Seven.

A few months after Meredith was born, our computer crashed and we lost all of her baby photos. I was absolutely devastated. The End.

The only photos we were able to recover were the tiny files I had put up on Fluid Pudding, Volume One. (That was the version done in Microsoft Publisher. When I put a post up, I had to manually move all of the other posts down the page. Heh. It was ridiculous, Sisyphus.)

Anyway, here is a photo of today’s birthday girl taken less than 24 hours after she was born:
Mcd

That’s a big baby!

Here’s another taken when she was two days old:
mccutie

She was almost crawling!

Today Meredith is Seven. And for some reason, Seven is very difficult for me. My theory? It’s the first age with more than one syllable. (Thank God we have three more monosyllabic ages before we move up to that dreaded eleven!) Seven is not difficult for Meredith. She is very wise for her age, she is clever and creative and has good taste in music (despite her current Justin Bieber fascination). She is thoughtful and considerate and when she grows up she wants to be a rock star scientist. (When I was seven, I was sent to the principal’s office for standing on a toilet.)

Happy Birthday, Meredith Claire.

(Jeff gets full credit for the video. I absolutely love how her bike sounds like the record album has reached the end of its side. I married a genius.)
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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along by following this link!

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Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I’d have the facts.

Five years ago today I underwent a surgical procedure during which a low transverse uterine incision was made and a baby was removed.

First Glimpse of Harper

The first light that baby saw was not that of the sun. It was the harsh fluorescent light of a cold sterile room in which everyone present wore gowns and masks. (Except for me. As you can see, I was (mostly) naked. Welcome to my humble abdomen!)

Because we went with this cruel and seemingly harum-scarum method of introducing Harper Rose to the world, she has chosen to retaliate by refusing to eat most vegetables, and nary a bean shall touch her tongue.

Boxing's been good for her.

Happy Birthday, Harper Rose. You’re the coolest five year old I know.
(Happy Birthday to you as well, Harper Lee. You are the knees of the bees.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Despite my phone voice, I am Completely Sane and Decent.

As you know, the girls’ birthdays are this week. Because I tend to lack the organizational skills (and patience) necessary to throw a party, I told both Meredith and Harper that they may choose a friend, and we’ll take that friend to Build-a-Bear and out for lunch or dinner! Harper chose a friend from school, I asked the mom, she was cool with it, and there you go—my Wednesday morning is now filled with birthday fun from 9:30 through 12:30.

Meredith is a horse of a different color. Instead of going with one of her regular friends, she decided to choose a friend from a different class. A friend she had never mentioned before. “Mom,” she said, “Kaitlyn is a really good person.”

Me: Do you play with her at recess?

Meredith: Not really, but I *do* see her at Parent Pick Up.

I picked up the Buzz Book and decided to cold call Kaitlyn’s mom to tell her that we, as strangers, would love to come to their house and take their child to the mall. (Please know that I rehearsed my “Obviously, I would love for you to join us, as I know we’ve never met! Whatever makes you the most comfortable! Here is my credit information as well as a notarized form stating that I’ve never been arrested! IBreastfedBothBabiesAndWeDon’tWatchPorn!”) Anyway, their phone has been disconnected. SO, I asked Meredith to get Kaitlyn’s new number, and sadly, Meredith freaked out about not being able to carry a pencil to recess. SO, we made a fancy calling card for Meredith to give to Kaitlyn, and when she handed it over, she said something like, “If your mom calls my mom, naybe you can come to my birthday!” (I love that Meredith is still saying Naybe. Anyway.)

Kaitlyn has had our number for nearly a week and hasn’t called. (Meredith came up with the idea of going to her apartment and when the mom answers, we’ll extend our arms and say, “We come in PEACE.” Although it’s a lovely thought, I encouraged her to choose a different friend instead.)

Meredith: I really like Gabby!

Me: Who is Gabby?

Meredith: She’s in my Thursday class at the middle school!

Here we go again. Meredith does not know Gabby’s last name, nor does she know which elementary school Gabby attends. I called the middle school teacher and explained the situation. AND, because she is a saint, she actually called Gabby’s mom and told her what was going on, and supposedly the mom was totally cool with everything and quickly supplied both her home and cell phone number so we could reach her about the party. Hooray!

I called the home number on Saturday. No answer. I called the cell, and after five or so rings, it went into voice mail. I left a very long-winded message introducing myself and explaining that Meredith has chosen to take Gabby to Build-a-Bear with us, and that I wanted to extend the invitation to Gabby’s mom as well! In fact, I believe I said, “If you would rather meet us at the mall, I completely understand! After the girls build their bears, I was thinking of taking them to a nearby restaurant—and I’d be thrilled if you could join us!” Anyway, I actually surprised myself with just how SANE I sounded, because I tend to go all nutty when I’m leaving messages. (Seriously—ask my boss from ten years ago. She knows.)

It has been 48 hours, and I haven’t received a return call. And I’m taking it personally, because although I thought I sounded totally fine, I probably did not.

Full Disclosure: At Meredith’s insistance, I called back again yesterday. (I did not leave another message.) AND, because I’m starting to feel a bit worried that Meredith will be solo tripping the birthday experience, I bit the bullet and called back AGAIN this morning. (I did not leave another message.) I won’t be calling tomorrow.

It’s such a tricky thing, because for whatever reason, Meredith is choosing friends that I’ve never heard of. AND, when I asked why she isn’t choosing one of the regulars, she gets a bit teary-eyed. SO, I don’t really want to push it.

This gets easier, right? Yes?! Okay then!

Jeff's Head

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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along by following this link!

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My first due date was exactly seven years ago.

First off and most importantly, thanks for all of your kind words on my floundering post from earlier in the week. Deep down, I think we all know that I can’t really quit Fluid Pudding. I’m really great when it comes to quitting full-time jobs that involve ergonomic chairs, town hall meetings, and filling out forms in order to obtain a really good pen. (Hence, my complete lack of success when it comes to being a winner of bread.) I’m not so great at quitting the thing that voted on the name of my second child and helped me decide how to proceed with my current form of birth control. (No IUD for me! Ya ya!)

By the way, seven years ago today I was eighty pounds up and looking exactly like this:
verypregnant

Meredith’s eviction papers were being written up, and I was eating gooey butter cakes faster than Dierbergs could make them. (Cindy was based on me.)

Fun Fact: That’s not a stretch mark you see climbing out of my pants, it’s an appendectomy scar! (The appendix was taken out during my tenth week of pregnancy. Luckily, my surgeon scored high marks on “Take Appendix Out and Leave Baby In.”)

Today I’m concentrating on brownies (once again, thanks for the ideas and recipes!), prayer shawls, and Jamie Oliver. Also, how to get a strapless bra this afternoon without leaving the house, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and why this song has been in my head for the past two days.

Enjoy your weekend. I hear it’s supposed to rain. But that won’t stop us.

Jeff's Head

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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along by following this link!

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This is where I am.

When bloggers write about blogging, it sort of makes my skin crawl. With that said, it seems like every year at this time I get the e-mail notification that my renewal fee is due, and suddenly I start spinning around in a big goofy skirt and asking myself if I’m still having a good time at Fluid Pudding.

Donkey

Here I am having a good time with a baby donkey. Anyway, The State of Blogging (I know. I’m wincing, too.) has changed So Much since I kicked off Fluid Pudding nearly nine years ago. Back then, I wrote to no one and I loved it, and I honestly felt a creative spark every time I began a post. When people started dropping by and commenting? It felt like Christmas. (Or, perhaps more like Thanksgiving. Or my birthday!) It was fun. With a big F, even. And I used the word Shit sometimes. And nobody expressed disappointment. And I poked fun at my neighbors. And nobody accused me of being hateful. And nobody was categorized. And e-mails were mostly kind! And trolls were found only in Norwegian fairy tales! Blue skies!

Cow

Sometimes I think baby cows are cuter than baby humans! (Don’t tell the baby humans!) So, yesterday I got the renewal notification, and Jeff and I had the following conversation.

Me: You know, I’ve quit the Fluid Pudding thing a few times, but quitting is sort of stupid for me, because it never sticks.

Jeff: Are you thinking about quitting?

Me: I’m not sure what I’m thinking. I’m thinking I had more fun before I installed the filter that keeps friends and family from hearing me say words like Shit. I’m tired of not really wanting to admit that I voted for Obama simply because most of the people I know and love did NOT and NEVER WOULD HOLY CRAP NO WAY vote for Obama.

Bunny

This bunny can’t quite get over my use of the word Shit, and is shocked to hear that I voted for Obama. In fact, she honestly thinks less of me as a person because of it! How can a bunny be so ridiculous yet so precious at the same time?!

Jeff: I think you should pay the renewal fee and take back Fluid Pudding.

Me: I’m going to be 40! My life is more than halfway over! I once had a dog who died after biting his tongue, and I haven’t learned a thing from him!

Chickens

Sometimes chickens spend their Saturday mornings in a cage. Sometimes they walk around in Birkenstocks and shawls! HA HA HA HA HA!!! So, anyway. When I first started this website nine years ago (the archives are in Salt Lake City!), I named it Fluid Pudding because I once read an article on modernism in which the author quoted someone as saying that the state of the world has become not unlike fluid pudding—no one is firm and consistent! And when I read that quote, I felt like the author (Dostoevsky, perhaps?) had insight into my SOUL. Hence, Fluid Pudding was born.

Llama

Llamas are Llovely. And I’m not saying that taking back Fluid Pudding will involve me wrinkling my nose and being all “You feed your kid Lunchables?! You should go to HELL!!!” because I honestly believe that 94% of us are doing the best we can out there, and I know it’s not my job to call people names or sing songs about where they will spend eternity. It’s still Fluid Pudding, Dostoevsky.

Still Life with Woodpecker

This is a camel. AND, when I put this photo up on Flickr, Mrs. Kennedy mentioned that she would name it Humpy. And that brings me to this: Fussy is one of the very first blogs I read, and I believe I was reading it before the word blog actually annoyed me as much as it currently does, and four years ago she wrote a genius post where she mixed photographs with a bit of her own State of the Website words, and I loved it so much. That was four years ago, and it still inspires me.

Goat

American Goat. So, anyway. Sorry for scraping my brain and puking on your shoes.

Speaking of which, I’m participating in a brownie bake-off this weekend, and would appreciate any advice you can offer. As always, I have no idea what I’m doing, but for some reason the word Curry is making my eyebrows bend. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

My milkshake brings all the milk men to the yard.

So, last Thursday I was doing the freelance thing when someone started knocking on my door. I jumped up, opened the door, and was greeted by a guy who looked quite a bit like my best friend from college’s brother. But it wasn’t.

Me: Hi.

Guy: Hello there! My name is Lou, and I want to be your milk man.

Please know that his name isn’t really Lou (it’s Scott). I’m just using Lou to maintain anonymity (you know, for Scott), and I chose Lou because it sounds like a milk man’s name. And that reminds me: Do you remember these guys? Because I do. (They also did a tune titled “Watching Scotty Die” which I believe was playing on the Bobby Goldsboro tune titled “Watching Scotty Grow” and that song never fails to make me tear up. And while we’re crying, how about this one? Holy crap. Where was I?)

So, Lou went on and on about the milk thing and he sang songs about hormones and free-range and “no delivery fee for six months!” And “I’ll waive  your cooler deposit!” And “I’ll bring you some milk and coffee samples!” And, disturbingly, “You’re the nicest person I’ve talked to all day!” (Admittedly, I am very nice. Mostly.)

I told him I would check with Jeff (because, you know, he is the Bread Winner and I never skip the chance to mention My Husband) and call him back the next day.

And I checked with Jeff. And I called Lou back the next day.

Lou: Hello?

Me: Hi. My name is Angela Pudding (that’s not really my last name) and you came by here yesterday, and…

Lou (totally interrupting me, like we’re buddies or something): Angela! That’s right! Hey! I’m in traffic so I’ll need to call you back in ten minutes.

And he called me back, and I told him that I wanted to start off with a standing order of two half-gallons of 2% and a dozen eggs. And our connection was sort of clicky and weird, and suddenly Lou yelled, “I’m not speaking to my wife right now, and she keeps clicking in!”

Oh, Lou. Please don’t make this uncomfortable.

Me: Okay then. Anyway, the milk and the eggs? Are we good to go?

On Saturday, he delivered milk and coffee samples.

Today he delivered the two half-gallons of milk, the eggs, and the cooler. And instead of just leaving them on the front porch like he said he would (perhaps he was confused because we don’t really have a porch. It’s more of a sidewalk, really.), he knocked.

Me: Hi, Lou.

Lou: My boss was going to bring these by, but he got called out of town, so I thought I would take over for him!

Me: Excellent.

Lou: Free-range eggs and two half-gallons of 2% and your cooler!

(Awkward silence.)

Me: YouCannotComeIntoMyHouseLou.

Lou: What?

Me: See you next week. If I don’t answer, feel free to just leave everything in the cooler! The cooler is awesome! I can’t wait to see how it works!

So, now we have a milk man. AND, hopefully he’ll provide me with material, because I’m really starting to stretch, and I don’t want to get all “Ask me anything!” because I don’t think anyone would ask me anything. Do you remember my Cadillac of a dishwasher? It’s broken! Do you want to hear about it? Because I’m conducting a plastic spoon experiment over here! Anyway.

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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along by following this link! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Despite the hiccups, we fluttered.

This morning Harper and I put on our glad rags and headed to the Butterfly House where we took about fifty photographs of butterflies eating rotten bananas, landing on top of each other, doing what butterflies do, etc.

When we got home, my computer decided it would no longer communicate with the camera, and the memory card within the camera decided it would only retain seventeen of the photos we had taken.

Toni at Creve Coeur Camera saved the day by recovering those seventeen photos (and one video!) onto a CD for us. (We then reformatted the memory card, and all is well. I’m boring you so much right now. Do you want to hear about my new eyebrow gel? I bought it with Blackbird in mind, and now my brows look much less anemic. Sleep tight, my friends. I’m eating Ritz crackers.)

Anyway, here is my favorite photo of the day.

The Oldest and The Youngest

I’m wearing a penguin necklace! Harper is wearing one, too! AND, according to Harper, when we both wear our penguin necklaces, we’re BFFs!

The video is worth the cost of file recovery. (Which was five dollars, if you’re keeping track of my expenses.)

Aren’t you glad I went with Paganini instead of Butterfly Kisses?

I need to tell you a weird story about my milk man. (I now have a milk man.) Meet me here next week?
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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It happens every year! Like a national holiday!

So, I’m making a shrimp thing this evening. (I purchased the Hungry Girl 1-2-3 cookbook a few weeks back, and I love it.) Anyway, this particular recipe calls for one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp. I went to the grocery store and studied the fresh seafood, and there was no uncooked deveined shrimp to be found. Because I cannot stand the thought of touching raw fish, much less ripping out veins (and poop!), I knew I needed some serious help.

Fish Lady: Do you need some help?

Me: Well, I need one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp.

Fish Lady: You’ll have to get that in the frozen food. Aisle 15. And, let me warn you: It’s really expensive. If that bag has more in it than you need bring it back to me, and we’ll talk.

Me (really confused at this point about what we need to talk about): Aisle 15.

Harper and I carted on over to Aisle 15 where we found a two-pound bag of raw deveined tailless shrimp, and it was selling for $19.99. I took the bag back to the fish lady and said, “It has one pound more than what we need.”

Fish Lady: Go ahead and give me that bag and I’ll open it up and split it for you so you don’t have to pay twenty dollars. AND, if you want, I’ll flash it really quickly so it’s thawed out for you.

Me: You would do that for me?

Fish Lady: Yes, Ma’am, I would.

She took the bag, divided up the shrimp, flashed it (I have no idea what that means, but her shirt remained tucked), and repackaged it. $9.99. I then did that thing that I do where I started thanking her over and over again and had you passed us, you would have thought that she had just saved my kid’s life—not simply repackaged some shrimp.

As I walked away from her, I was actually fighting back tears. (Seriously! I know!) Human kindness, People! Sometimes all it takes is a kindhearted fish lady!

And because I do this every year, let me just puke it out right now: I haven’t yet been able to put together a workable New York BlogHer plan, and I’m feeling sorry for myself because the party invites are starting to arrive. Waaaaaaahhhhhhhh! I know. I went in 2006 and 2008. I was going to drive to Chicago last year, but my innards were all messed up. Anyway. That’s all I’m going to say, because if I allowed myself to continue, I’m afraid your eyes would get stuck in the back of  your head, and that’s not a smart look for spring. (With that said, I’m hearing that yellow shoes are still a good thing.)

(I learned something last week: I was always under the impression that season names required capitalization. They don’t, unless the season name is the first word of the sentence! Also, I’ve been making chocolate cherry smoothies, and they’re delicious! Once again, it’s Hungry Girl!)

Today for lunch I had a veggie burger cheese scramble thing. I cooked it in a coffee cup in the microwave, and then dropped ketchup onto the top. Hungry Girl!

BurgerCup

(That’s my LeahPeah cup, by the way. She gave it to me at BlogHer 2006. That was the year I had to make a $3,492 cab run to Walgreens to buy a breast pump and Swedish Fish. Argh! Titanic! Here I go again! You should be SO happy that you’re not in my house right now. With Ellen on the television, it’s only a matter of minutes before I’m crying. Here’s hoping Eva Longoria doesn’t mention the word Shrimp.)
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I concocted a Pop-Tarts recipe, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Orange is the new orange.

As  you know, I’ve posted videos of me stuffing marshmallows into my face, writing Happy Easter across my face (video removed until next year due to copyright mumbo jumbo), eating yogurt, welcoming you into a day in the life, etc.
I was not the least bit self-conscious about any of those things.
Why am I squirming right now at the thought of sharing a photo of my feet?

Here:
YeahTheseAreMyFeet

Okay, now, stop looking at them.

I went with this color, and finished the look with this shade on my hands.
And I almost kicked my nail professional in the head when she thought it would be cute to tickle my feet.
(As if I wasn’t feeling all weirded out to begin with. Yeesh.)

Last night while the girls were singing, I finished this:
Ishbel02

I started this shawl on the Sunday before Easter when it occurred to me that I needed a shawl to wear with my Easter dress.
I busted my knitter’s butt on that thing until just a few days before Easter when I realized that I had returned my Easter dress to the store several weeks ago.
(I blame all synapse misfires on my children.)
Anyway, after taking a break long enough to snort some ginkgo biloba and figure out what I was going to wear on Easter, I decided to finish the shawl—because the last thing I need around here is another unfinished project.

I need to figure out why the characters from Glee make me cry.
You wouldn’t think that a happy interview on Oprah would destroy me.
But it did. The kids and the singing and the hard work and the hope and my lip quivers and engages my tear ducts and suddenly I’m a disaster.

It’s 54 degrees out, and I’m wearing sandals.
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I concocted a Pop-Tarts recipe, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Young and loved and feel it in our bones…

It’s warm out. And while I typically enjoy Cold better than Not Cold, I’m sort of enjoying being able to throw on a skirt without the tights.

And now I have some very important questions for you.

It looks like I’ll be getting my first pedicure (of the season) tomorrow afternoon. (I know. I despise talking about feet. But again, I have pressing needs, and I love your opinions.) I’m typically drawn to my old favorite when it comes to color, but now I’m wondering if one should go brighter because spring has sprung or something. Also, my fingernails are so so so short. Does one get a manicure when one’s fingernails barely exist, or should one grow out those nails before engaging in manicurish behavior? Should the color of your hands match that of your feet, or are contrasting colors encouraged? Should I throw in something about health care just to make myself seem a bit more legit?

I have soup in the Crock Pot, I just accepted some freelance work, I can almost do the Ludacris part of the Justin Bieber song, and my book club is meeting Thursday to eat soul food and discuss The Help. All is well. Better than well, in fact. I hope you are the same.
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The girls ate ice cream and Pop-Tarts, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>