So Many Types of Nerds

Yesterday afternoon we went to the animal adoption event where we met the little Dachsund I had shown you earlier in the week. We hemmed. We hawed. In the end, our family works like this: It takes Four Yesses, but it only takes One No. We had a No. Meredith was pretty much destroyed at the thought of leaving that building without the puppy. (Meredith is VERY sensitive when it comes to animals who need homes. In the past few months, I’ve been keeping up with a rescue group’s activity online, and I have to be very careful to not have the page up when Meredith walks by.)

When your kid is tearful, you do what needs to be done: You take her to 7-11 for a cherry slurpee, and if that doesn’t help, you throw a local cheese pizza on top of the slurpee. And then you throw a Dairy Queen Blizzard on top of that. (Please note that six hours passed between Slurpee and Blizzard. Nevertheless, now that I’m typing it all out, it really does look like we feed our sorrows. By the way, these are wonderful. Hi there, Weight Watchers! Long time no see! Catch me if you can!)

Last night after Harper had fallen asleep, Meredith called me into their room.

Meredith: Mom, do you think I’m a nerd?

Me: Hrm. What exactly do you mean by nerd?

Meredith: I know there are smart nerds and I know there are dorky nerds who are weird, and sometimes I think I’m one of the weird ones.

Me: If you’re weird at all, it’s a really good type of weird. Plus, yes. You’re really smart. You read smart books. You hit all of the notes when you’re singing Selena Gomez songs. If Nerd is a good thing, I would wear it proudly. If you see Nerd as a bad thing? You’re no nerd.

College for Kids starts up tomorrow, where both girls will be taking Xtreme 3-D Studio Art, plus a few other classes. School starts up on August 15th, and I’m terribly excited. Not because I want the girls away from the house, but because it’s at school where they get to see their friends. Once again, I’ve been pretty terrible at keeping them social this summer. (I hate that I’m one of those weird nerds Meredith is so afraid of becoming. I keep hearing myself say, “If you don’t like it, change it.” BUT, it’s not really that easy, is it?)

All of the nerd talk last night stirred me into revisiting my past while wondering when I started falling onto The Nerd Spectrum.

Answer: It had to have happened sometime between elementary and high school.

Have I ever shown you my senior picture from high school?

Welcome to Masterpiece Theater

I dressed like I was fifty, I rarely smiled, yet I tried my hardest to rock asymmetrical hair. When I had this particular photo taken, the photographer said something like, “Well, we typically use that chair for our church directory or career shots.” It didn’t matter. I begged for the blue chair.

Sure, I had this one, too:

redsweatersnarl

I sort of look like an athlete who occasionally kneels down and punches herself in the face. What you cannot see in this photo was my golden brooch—carefully chosen to add a touch of our school colors, which were brown and gold. (By the way, it STILL bothers me that the photographer used white type on a white background.)

I’m now changing the subject: Does anyone REALLY need help knowing how to wear a denim skirt or a pair of striped shoes? I’ve been wincing lately when I run across websites that try to teach me how to have fun with my kids at the grocery store or how to wear a strapless bra without drawing attention to back fat. (Hi. I’ve been cranky.)

And once more: I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are crazy good! Apparently, not many people want gloves or a hat!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Do you really want to shirt me? Do you really want to make me cry?

Back in 2006, my friend Tempe shared her idea of embroidered shirts to commemorate her kids’ first day of school. Because I loved the idea, we jumped on the wagon. Meredith’s first day of preschool was on August 16, 2006. She didn’t yet wear glasses, she could barely write her name, and she had no idea how to read.
Class of 2021

On August 15, 2007, she attended her first day of pre-K. She could then write her name, she could see (!!!), and she was starting to turn down the tantrums and make friends.
Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.

On August 18, 2008, Harper went to preschool for the first time. She had been waiting for this day for YEARS. (I have never seen cuter cheeks, by the way.)
First Day of Pre-School

That same day, Meredith started kindergarten—minus some teeth, plus an awesome pair of glasses.
First Day of Kindergarten!

AND, here is my big mistake. Meredith started the first grade on August 13, 2009. I hadn’t yet picked up the shirts, so she decided to dress as “a rock and roll girl” for her first day. (Her shirt that year was navy blue with yellow embroidery. I’m kicking myself for not having a photo. Get past it. Get past it. Get past it. Repeat and fade.)
Rock and Roll Elementary School

On August 17, 2009, Harper showed her freshly cut layers at pre-K. (She’s still mad about that haircut. She STILL says bad things about Salon Vicki.)
Turning Up the Sass for Pre-K

Harper’s first day of kindergarten and Meredith’s first day of second grade was on August 16, 2010. This was the day that I dropped them off at school, and suddenly found myself faced with nearly seven hours of free time. Seven hours that I spent mourning my marketability and counting down the hours until I could nab a spot in the pick up line.
First Day of School!

Yesterday morning we went and ordered the shirts for this year. It’s Meredith’s sixth shirt and Harper’s fourth. I have a dream of someday making a quilt out of all of these t-shirts, but deep down I know that will never happen. Because I have no idea how to quilt. Also, I tend to lack tenacity. But it sounds good, right?

Not long ago, someone asked what I do for a living. My response to this is nearly always “I’m a stay at home mom.” (It’s really difficult to explain freelance editing and monkey publishing side jobs.) Can you call yourself a stay at home mom if the kids are at school while you are at home? I suppose I need to start redefining myself yet again.

(Weird side story: Every time we go to the embroidery store, we order The Same Exact Thing. We’ve been going to the same place for SIX years, yet every single time the lady acts like she has to do the math and asks something like, “So this year we’re at Class of 2022 and 2023?” Every year I laugh at the thought of her inadvertently implying that my kids weren’t bumped up to the next grade. And then she doesn’t understand why I’m laughing and I don’t understand why we have to go through this every single year. And then she gives the girls red suckers, and all is well.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Some might say I’m trying to fill some sort of hole in my life…

It seems that we’re now in the home stretch of our summer vacation. This week we finalized our backpack and school supply decisions, delivered our blank t-shirts to the embroiderers, and tentatively decided to add another dog to our family.

Next week the girls have College for Kids, and the week after that we’ll find out who their teachers are.

School starts on August 15, and my tubes will be tied on the 19th.

I’ll be finishing The Namesake before the weekend is up and giving Room a shot.

I’ve been working on my Christmas knitting list.

Also, I’m now taking a magnesium supplement every night before bed.

Did I mention that we’re thinking about adding another dog to the family?

Do you have a dog? Two dogs? Three dogs? Two dogs are better than one, right? Can you imagine how smiley our house would be if Scout had a brother? A Dachsund mix brother?!

New bottom tooth and new tag!Chip!

After the 19th, I’ll no longer be able to have human babies. BUT, nobody said anything about canine babies!!!
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Wait. I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are really good!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I haven’t given anything away in a long time. Let’s fix that.

On Saturday morning, I ran to the store and found that the kid pools were on sale for $12. Knowing how much Scout was digging pool time at Puppy Camp, I couldn’t resist buying one for her (and the girls, obviously) to enjoy in the back yard. Because Scout’s legs are less than six inches long, we folded one of the pool sides down and added about two inches of water. Dog Heaven.

Girl's Best Friend

Dog Days, etc.

As I watched the girls playing with Scout in the pool, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’m hating this hot weather. You already know this about me, so I won’t dwell on the hate. I also won’t dwell on how much I LOVE the fall. LOVE it! Cardigans! Clogs with handknit socks! Fingerless gloves! The promise of hats and snow! I’m dwelling!

Anyway. I had an idea over the weekend. It seems that I have this yarn. It’s Manos Maxima Worsted Weight Merino, and the colorway is Fire.

Manos Maxima "Fire"

My photo doesn’t really show just how amazing the colors are. The yarn is a beautiful kettle-dyed red with golden highlights and hints of pink and orange, and it reminds me of autumn leaves and sunsets and apple butter and it’s soft and perfect for fingerless gloves or a hat. And that’s what I want to make for you.

As you know, one of my big things right now is for Aaron to get his bike. The bike costs $3800 and right now we have about $2200. In other words, we’re getting there! Many of you have already donated to the cause, making you eligible for this particular giveaway. Here’s the deal. If you’ve donated $10 to help Aaron get his bike, please leave a comment below. Similarly, if you send a $10 donation (via PayPal) to mousejunkie@att.net, please leave a comment below. (If you donate more than $10, feel free to send an e-mail to me if you wish (angela at fluid pudding dot com), and I’ll give you additional chances to win!) On August 15th, which is our first day of school, I am going to randomly choose someone who has made a donation. I will contact the winner and give him/her several pattern selections that would work with the yarn. I will then knit up the project and mail the finished product out before November rolls around. Imagine how smart you’ll look wearing a pair of striking autumnal fingerless mitts or a lovely fiery hat. (Like this hat!) Similarly, you could think of this as my way of helping you get started with your holiday gifts! Teachers love fingerless gloves! (I know this to be true.)

I feel strongly about a lot of things in life. Right now Aaron and his bike are very important to me. Thanks in advance for making this giveaway work! (Aaron’s Facebook group page is here.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

She was an American Girl, Tom Petty.

Early last week we drove to Kansas City, where we did a little bit of this.

The Kansas City American Girl Store!

(The girls did eventually enter the store.)

You know, while I was pregnant, I swore that my daughters would not become girly girls. I also swore that they wouldn’t watch a bunch of television and that they would be good eaters. Anyway. Meredith took an American Girl class at her school’s summer enrichment program, and the girls have been reading the American Girl books and choosing their favorite characters (and saving their money, believe it or not) for the past several weeks.

Nicole and Meredith

Meredith knew exactly who she was looking for when we entered the store—Just Like Me Doll #53. She and Jeff headed to that end of the store while Harper asked a sales associate to talk her through the historical dolls so she could make the right decision. (I think she knew exactly who she wanted, but enjoyed “interviewing” the store employee to get more facts.)

Harper and Molly

It’s Molly! Her time period in the books is set during World War II, and I knew that Harper was paying attention to this when she told Meredith that “Molly likes to sleep a lot, because sleeping helps her forget about the war.” Admittedly, I haven’t read the books, but I have to wonder what led to Harper’s immediate need to get a wheelchair for Molly. (“She won’t be able to walk again for at least two years. Or more.”) So, while Nicole (JLM#53) is jumping around and trying on earrings (Yes. Both dolls got their ears pierced at the Doll Hair Salon.), Molly is sitting in a wheelchair wishing that this whole war thing had never happened.

You may think the American Girl thing is crazy. Here’s what I think is crazy:

Crazy Fudge Man

Crazy Fudge Guy. He slapped the fudge and threw the fudge and made bad fudge jokes and although I felt the same level of discomfort around him that I tend to feel around circus clowns and college mascots, he threw me over the edge when he passed his fudge spatula around the room and encouraged everyone to fill their finger with fresh fudge. (If you know me, you know that I cannot touch food like that. Standing around watching people fudge themselves and then lick their fingers threw me into crazy panic mode.)

So, we left and found a miniature waterfall.

Don't go chasing waterfalls.

Later that evening, I was able to evaluate my decision to stick with vegetarianism as Jeff ate one of the only things I miss—big deep fried crazy meat sandwiches sprinkled in powdered sugar with raspberry preserves on the side. Ah, Monte Cristo. (I remained strong. After 12 months of vegetables and beans, I will NOT let a deep fried meat and cheese sandwich bring me down!) ((I dipped my fries in the raspberry preserves.))

Monte Cristo!

Remind me sometime to tell you about when we tried to make a Monte Cristo during the university days. It weighed about ten pounds and was filled with oil and was probably not very safe to eat, but we still managed to eat it, because it had taken so much effort to make—what with our lack of a proper Fry Daddy and all. We also ate a turkey on the roof of our house on New Year’s Eve and danced in the snowy street on Groundhog Day. Those were the days. Speaking of which, after we left Kansas City on Thursday, we went to Columbia, Missouri—the town where I danced in the street and ate a turkey on the roof and attempted to make a decent Monte Cristo.

Shakespeare’s doesn’t carry orange soda anymore, and I think that’s insane because nothing goes with broccoli pizza like orange soda.

Oh, broccoli pizza! How I love you!

(They now carry Coke products. And maybe they’ve ALWAYS carried Coke products. I don’t know, because I ALWAYS HAD ORANGE SODA. Dr. Pepper is NOT an acceptable replacement. Life can be so hard sometimes.)

MC loves Shakespeare's!

The girls didn’t mind the lack of orange soda. They love Shakespeare’s. They love watching the pizza being made, and they love that the guy who was making it flipped some dough over the window for them to play with. Best of all, my love for Mizzou is rubbing off on them. The one thing they wanted to do before we left town was have their photo taken by the columns with their American Girl dolls.

The Girls and The Girls at The Columns

(The quad was blocked off, so we had to stay on the sidewalk. Not a big deal. We’ll be back.)

On the way home, I put about three inches worth of sock on my needles.

Knitting Socks on the Road

I haven’t felt very enthusiastic about socks lately, but last week something happened that suddenly made me feel enthusiastic about socks. More on that later. When they’re done.

(We boarded Scout for four days and three nights while we were gone. When we picked her up, she had been bathed and bandanafied, and we have photo evidence that she enjoyed playing in the pool with the big dogs. Meanwhile, the cats were home entertaining ideas of us eventually returning WITHOUT Scout. Sometimes, it’s nice to dream.)

Back from Puppy Camp! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Not all boys are jerks. But sometimes their parents are.

I’m coming to you from Kansas City, where our hotel shower feels like machine gun fire, and the pool is often filled with young boys who are here to participate in a baseball tournament. Last night I actually ventured out in my swimsuit (for the first time in years) to enjoy some pool time with the girls. When I noticed that the pool was filled with over a dozen boys hurling baseballs at each other, I joined the girls in the hot tub for a few moments, and then I headed back to the room to knit while the girls swam in the pool with Jeff.

This morning we walked over to the breakfast area, where the girls (with their new American Girl dolls) chose a table that faced a table full of baseball boy parents. When the waiter brought special high chairs to our table for the dolls (I know! It’s part of the package!), one of the moms at the next table rolled her eyes, sighed, and LOUDLY said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have girls. I can’t deal with all of that trouble. I can’t do dolls.” (She said this after traveling over 300 miles for her kid to play baseball in stupid hot temperatures! I suppose everyone has their own definition of trouble!)

Me: Shut up.

(Not really.)

Me: I’m just wondering how you’re able to teach your son manners if you don’t have any manners of your own!

(Not really.)

Me: Mmmm! Smell those pancakes! AND, know that girls tend to outperform boys in olfactory sensitivity tests! So, it’s actually EASIER to have girls than boys! You know, when it comes to smelling things and taking tests on what you’ve just smelled!

To me, kids are kids. Girls don’t have to “do” dolls just like boys don’t have to “do” baseball. You do what you do. Also, some parents are assholes. I try my best not to be.

Whoosh! I’m now coming to you from Columbia! Time keeps on slipping, and we’re off to fill my need for broccoli pizza and orange soda. Have I mentioned that we’re just a little over $1,500 away from Aaron getting his bike? This is such a good thing. (Donations are still being accepted! Feel free to join us as we reach our goal!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Couch to 5K and Back to Couch Again?

About six months ago, my doctor and I had a conversation about exercise.

Doctor: So, other than the thing on your hip, how are you feeling?

Me: I’m a little rough around the edges, but I think I’m just getting old.

Doctor: You’re 41. That’s not old.

Me: Are you flirting with me?

Doctor: If you’re having joint pain or muscle aches, you might want to ease into a workout routine. Yoga is a great place to start.

Me: Yeah. I know. I once stopped seeing a gynecologist because he looked too much like Jeff and he had his photograph on his business card! Isn’t that funny?!

Doctor: Are you trying to change the subject? Come see me again for your physical in August, and we’ll talk about how yoga is going for you.

Me: This is our last goodbye. I will see you on the 12th. Of Never.

I looked up a yoga class schedule. I did! And the bad news is that school was ending in a few weeks (My excuses smell like fresh lemonade! Delicious!) and I didn’t have a backup plan for where the kids could go while I was downward dogging, so instead of making a few calls, I decided to ride out the summer in the style of a sloth.

Last night it occurred to me that my physical is less than four weeks away. As I sat at the computer researching local frozen yogurt dumps and looking at cute photos of my dog, it hit me: Maybe it’s time for me to do a Couch to 5K program! THAT will impress my doctor! I quickly Googled Couch to 5K and honest to God, my computer crashed. Seriously. This could be a sign. (Confession: I’ve always been slightly afraid that my heart would explode someday due to overexertion. This is why a comfortable couch and a good knitting bag are so important to me.)

This morning, while standing in the shower thinking, I ironed out my Couch to 5K reality. Here’s the thing: I hate to run, and I hate being outside in the heat. Similarly, I hate to sweat, and I hate feeling that parts of me are being jostled. With that said, it’s a nine week program. Nine weeks! That’s the life expectancy of a honey bee in the summertime! If I start “running” during the first week of September, I will be done before Thanksgiving! And forever after!

Me: Will I ever run outside if it’s hot or raining or there’s a chance that someone will see me?

Me: No. BUT, we belong to the J, so I can do this whole thing inside if I want to. And I can keep my eyes closed and PRETEND that no one sees me.

Me: But what’s the fun in that? Shouldn’t I be signing up for a REAL 5K to celebrate being ABLE to run? Shouldn’t there be slow motion finish lines and crying with people you’ve never met but can’t seem to stop hugging because of joy and pain and epinephrine?!

Me: Better yet, maybe I’ll celebrate by getting up at 5:45 in the morning, driving to the J, running five kilometers on the inside track before anyone else shows up, and then driving back home where Jeff will congratulate me with a plate of pancakes. After breakfast, maybe I’ll attempt to do a cartwheel and the girls will hang one of their Little Gym medals around my neck.

Me: Yes. And then I’ll take a nap and give myself the rest of the day off to knit, spin, or whine about how much it all hurts.

Question: Have you done the Couch to 5K thing? If I do it at all, I’m going to do it on my own. I don’t want anyone else to have to depend on me, because I get all flaky when it comes to sweating. (I went to a garage sale this weekend, and as soon as I felt sweat dripping down my back, I flipped out and went home. I suppose I need to work through this “Sweat? GO HOME NOW!” response if I’m going to experience success on the track.) All caps IF I do it, you’ll be the first to know. Because I’ll need someone to give me some music recommendations. And I’ll need someone to step up and say, “It’s okay to quit if you want to.” And then I’ll need someone ELSE to say, “Hey. Let’s go grab coffee and not work out. Because we’re pretty.” It takes a village. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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.

Too Darn Hot

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’>