I’ve got a sweet potato in my oven, and nothing much to say.

Every morning for the past week I have found myself dropping Meredith off at school at 8:30, returning home with Harper, cleaning up the kitchen a bit, putting a sweet potato in the oven at 9:30, figuring out laundry, etc., and then eating the sweet potato at 11:00 (with one tablespoon of butter and light on the salt, if you’re wondering). And, yes. My mornings are bland at best. Aren’t you excited about NaBloPoMo? I need to come up with thirty new and exciting ways to report that I have a sweet potato in my oven!

What else is happening, you ask? Harper and I just assembled twelve bags of potato chips and bubbles for her pre-K’s fall party. Meredith’s class has won a pajama/stuffed animal/cupcake party for this afternoon, and her fall party is tomorrow. (It is NOT a Halloween party, people. It is a celebration of the harvest tide! Nothing spooky about that!)

Harper turned 4.5 yesterday, and Meredith turned 6.5 today. I will be 39.5 in a few weeks.

Meredith has a computer class at school, and yesterday she created this:
mchalloween

I love it for so many reasons, but I especially love that she put an owl in the tree and it’s saying “hoo hoo”.

This is completely unrelated to anything that has to do with Hoo Hoo: Tonight I am going all by myself to see the Michael Jackson movie. I never really considered myself to be a huge Michael Jackson fan, but for some reason I’m drawn to the idea of this film. And it better be good, Michael Jackson, because I don’t get out much.

Oh! One more thing! Yesterday afternoon Meredith told me that she had lunch with a new friend at school. When I asked what the new friend had brought in her lunch, Meredith answered, “She eats The Lonely Sandwiches.”

Me: What is a lonely sandwich?

Meredith: The Lonely Sandwiches! You know, with the round pink stuff inside. And cheese and mustard.

Me: Baloney sandwiches?

Meredith: No. The Lonely Sandwiches.

I kind of like the idea of sharing lunch with the lonely sandwiches. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

You ain’t a beauty, but hey, you’re alright.

Bruce Springsteen was in town last night, and I have a friend who works for him. (And I wish the friend lived closer than she does, because I do believe we’re quite compatible in the Hanging Out While Knitting and Drinking Coffee department—which is one of my very favorite departments.) I met her for the first time last year when Mr. Springsteen was in town, and she completely floored us by giving us total VIP treatment.

When we arrived at the Scottrade Center for last night’s show, I couldn’t get past Security because I had brought a gift for my friend and a knitted hat for Mr. Springsteen. When I called her to explain the situation and apologize for the inconvenience, she quickly rescued us and took us backstage where (are you ready for this?!) we stood outside Mr. Springsteen’s dressing room and heard him yell, “Hey, Lady!” when one of his staff members entered. Also? I stood less than twenty feet away from Roy Bittan and Max Weinberg as they ate chicken skewers. I watched Steven van Zandt contemplate dinner options. We passed Nils Lofgren (and Tony La Russa) in the hall. Did I mention the chicken skewer thing?! (Seriously. That was a high point.)

When I worked at the hospital as a bagger of the dead, I would occasionally turn my badge over and wrap a stethoscope around my neck for the walk down to the cafeteria. I found that people respected the stethoscope more than the Unit Secretary badge, and they would often clear the way for me as I returned to the SICU with milk and Kit Kat in hand. Since leaving the hospital, I haven’t really had the chance to duplicate that feeling of power I experienced while wearing the stethoscope around my neck, until last night when I had this on my chest:
P1010898
When we took our place in the pit, I caught at least a dozen people staring at my chest (that NEVER happens) and then whispering for their friends to stare at my chest. This badge quickly became my Bruce Springsteen Stethoscope.

Highlights of my night: Watching Mr. Springsteen playing piano and singing “For You.” (I’ll update to the St. Louis video if it becomes available. It was absolutely perfect.) Getting a quick visit in with my friend. The chicken skewer thing.  “She’s the One” (my favorite Springsteen tune).

Highlight of Jeff’s night: Being part of Mr. Springsteen’s crowd surfing moment during “Hungry Heart.” He was able to grab a leg o’ Bruce, and when I asked if it was muscular, he smiled and answered, “It was strong.”

When the show ended, we walked back to our car in the parking garage and found that our battery was dead. We called AAA and they weren’t able to get to us until over an hour after the final car had left the garage. AND, they were unable to get their truck to us because of the low ceilings in the garage. SO, the AAA guy had to walk his big battery thing up five flights of steps to help us out. (Thanks, Jake from AAA!) In other words, I’m now working from four hours of sleep, but I have absolutely zero complaints, for I saw Roy Bittan eat chicken, and the only thighs Jeff has touched in the past decade or more belong to me and Mr. Bruce Springsteen.

(I’ve received word that my hat made it onto Mr. Springsteen’s flight last night from St. Louis to Kansas City. This news will keep me smiling for at least 37 days.)

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Next year we’re going to fill the back of the car with fake dead people.

Tonight was Trunk or Treat at the girls’ school. To prepare, we signed up for a parking spot (#29! Because you’re only as old as you feel!), I hemmed Harper’s Sleeping Beauty dress, I purchased treats for 200 kids, I cleaned out the back of the car, and I carved a pumpkin. (I’m proud of my pumpkin. Full disclosure: Yes. I used a pattern.)

Pumpkin!

Because our neighbors are not very enthusiastic about Halloween, this is pretty much it for the girls. And they were a tiny bit excited.

Sleeping Beauty and the Dancing Diva

Harper, as I mentioned earlier, is Sleeping Beauty. Meredith? Meredith is a Barbie Dancing Diva. Yes she is.

Sadly, I had No Idea how seriously some people are about Trunk or Treat.

Notes for next year:

  • Bring more candy. (We left with three Tootsie Roll Pops to spare. That was a close one.)
  • Make a Spooky Song CD (although Jeff’s last minute Tom Waits iPod blast was quite impressive).
  • Hang streamers and/or garbage bags in the car.
  • Bring a live camel.
  • Floss.

Business:

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I believe Goat Rodeo is an adequate description of my wedding day.

It’s a bit tiresome (for me) when people assume that anyone with a nice camera is a professional photographer.
On a similar note, it’s exasperating (for me) when people armed with nothing BUT a nice camera assume they are professional photographers.

Our wedding photographer sucked. SUCKED. And while I can sort of blame him for sucking, I also have to blame myself for choosing him. (His portfolio was really good! Then again, of course it was! He’s not going to showcase crappy photos, right?)

Because tomorrow is our anniversary, this morning I pulled out our monster wedding album to show the girls what we looked like on our wedding day. As expected, they loved my dress and laughed at how much younger we looked back then. (It was eight years ago. Did we really look that much younger?!) While flipping through the album, one of the first questions Meredith asked was, “Why weren’t you smiling?”

I’ll tell you why I wasn’t smiling. I wasn’t smiling because the photographer told me not to smile. After taking a few photos, he came up to me and whispered, “I’m going to have to ask you to not smile in your photos today. Your braces are giving my flash a ding.” And because I’m spineless, every wedding photo finds me portraying an awkward combination of Smug and Your Angry Mother.

wedding

Get this. Within thirty minutes of the start of the wedding, the pastor told us that the photographer is not allowed to take photos of the ceremony as it’s taking place, and that includes photos of the wedding party walking down the aisle. (What?! Thanks for leaving THAT out until the last minute!) The photographer scratched his head and came up with the brilliant idea of us PRETENDING to walk down the aisle. Yes. I now have photos of my family standing still in a big room but posing As If They Were Walking Down An Aisle. Ridiculous.

usher

One of the requests I made of the photographer when we signed our contract was “Don’t use any filters.” (We didn’t want sparkles or rainbows to appear where there were no sparkles or rainbows. We are ADULTS, you know.) Anyway, because he wasn’t allowed in the church during the ceremony, the photographer decided to stand outside of the church, open the doors, and take photos of the ceremony taking place from behind. Those photos were filled with pews and backs of heads, and to add insult to injury, he used a filter to make everything look smoky—as if the church was on fire. (Sadly, we didn’t purchase any of the Church on Fire photos, and he didn’t let us keep the proofs.)

Finally, as we were eating our dinner at the reception, the photographer approached us and said, “Look. I need to get out of here. Can you take a break from eating so we can do the first dance and the cake?” Because we were basically trick monkeys at this point, we took a break. And we danced. And we ate cake. And when we got the photos back, there was no evidence of us dancing or eating cake. However, there’s a really awesome shot of us toasting to a long life. And in that photo, a headless German boy is dancing on Jeff’s head.

Entering Our Marriage with a German Boy Dancing on Jeff's Head

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Slaughterous Sneakers and Yo-Yo Ma Dreams

Meredith has a half day at school today, which means it’s also Show and Tell Day! After thinking long and hard about who or what to bring, she finally decided that Alex the Cat was the perfect choice.

Meredith: I thought about bringing Rainbow Bear, but I love Alex the best. If Alex was a REAL cat, I would feed her and take good care of her.

Me: Wouldn’t it be weird if Alex came to life and you really COULD feed her?

Meredith: No. But it WOULD be weird if my shoes came to life in the middle of the night and killed my family!

Me: Yeah. That would be weird. And disappointing.

Meredith: Yeah.

Okay. If any unfortunate events take place in the Pudding House, please be on the lookout for this guy (and his identical twin):
killer shoes
This evening, Jeff and I will be kicking off our week long Eight Years of Marriage Jubilee with sushi and the possibility of Tom Russell! According to the people who make up these things, Year Eight equals Bronze, Linens, and Lace. In other words, I’m still holding out for Year Twenty Four—The Year of Musical Instruments! (Cross your fingers for me and my dream cello! Eight down, sixteen to go!)

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(I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tirade! Now, with coughing!

So, as you know, Meredith was sick last week, but is no longer sick. She has an annoying cough. She does NOT have a fever, nor does she have chills. No runny nose. Just a cough. She’s full of energy. She feels great.

1. About an hour ago, Meredith’s teacher sent her to the nurse’s office to deliver a backpack to a child who was going home sick for the day. According to the nurse, “I took her temperature for the heck of it, and she has a fever of 99.6, so you need to come and get her.”

2. This morning, I packed a sandwich bag full of mints, and threw in one Mucinex packet with a note that said, “Please allow Meredith to eat these mints as needed for her cough. I’m also including a packet of Mucinex. She may take it if needed after 12:00.” When the school nurse called to ask me to pick Meredith up, she told me that as a nurse, she is not allowed to dispense medication with only a parental permission slip. She needs a prescription from the pediatrician. So, even though I picked this stuff up at the store and gave the nurse written permission to hand it to Meredith, I still have to call the doctor (who is booked up for the day, I’m sure), have her write a prescription for Mucinex, and fax it to the school. With that said, I am allowed to drive to school, pull Meredith out of her classroom, and dispense the medicine myself (seriously—I’ve done it), but the school nurse cannot give it to her. And I get that, I think. I think.

3. When I arrived at the nurse’s office to pick Meredith up, the nurse said, “If her fever comes back at any time today, you need to keep her home tomorrow.” They have a policy at school that says something like “Fever Today? No School Tomorrow.” And I get that. I really do. BUT, the fact that she said, “If her fever comes BACK” confused me a bit. When we got home, Meredith’s temperature was 98.4. As I sit here at the computer, she’s running around the house feeling perfectly fine.

I’m sure all of this makes perfect sense and Better Safe Than Sorry and it’s flu season and schools are closing and the locusts are descending and whatever. I’m sure it does. I’m just having trouble seeing it right now. You see, I’m a very selfish and uncaring mother who is probably 99.6% (or 98.4%, depending on whose side you’re on) responsible for the flu outbreak at Meredith’s school. There. I said it so you don’t have to.

I would like a large non-fat chai and a walk in the woods. Thank you for your support. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Yes, I’ve had reactions. But not to a flu shot.

This afternoon I picked the girls up from school and headed straight to the drug store to purchase Starlight Mints for Meredith. Although she’s no longer contagious, her cough is so annoying that her teacher sent her to the nurse’s office this afternoon for a cough drop. Because the nurse isn’t allowed to give medicine that hasn’t been prescribed by a physician (I had a blanket prescription written at the beginning of the school year that covered Tylenol and Tums, but I totally zoned on cough drops.), Meredith was given a Starlight Mint and sent on her merry way.

And a merry way it was. Meredith LOVES the mints. She has never had hard candy before, which probably blows your mind. Or maybe it doesn’t. Here. Let me tell you why my kids have never had hard candy before: Once, when Meredith was a year old, she choked on a tiny cracker in the back seat of the car. And it scared the crap out of me to the extent that I rarely give anyone (including Jeff) foods with high choke potential. I don’t allow the girls to have gum. They cannot eat popcorn unless a drink is nearby. Most importantly, no clove cigarettes.

As I was saying, Meredith LOVES the mints. And because coughing kids break my heart, I threw caution to the wind, put on my Laissez Faire hat (it sparkles!), and drove straight to the drug store to load up. While there, I noticed that the pharmacy was offering flu shots for $24.99. What a bargain! Maybe?! I don’t know!

Me: Hey! Girls! Do you want to see Mommy get a shot?!

Harper: Will it be in your butt?

I grabbed the forms from the pharmacist, was baited and switched with “We are currently out of the $24.99 version, but can we interest you in the much prettier $29.99 version? It contains no preservatives!”

Me: I’ll take the pretty one! After all, it’s not MY money, it’s my HUSBAND’S money! And he doesn’t want me to get sick, because if I’m sick, Who Will Cook the Lasagna?!

(The lasagna is in the oven Right Now. It’s vegetarian, and is loaded with peas and mushrooms. My windows are cracked, so that’s what you’re smelling. It’s a soft food, you know. No choke potential. Stress-free dinner.)

A few minutes later, the pharmacist called the girls and I into the back room for the shot.

Pharmacist: Let’s talk about your fever and vomiting.

Me: Gosh, I can’t remember the last time I threw up, and I know I don’t have a fever.

Pharmacist: On the form you just filled out, you checked Yes to “I have had a fever or vomited in the past 24 hours.”

Me: How weird! I have no recollection of checking the Yes box. That pen must have been sort of like a Ouija board but not really!

Pharmacist (who apparently works in a position where there’s not much room for joking around): Have you had a fever or thrown up in the past 24 hours?

Me (totally sober now): No, Ma’am.

Pharmacist (who knows she can’t trust me as far as she can throw me, and I outweigh her by at least twenty pounds): Do you suffer from Guillain-Barre syndrome?

Me: No.

Pharmacist (Wait! She’s asking me all of the questions from the form! She probably thinks I don’t know how to read. Sometimes the illiterate are really good fakers, as evidenced by several made for television movies!): Are you allergic to eggs?

Me: I will not eat them on a train.

So, here I sit. The lasagna will be ready in fifteen minutes, and I’ve been vaccinated. And I hesitate to tell you this, but my kids have been vaccinated, too. Some of you think that’s fine, but some of you CAPS LOCK DO NOT THINK THAT’S FINE. And that’s what makes the world a special place, don’t you think? We’re all just doing our best, it’s just that some people believe they are doing it Better Than Others.

Today I give thanks for the Canadians.
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(I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I want to go to Canada for their Thanksgiving. Who’ll have me?

It’s cold and rainy today (which I love), and three of the four kids in my house (sometimes I count the cats) are sick right now. With that said, I had jelly on my toast and hot Earl Grey (with honey) for breakfast, so I really have no complaints. On the calendar for this evening is soccer, Reading Night at the school, and the possibility of knitting. However, none of us will be leaving the house for fear of spreading our germs unnecessarily. (Sometimes it’s necessary. We tend to lick the people we know.)

Let’s get down to business here. The reason I haven’t invited you over to my house is because we have really offensive pink carpeting in the front room, and I’m embarrassed by it. And I know that’s silly, but we choose our own humiliations, right? (I choose Pink Carpeting, and the time in high school when I slipped and fell in the hallway and accidentally threw my French horn into a group of football players! It has been 22 years, and I still haven’t healed!) Supposedly, that Pink carpeting is sitting on top of a hardwood floor that the previous owner swore was in good condition. However, the carpeting (which is very pink. Did I mention the Pink?) looked suspiciously pristine when we moved in, and the owner had a big guilty-looking old dog who appeared to be the type of dog who has zero bladder control in exciting situations. (I can relate. Jim and Pam’s wedding is tonight, by the way.) All of this to say: I want this carpeting out of the house SO badly, but I have a funny feeling we’ll lift it up and find spotty canine pee stains all over the wood. Pee stains that have been covered with cheap Pink carpeting for the past seven years. And suddenly it’s Christmas.

The previous owner of the house once greeted us while wearing a sweatshirt that held an airbrushed representation of the big old dog. I’m sure I would have found a companion tote bag had I looked under all of her yarn. This has nothing to do with anything.

So, Jeff’s aunt gave us a calendar last year for Christmas. She also went the extra mile and wrote everyone’s birthday on the calendar. (Hello, Bob and Susan. Are you aware that you have birthdays at the end of this month? Because I AM aware.) Anyway, the top of the October page contains the following poem:

Jams, puddings; teacakes, and tarts, roast beef in wine sauce and cranberry hearts chicken pot pie with biscuits and cream, French fries and chocolates and Apricot Dream. Blessed with Abundance each day all our own; there’s Love in the kitchen, the Heart of the Home.

For some reason, this poem pisses me off to no end. Other than the punctuation (I’m looking at you, “cranberry heart chicken pot pie”), it doesn’t really hold anything offensive. However, I read it every day and then I sort of roll my eyes into the back of my head and sigh. Okay. Wait. Full disclosure. The calendar also has this paragraph scrawled in a really crappy cursive font on top: “Running home from school on a crisp clear day, crunching as many leaves as possible with my shoes on the way, coming in the door, breathless and pink cheeked, slamming the books down and finding my mom in the kitchen pulling a pan of apple crisp from the oven. Smelled like, looked like, and tasted like love to me.” So, yeah. It starts off innocently enough with the day-way rhyme thing going on, then suddenly it’s nothing but a frantic run-on about how perfectly timed apple crisps represent love. And what’s going on with the book slamming? No apple crisp for book slammers in the Pudding house. (I believe I’ll cross-stitch that sentence and hang it in the hallway.)

I’m toying with the idea of change. Sadly, I don’t believe this is the way to go.
Picture 4

(I’ll probably stick the following at the bottom of every entry for awhile: I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

There’s a reason I’m posting twice in one day.

I’m pregnant. (I’m not really pregnant.)

Actually, it’s BETTER than that: I’m giving away a $200 gift card to Best Buy.

(I know. That’s not REALLY better than being pregnant, is it? Actually, it all sort of depends on what side of the fence you’re leaning on!)

((I sort of liked Ishtar.))

Repeating: I am NOT pregnant. But I AM making out with my dishwasher and wanting to give you a $200 Best Buy gift card.

Weird. I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Blame it on the rays? Yeah. Yeah!

For some unknown reason, I spent the entire weekend dressed up as Petulant Pudding. I’m choosing to blame my foulness on the stingrays we visited at the St. Louis Zoo Saturday morning. I have to blame my ire on something, you see, and because the stingrays are now loaded up and on their way to Phoenix, I think it’s safe to blame quite a few things on them. I sat on the couch growling yesterday instead of attending the church picnic because of the stingrays. I was quite unsocial at Meredith’s soccer game yesterday afternoon because of the stingrays. I almost threw up my breakfast yesterday morning because of the stingrays. (The fact that my milk had curdled had nothing to do with it, I’m sure. Stinking stingrays.)

I wish I had an entertaining story for you, but, well, it appears that my cat has herpes. Apparently, herpes in a cat is not a serious thing. In fact, it’s quite common. According to the veterinarian, when a herpefied cat (my term, not his) is put in a stressful situation, the herpes will flare up and will often manifest itself in the form of sneezing fits and drainage. Apparently, the overnight stay at the vet office last week stressed Ramona out a bit. As a result, she sneezed something like 3,284 times last night. And because she sleeps at the foot of our bed and her sneezes come out as cute little high-pitched screams, we didn’t get much sleep last night. (It’s hard to blame our exhaustion on the stingrays, but Ramona insists we do so.)

A few weeks ago, my kids ate spinach, beans, and bread. And we shot a video. And now I’m giving away $100 plus a year’s supply of Wonder® bread! Follow me over here if you’re interested. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>