Fluid Pudding : Page 85 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

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’>

Yes. I said it. Black Mold.

Every time we go on vacation (which isn’t often) or away for a weekend (again, not often), I absolutely hate the thought of returning home. Last year, two days before we even LEFT for Jackson Hole, I said, “I’m so bummed out. A week from today we’ll be back home.”

Yesterday afternoon, I picked Harper up from her friend’s house. Even after spending less than two minutes in that beautiful (and clean and fresh-smelling) home, I found that I didn’t want to return to my own house.

I don’t know if you remember this, but we used to pay for a cleaning lady to come into our house every two weeks. It was WONDERFUL. Budgeting for her started getting a bit tricky, so we started having her over every four weeks. That lasted for several months, and then suddenly the money just wasn’t there any longer.

Every month or so, I go through this THING. Some people would call it a FUNK. I have a hard time saying that word without it sound like The F Word, so I’ll stick with THING. (By the way, last week Meredith said, “Is there a bad word that starts with F U? Does it end in C K?” I grabbed her baby book and noticed that there is no space to commemorate the spelling of baby’s first bad word.) Anyway, my THING. It usually begins with me seeing someone else’s home and then returning to my own home. I look around at all of the accumulated crap and wonder what to DO with it. What do people DO with weird reusable water bottles and half-used lip glosses and old cookbooks and toy guitars? Is it really okay to throw these things away? (We donate a TON of stuff every few months. Where is all of this piled up stuff coming from?)

Inevitably, I go to bed crabby when The Thing is brewing. And then? The next morning I step into my disgusting bathroom with the black mold (!!!) in the shower that I can’t seem to get rid of and I reach for my shampoo but end up knocking over fourteen or more OTHER bottles of shampoo that came from hotels or something that I’ve never stayed in, and suddenly the suction cup on my razor gives out and it crashes to the floor and breaks and I’m drying off with a wash cloth because the towels have to go through three dryer cycles to actually DRY and I had time for only two cycles yesterday, and the bracelet that I asked Meredith to put away THREE times yesterday is still sitting in the same place, and the dirty dishes are piled up because the dishwasher has never worked very well, and seriously! How do you keep your house tidy?! How do you hide your wires and stack pans that don’t really seem stackable? Where do you keep your charger thingies when you’re not charging something? Why is that bag of handknit socks still sitting on the printer waiting to be washed?

There are so many little things that need to be done around here. When I think about it, it becomes completely overwhelming, and all I really want to do is sit on the couch and stare out into the distance. And then we get to the HUGE things—hole in the roof, disgusting stained pink carpeting, the back bathroom that stinks and is moldy, poison ivy on the slope in the yard that needs to be dealt with professionally…

I’ve read this entry by The Trephine at least ten times now. I would love to be able to reach the point where it becomes time to part with everything but the very few things that actually MEAN something to me. These candles and bamboo stinky things on our mantle mean NOTHING. These tiny tea cups that are too tiny for tea mean NOTHING. (But they’re Fiesta! And we got them when we got married! But STILL! THEY’RE TOO TINY!) This basket of CDs that has been sitting on our kitchen divider for as long as I can remember means NOTHING. I always find myself thinking about the people who have lost everything, and my heart breaks. With that said, my heart would be so much better off if I could simply make the CHOICE to lose 80% of my things.

The Fly Lady does not work for me. Setting a timer for twenty minutes and cleaning like a mad woman until I hear the buzzer doesn’t work. Our original plan was to live in this (tiny—like the tea cups) house until 2012, and then try to find something where the kids can each have their own bedroom. 2012 is less than six months away, and our house is in the worst shape it has EVER been in, and we have no PLAN.

I’m the first to admit that I’m Very Lazy. With that said, I’m not doing my kids any favors by allowing them to be lazy, too. When I go nuts on them about not cleaning their room, I pray that they haven’t yet learned the word Hypocrite.

What do you do? How do you do it? Is anyone else as frustrated/frustrating as me? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m such a fan of Just Expressive!

A few months back, I entered a contest to win a customized ruffle necklace at the Just Expressive Facebook page.

Because I’m The Luckiest, I won the contest!

The artist contacted me right away, e-mailed a few images of sample necklaces, and asked me to let her know what I prefer. So tricky. I loved every sample in the photos, and I couldn’t make up my mind. I then told her that I love orange, bright is good, and I totally trust her artistic vision, because I love everything at her Etsy site. (Check this necklace out. It’s beautiful. And: Look. It’s a t-shirt ring!) ((I also want these earrings.))

A few weeks later, I received this in the mail:

This is the most whimsical piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned, and I love it so much. So much that I want to become That Smart Lady Who Makes Cake Balls and Wears Whimsical Jewelry and Skirts!

This is me wearing my necklace and giving you a bit of a brooding side stare, as smart ladies often do before they make cake balls while wearing whimsical jewelry and skirts.

I’ve worn the necklace in public twice now, and it received compliments Both Times, which indicates a Necklace Success Rate (NSR) of 100%. One woman even commented that it’s the happiest necklace she’s ever seen. And she was right. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If life gives you bananas, make ice cream!

I joined Pinterest about a week ago. (I believe you can see my pins here. At least I think you can. I’m still learning.)

Anyway. Sheri from The Loopy Ewe pinned this recipe for One Ingredient Ice Cream, and I was So Intrigued. (Ice cream made from bananas. Nothing more! Just bananas! It’s vegan and totally healthy ice cream that you can feed your kids for breakfast! How can anyone tell you that you can’t be whatever you want to be when there are bananas out there who are becoming ice cream?! Follow your dreams, children of the world!!!)

Before I tell you how to make One Ingredient Ice Cream, let me say this: I’m not sure why, but it cracks me up when people put frames around photos of food. I know it’s not supposed to be a comical thing, but to me? Side-splitting. Please know that as I picked up colors from within my banana photographs and created frames from those colors, I was having the time of my life. (I’ve never felt this way before.)

Let’s get started. Take four bananas, slice them up, and freeze them for an hour or so. (I went with Or So. Four hours. Also, my bananas were on the edge of darkness. And that’s okay.)

Take the frozen banana slices and throw them into your food processor. (If you don’t have a food processor, go get yourself a food processor! I have no idea how much they cost. Jeff’s parents gave us ours a few years back, because I was craving homemade salsa, which I made exactly once after receiving the food processor.) Start pulsing the bananas. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Fun Fact: The normal pulse rate of a Yorkshire Terrier is 100 to 150 beats per minute!

You’ll notice as you pulse that the bananas start turning into tiny rocks and working their way up the side of the container! This bothered me, but don’t let it bother you! Just grab a spatula and scrape the banana rocks off the sides and push them back down by the blade. Continue pulsing and scraping and before you know it, the banana rocks turn into ice cream!!!

Look at that! Seriously! When you’ve achieved Ice Cream Consistency, you may stop and eat. (Or put it in a container and keep it in the freezer.) However, we didn’t stop. We added a tablespoon (or more) of Nesquik (because Dutch process chocolate was too expensive and I already had Nesquik!) and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter. (Why do I want to say spoonsful instead of spoonfuls? Spoonsful? Yes? No?)

When all is said and done, my kids would much rather go to the store and purchase a container of “real” ice cream than eat ice cream made from bananas. Me? I prefer the banana! My next batch will not hold chocolate or peanut butter. Instead, I believe I’m going to add strawberries and pineapple with maybe a touch of coconut? Perhaps a batch with just bananas and pretzels?! Imagine the possibilities!

Dogs can eat bananas, and as you know, I never miss the opportunity to share a photo of Scout, who will be four months old on Thursday! The End! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Cake Balls and Dog Dreams

How nice is it that as of now, 100% of the comments to my previous post were supportive? I really do appreciate your thoughts and opinions and funny stories. Come over to my house. I made a batch of cake balls. Let’s eat them.

Really. I made a batch of cake balls.

They’re purple with pink stripes and white cake with white icing and I’ve eaten at least four of them today.

Jeff is on a business trip in Florida. As I sit here typing, he is eating breakfast at Downtown Disney.

(I made a batch of cake balls. Let’s eat them.)

This has nothing to do with that: When Meredith was three years old, she got really angry with me one afternoon, and she screamed, “I’m going to poop on your pillow, and then I’m going to poop on your wedding rings!!!” (Please know that when I’m especially frustrated, I tell Jeff that I’m going to poop on his wedding ring. Please also know that I would never actually do such a thing, as I am Refined. Like sugar.)

Anyway, Scout has been going through a phase in which she likes to do her business in the girls’ bedroom. (On the floor. Never on Meredith’s pillow.) To me, it’s a taste of What Goes Around Comes Around or Spinning Wheel Got to Go Round or something to that effect. (Speaking of which, I never did get a spinning wheel. The fever has settled for now, as I’m having trouble finding time to use my spindle, which leads me to believe that I really have no time to deal with a wheel right now.)

Why am I not spinning? Because I’m spending most of my waking hours with this:

Scout has discovered that she can’t really do much with the cone around her face. She tends to knock her food dish over with the cone, so I have to feed her by hand. She can’t run full speed under the couch while wearing the cone, so I have to help her find alternate hiding places. When she takes a drink, she slobbers onto the cone, and then it drips onto her neck when she lifts her face up—and she can’t scratch her neck because of the cone, so I’m constantly having to wipe OUT the cone and scratch her neck! (I know. I’m creating a monster.) ARGH! Scout HAS discovered a bit of a coping mechanism, and that is: Naps. Naps filled with dreams of what she COULD be doing while wearing that stinking cone.

She could be walking on the moon. (She has always been a fan of The Police.)

She could be One Less Lonely Girl at a Justin Bieber concert.

Best of all, she could be Ira Glass’s dangling earring, which would allow her to whisper sweet somethings into his ear. (Sweet nothings are for amateurs. Scout is a woman of substance. Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust!)

(As Mr. Glass performs in St. Louis on Saturday evening, Peter Gabriel will be performing in Kansas City. Missouri wins the Saturday Night Coolness Award.)

((Meanwhile, the cone comes off tomorrow morning. You’ll probably hear our rejoicing all the way over there.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>