Thus it is, and so we go. Enjoy your Monday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Love that’s only slightly soiled. Love for Sale.

Scene: I’m in the shower. The girls are on their own with the puppy. The cats are downstairs plotting.

Meredith: Mommy! MOMMY!!!

Me: What? WHAT?!

Meredith: Scout just pooped on her piddle pad and it looks like popcorn!

Me: Okay! I’ll take care of it when I get out!

Meredith: You don’t understand! I think she’s trying to tell us that she wants to go to the movies!!!

It’s Migraine Week at Fluid Pudding! I’ve been able to keep it at bay for the past two days, and as I rest and take pills, the girls have been downstairs planning a garage sale. They’ve created a To Donate stack and a To Sell stack. If you want to buy our plastic baby slide you have to pay Harper eighty dollars, although it’s probably not worth more than three.

Harper: We have to charge a lot of money so people know just how important this stuff IS to us.

Me: If it’s that important, maybe we shouldn’t sell it!

Meredith: But we need money. Mommy, you should think about selling some of your jewelry—like those earrings you were wearing yesterday.

I’ll keep you updated on our garage sale. If all goes according to the girls’ plan, we’ll be selling all of our valuables for lots and lots of money.

Shirtless spinning is not allowed in most establishments.

“Spinning wheel?! What kind of cockamamie Walton Family marathon are you running over there, Pudding?!” Let me explain. A dear friend of mine got a spinning wheel several months ago. I felt a slight urge to learn how to spin, but knew that I needed to start slow. With a drop spindle. And then I never bought a drop spindle, because that’s how I operate.

When I went to Camp KIP back in April, my friend from Las Vegas actually presented me with the spindle SHE learned on along with some fiber. (This is how addictions get started. Don’t EVER give me some free cocaine and tell me that it’s the same brand of cocaine with which YOU got hooked.) ((I have no idea if there are brands of cocaine. Trader Joe’s does not sell cocaine.)) (((Clarification: I am not in the market for cocaine.)))

With the arrival of my 93rd birthday in May, my dear friend with the wheel presented me with a Turkish drop spindle and a bunch of fiber. Shortly thereafter, I joined her and another spinning friend for a raw vegan meal and some yarn admiration. The fever began to rise.

Last week I received an e-mail from my lovely Vegas friend telling me that June was a special month for the wheel I had been wanting, because if you order one, matching jumbo flyers are being either given away or sold at a huge discount! And, yes! This is sort of like saying, “W porz?dku, dzi?kuj?!” Long story shortened: I did a BUNCH of research, figured out what a jumbo flyer is, and decided that it was wheel time. I called a local dealer (because I’m all about reducing environmental impact) on June 29th and bought my wheel on June 30th. (The jumbo flyer special expired at midnight on June 30th! Today I returned a bunch of library books that are due by midnight tonight! Tomorrow I’ll be eating yogurt that has a shelf date of July 8th! This is how I live!)

Here she is. She’s Polish and she’s awesome. Like Jane Krakowski.

I haven’t yet named her, but I’m thinking she looks like a Weronika. (Veronica was on the short list when we were choosing a name for Meredith. Also, Sebrina. Because of the Jellyfish song.)

I’ve spent the past five days spinning and watching YouTube videos about spinning. I’ve learned that I really like Chicks in Rubber, because I can tell that she is an expert, yet I don’t always understand what she’s saying with her lovely accent. This presents a welcome challenge. For example, I know she didn’t just tell me to take my shirt off and use my foot “just to suck on”—but really. That’s what I heard. (This will be the stuff that makes my spinning style even more swanky and unique than the next guy’s, right? (Watch this video at the 1:55 mark. Your shirt will be off and you’ll be sucking on your foot, too.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Everyone takes photos of fireworks.

Yesterday I noticed that my camera has a setting for fireworks. Part of me was excited about this discovery, and part of me immediately felt like I was going to become one of those people who takes 2,493 photos of the ocean or 7,594 photos of a sunset or 34,293 photos of the Cinderella castle, but with fireworks instead of oceans or the sun or castles. If I thought you might be interested, I would share all 118 photos I took last night. (Yes. Really. 118! It’s as if I watched the entire display through my CAMERA instead of just watching it in the sky! Embarrassing.) Instead, I’ll just share one.

If Van Gogh were to paint a sunflower on fire at midnight, I believe it would look something like this.

By the way, we’re now about halfway to our goal of getting a bike for Aaron. This makes me so happy. Thanks again for your help with this, and please know that if you still WANT to help, it’s not too late.

Also, please know that I’ve been making yarn. I’m not very good at it, yet it’s possibly the most relaxing thing I’ve ever done.

(Related: I learned to play this in the third grade, and I’ve been singing it in my head every time I spin. It’s a cute habit right now (mostly), but I need to get it under control.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Not all fish have souls.

It’s a big day! (For me! And Canadians!) As of today, if you don’t count one poorly-timed pulled pork sandwich (I was in Memphis! At Neely’s! I still feel guilt about that stinking pulled pork sandwich!), I have been a vegetarian for one year! As of today, I will no longer say, “I don’t eat meat.” Instead, I will say, “I’m a vegetarian.” (In my head, it takes a year for the transformation. Obviously, I have no idea what the rules are.) ((Happy Canada Day!!!))

This is my third attempt at vegetarianism, but this time around I’m noticing a difference. My two other tries often found me sitting by a steak-eating friend and thinking, “Hrm. That looks great, but I can’t have it.” This time around, I’m finding that I don’t WANT it. Huge difference.

Also on the plus side? I’m down about fifteen pounds from last year at this time, I rarely get the “My stomach hurts so badly I can’t straighten my back.” thing, and while most people shove approximately twenty seven chickens into their mouth each year (I read it online, so it must be true!), I’ve let my chickens walk. You’re welcome, chickens!

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Infections and Door Rainbows

If I test positive for an MRSA infection, my entire family will have to be medicated. We won’t have the results until Tuesday, but Meredith and Harper are already Very Angry. If my test result is negative, I know two little girls who owe me big apologies. (Incidentally, research shows that the at-risk population for an MRSA infection includes high school wrestlers and people who live in crowded conditions. As you know, my house is VERY crowded. AND, just last week I put the Five Moves of Doom on a babyface!) ((I had to look it up. Wrestling terms! So many languages out there, and I know only English, a bit of Spanish, and Knitting! Life really is too short, and here I sit with a potential staph infection! I’m so gross!))

In less than two hours, I will be entering a local shop and purchasing a spinning wheel. The thought of this is both highly exciting AND terrifying, because it’s a big purchase, and big purchases tend to make me all squirrelly and apologetic. (Also, I cry and whisper “I’m so sorry” every time I vomit. Can we please hang out sometime?!) In my mind, I’m going to spin fiber into yarn and then knit that yarn into a cowl or something and then give it away on my site because you guys really are the greatest. (Thanks for all of the positive feedback on my post about Aaron’s bike! As of this morning, we had collected $800. It’s definitely a start! And there’s still time to contribute!)

One last thing! Yesterday I received a wonderful gift in the mail from Sarah M. I was completely floored and excited, and whoa! When I told Meredith about the gift and how it’s from someone I’ve never actually met, she said, “Wow. Sarah is really nice. I bet her door has a rainbow on it.” I love that. Sarah’s door definitely has a rainbow on it. Each of you who contributed to Aaron’s bike? You have rainbows on your doors, too. I’m so lucky to have so many rainbow doored friends here. Have I thanked you lately?! Because, really. Thank you. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Just in case you’ve been looking…

I don’t like to ask for money. When I sold socks to fund my trip to BlogHer in 2008, I sort of promised myself that I would never again be that bold. AND, other than a few charity mentions here and there, I’ve stuck to my promise.

It was brought to my attention this past weekend that a girl from my high school has a son named Aaron. Aaron has Beal’s Syndrome, which is a rare disorder that affects the connective tissue. It’s characterized by permanent fixation of certain joints in a flexed position, and those who suffer from it have a hard time moving. Aaron has had five surgeries in the past ten years (including a spinal fusion), and is expected to undergo hip surgery in the future.

Aaron will be eleven years old on Friday, and he wants a bike for his birthday.

Because of his special circumstances, his family can’t simply drive to a store and grab a bike. Aaron needs a special bike. It’s a bike that his family has researched, it can be customized to fit him, and it costs $3,800. That’s a lot of money.

A Facebook page has been created to raise money for Aaron’s bike, and the goal has been set for 380 people to donate $10. So far, $390 has been collected. In other words, we’re a little over a tenth of the way there.

If you’ve been thinking about budgets and yearly donations and you would consider donating to a cause that would make a very special boy VERY happy on his birthday, please consider Aaron and his bike. If you have PayPal, the address for donations is mousejunkie@att.net

In my world, every kid should have a bike, and I was more than happy to help Aaron out.

Please feel free to join me.

(I’m turning comments off for this post, but if you have any questions, please shoot an e-mail my way: angela at fluid pudding dot com.)

ETA: In PayPal, if you hit the Personal box and choose Gift, no credit card/bank fees will be deducted from your donation. It’s not a HUGE deal, but every twenty cents (or so) in fees start adding up eventually, and Aaron will get his bike much faster without the deductions! Thank you so much! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If it fails, I’ll name the baby Adiana.

Do you remember last year when I was talking about having coils jammed into my fallopian tubes? After doing a bit of research and singing some songs about maybe having a third baby somewhere in there, I decided to go with a more temporary solution: Mirena. Many of you have had good experiences with your Mirena, but a few of you have HORROR stories!

Here’s the scoop. That thing that I thought was a third baby somewhere in there ended up being a puppy named Scout. I’m good. (Mostly.)

This morning I had my annual paper-gowned appointment, and as I was poked and scraped, my doctor and I talked about American Girl stores and Adiana Permanent Contraception. According to the brochure (Adiana. Not American Girl.), it’s “Safe. Simple. Forever. Adiana.” If you have any experience with it, I would love to hear your words. I’m scheduled to have it done on August 19th at 7:30 in the morning. August 19th is Bill Clinton’s birthday. (It’s also Tipper Gore’s birthday! I didn’t know those two shared a birthday! Also, John Stamos! And Missy Higgins!!!)

Speaking of loving to hear your words, I want to thank each and every one of you who spoke up last week when I was moaning about my clutter. It feels good to know that we are not alone, doesn’t it? As I sit here at the computer eating a 1.13kg container of mixed nuts, I’m pleased to report that my kitchen sink is empty and my piano bench is no longer being weighed down by correspondence from the elementary school. (I actually practiced the piano in the dark yesterday afternoon. Our power went off in the morning, came back in the afternoon, went off again in the evening, and came back to stay at around 9:00. The dog was very uncomfortable with the off and on, and by “the dog” I mean “me”.) ((I’m still convinced that the second power loss came about because of the hateful thoughts I was having about my neighbor. I won’t get into that right now, because I need my air conditioner to keep working.))

As Jeff cleaned off one of our desks yesterday afternoon, he found a few of my 1996 sketch pads. (1996 was the year I spent dressing in short skirts and opaque tights and using a messenger bag as a purse. In that messenger bag was a sketch pad, a book of Mark Strand poetry, and lots of Rolaids to combat the obscene amount of coffee I was drinking.) I was never an artist, but I loved to pretend—as long as no one was around to watch me pretend. If a coffee dump was crowded, the sketch pad stayed in the bag.

While flipping through my (admittedly cruddy) drawings last night, I came across this, and it made me insanely happy—not because it’s great, but because I can remember exactly how I felt when I drew a flippy collar that actually looked sort of like a flippy collar.

Because this made me happy, I now have plans to get a 2011 sketch pad and challenge myself to draw something every day. You should, too. Also, we really should bake more stuff, don’t you think? Let’s do. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>