Bad Wheels and Baby Heads

A week has passed, and my ankle is still messed up.

“Go to the DOCTOR!” you say, and to that I reply, “I did!” Last Friday my sister was in town and the two of us went to Fleet Feet where she bought some amazing socks, and I was fitted for running shoes. Although the shoe fitting wasn’t nearly as awkward as a bra fitting, I will admit that taking off my socks and shoes and having a young man stick his finger under my foot for arch assessment felt a bit strange.

Young Man at Fleet Feet: Now I’d like to watch you walk.

Me: Yeah, I bet you would, Sparky.

Anyway, what he REALLY wanted to do was watch me run so he could study my style, but my ankle was hurting so badly that running was impossible. Walking was nearly impossible. (The only thing that didn’t feel nearly impossible to me that day was eating a big veggie sandwich from Great Harvest. I killed that one.) When my sister went home, I headed to the doctor who ordered an x-ray. (Sadly, they couldn’t read the x-ray until Monday, so I spent the weekend not really knowing if my ankle was broken or sprained.)

Anyway, on Saturday, our school hosted the Fall Festival which is a pretty incredible event where the price of admission includes food, drinks, pony rides, a petting zoo, games, prizes, balloon sculptures, caricatures, etc. Not included in the ticket price? Everyone who attended Fall Festival was greeted by yours truly. Because I was taking the money.

Here is an actual photo of me taking the money.

Cashbox

I could write a book (not really) about the sad/maddening things I witnessed at the Fall Festival, but I’ll spare you. No. Wait. Two things. 1. If an event is scheduled to last from 3:30 until 7:00 and you show up at 5:00? Don’t ask me to cut the ticket price in half. It makes me feel awkward because I really want to help you, and it makes you look cheap because I see that you have a wallet full of cash. 2. If every piece of Fall Festival correspondence has gone home with a statement that says something like, “No drop-offs are allowed. All children MUST be accompanied by a paid adult.”, don’t drop your kids off. Yes. They’ll probably be okay. BUT, what if they fall off of a horse or choke on a hot dog or simply raise the type of ten-year-old hell that shouldn’t really be raised at a family event? You are not above the rules.

By the time I got home Saturday night, my ankle felt like it was the size of a baby head. I limped out to the garage and took another x-ray. (Our radiology equipment is outdated, but it still does the trick.) Sure enough.

babyanklexray

On Sunday, I took it easy and worked on a boatload of freelance.

On Monday? The doctor called and told me that my ankle is not broken. Also, I am NOT growing a baby in my left foot. What I have is a sprain, and what I need is eight weeks of taking it easy.

And that’s unacceptable. BECAUSE, remember those running shoes I was fitted for? Wait. Let me reword that. Remember those running shoes for which I was fitted?! They were $140 at Fleet Feet, which made it pretty easy to walk away and say, “I need to see what’s up with my ankle before I commit to such a pricey pair of shoes.” However, yesterday I found them on sale at Running Warehouse, and after finding an additional coupon code, I managed to get them for 2/3 of their suggested retail price. All of this means that I need to get back to running because I now have running shoes. And a good sports bra. And cute running shorts with underpants sewn in. (The only two things left on my list are arch supports and some foot hugging socks.)

One more thing.

Oh, Henry.

Henry is still itchy. BUT, with the veterinarian’s approval, I have taken him off of all medications except for the twice daily antihistamine. The poor guy has been on antibiotics for the past five weeks, along with steroids, flea preventatives, mite injections, and antifungals. Yesterday he received his final round of vaccinations. It just seems to be too much. (I know I’m not an expert.) SO, we’re now blank slating him for a week to see what happens with The Itch.

Oh! One more thing. I spun more yarn.

Caroline laughs and it's raining all day. She loves to be one of the girls.

It’s Aramanth by Dyeabolical, and I love it.

Enjoy your Thursday. I believe now is the time (for all good men) to bake brownies. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Pudding Down!

You know, I rarely start things out like this, but: Damnit.

As you know, I’ve been running. I leave the house at around 5:30 in the morning, I get to the gym at 5:36, I sit in the parking lot and blow my nose 37 times because I’m one of those people who has to blow her nose 37 times in the morning, I wish myself good luck, and then I head to the track to do my Couch to 5K gig.

On Monday, I did the Week Three, Day One run, which consisted of two 90 second runs, two THREE MINUTE runs (Argh!), some walks here and there, one tiny stumble (foreshadowing!), and lots of sweating and hating of running. On Monday night, my left ankle was hurting, and was approximately the size of a knee. I decided to show it to Jeff.

Me: Does my ankle look swollen to you?

Jeff: The right one looks slightly larger than the left.

Me: Wrong. You’re wrong.

I felt okay knowing that the pain wasn’t crazy and that the swelling clearly wasn’t as intense as I thought. The next day was my No Run Celebration Day, so I spent the afternoon doing the ice thing and the heat thing. On Tuesday evening I met a friend for dinner (roasted vegetable salad!) and on the way home I stopped and purchased an ankle brace for the Wednesday morning run. (Get a load of me Not Quitting!)

On Wednesday morning, my ankle was feeling slightly unstable, but not terrible. I put the brace on and decided to be a hero. I arrived at the gym at approximately 5:41. (I struggled with the brace for about five minutes. That explains the 5:41. Just in case you were wondering.) I blew my nose. I entered the building. I greeted a friend who was already running. I did my five minute warm up walk. “Ding! Run!” I took off running and lasted for about twenty seconds before my ankle started screaming for me to stop. I sat down and took the brace off and decided to try again. “STOP! EEEEEAUGH!!!! AAAARRRROOOOOO!!!!” (That was my ankle being a siren and/or a Beagle.)

I’m supposed to run again tomorrow morning. There’s no way I can make it with my ankle hurting the way it is right now. I’m bummed. Completely. I was doing so WELL. I was actually surprising MYSELF with how well I was doing. (Please know that I’m not quitting. This is just a bump in the road.)

I just spent twenty minutes taking photographs of my ankles to show you what Lefty looks like. Wow. These ankles of mine are severely unphotogenic. You don’t need to see them. With that said, I challenge you to take a beautiful photo of your ankle. If you succeed, you have my respect for life.

Wait. Before I go? Thanks so much for commenting on my ten anniversary thing. Each and every one of you is a superstar. (I want to eat lunch with you.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh, the places we’ve gone.

You guys, today is my ten year anniversary at Fluid Pudding. Ten years. (This is where we started.) I wanted to do something really meaningful to celebrate a decade with you. Artistic nude photo? Yes! (No.) Video blog? My awkwardness is contagious! You didn’t come here to squirm! At the last minute, I decided to celebrate by creating something that I love.

I love burritos.

Muenster on a FlatOut

I took two slices of Muenster cheese and placed them (lovingly) on a Flatout. (When I SEE Flatout, I think “PHLAT out”. When I SAY Flatout, I say, “phlah TOOT.”)

Apples Added!

I then sliced a SweeTango and placed the slices (passionately) on top of the cheese.

Apple Muenster Burrito!

Finally, I rolled it up (as you do) and ate it.

Ten years. Some of you have been with me since before I was married.

My Wedding Dress

You stuck with me during both pregnancies.

very pregnant

And both births.

First Glimpse of Harper

You listened to me sing.

You dealt with my headaches and my eczema.

When zombies and eczema hands fall in love...

You don’t laugh when I fall down. You humor me when I knit stuff and when I sing songs about cake balls and when I make my dogs lick your face and when I stuff my own face with marshmallows.

You always make me feel like I’m exactly where I should be.

Oatmeal Pies Crumbled and Balled

You know about Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, right? Get this. I just learned that you can make oatmeal pie balls by smooshing up Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, rolling them into balls, and dipping them.

Dipped!

They look just like cake balls on the outside, but when you bite into them, you are right back in elementary school and it’s snowing outside and your mom has a roast in the oven and Christmas is right around the corner.

Oatmeal Pie Ball

They’re magical. And they take less than an hour to put together. And you don’t have to bake a cake. You don’t have to bake anything!

Instead of doing a giveaway for my ten year Fluid Pudding anniversary, I’d like to ask you to do something for me. Would you please leave a comment below so I know you’re still with me? I wouldn’t be here without you, you know.

The traditional ten year anniversary gift is tin. For that reason, I dedicate this song to you.

(I know.)

Thank you for sticking around. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Just filling you in over here…

Remember Henry? Yep. He’s still itchy. Yesterday morning I took him to a new vet where they did a few skin scrapes and found that his bacteria and yeast numbers are through the roof, even though he had a bath less than twelve hours before the appointment. He is now on another round of antibiotics, an antihistamine, and an antifungal. Luckily, this veterinarian firmly believes that he’s entirely too young for a food allergy, so I can once again give the pills in a tiny piece of hot dog. Do you have any idea how much my quality of life improves when I can give a dog a pill in a hot dog slice?

Speaking of The Improvement of My Life, let me tell you a story about an apple. Last year, a friend of mine told me how excited she was that SweeTango apples were back in season. I’ve never heard of anyone getting excited about an apple before, so I headed to the store and grabbed a few for myself. Immediately, my entire world was turned upside down. These are the most delicious apples I have ever tasted. EVER. They’re crisp. They’re sweet. They’re perfect. I must have eaten 25,000 SweeTango apples last fall, and the day I went to the store and found that they were no longer available, I was horrified. “What? What?! I have to wait until next FALL for ANOTHER?!”

I’ve been following the SweeTango page on Facebook. In other words, I’ve been keeping up with orchard news for the past few weeks. I even sent a quick note to them and found out that the apples would be delivered to St. Louis “during the week of September 12th.” On Monday, September 12th, I went to the store that carries the SweeTango apples. They weren’t there. I went back on Tuesday. Still not there. I went back on Wednesday and Thursday. No apples. Last night after Jeff left the house and the girls were in bed, a friend of mine posted a photo of a SweeTango that had just been taken off of the truck in St. Louis. I actually squealed. (And then I cried because I refuse to leave the house when I’m the only adult and the girls are in bed. I hate that I’m such a good mom like that…)

The girls boarded the bus this morning at approximately 8:17. At 8:18, I was in my car on the way to the store.

Oh, people. I spent $11.49 on seven apples, and I could not be happier.

Oh, SweeTango...

I’ve already eaten four today. (Yes. I should probably slow down. Just remember: They’re APPLES. Not shots of booze. I’ll be okay.) ((Is it weird that I’m making a list of things I can sell to support my SweeTango habit?))

True Story: A few minutes ago, I called my doctor to see if she wanted to talk about a new medication I’m going to try. (Long story.) She doesn’t want to see me! She’s just going to give me some samples! Four apples a day kept my doctor away!

And another thing: Other than the SweeTango, this is my current favorite thing.

Quickie Scarf #2

It’s a scarf made out of Berroco Link yarn. It’s knit on size 35 needles, which is like knitting with big bass drum mallets, and it comes together in less than an hour. The scarf I’m wearing in that photo was started at 1:00 this afternoon. I wove the ends in at 1:49. (I made this one last week.) Hint: If you’re going to buy the yarn, I recommend going to your local yarn store. If they can’t get it and you have to order it online, I highly recommend NobleKnits. The shipping is free, and the price is slightly better than most places. Merry Christmas to everyone. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Running, Working, Spinning, Fighting!

This morning I got up and ran at 5:30. Seriously. I did. I’m not even lying to you. AND, I’m the first to admit that This Is Not Me.

Let me tell you the reasons why I loved running at 5:30.

1. I had the track to myself for the first twenty minutes. SO, I was able to try new running styles without feeling all weird, and I was able to sing along with my running playlist. As much as I hate running, it felt sort of awesome to be traveling in circles while singing Heretic Pride.

2. I got a really great parking spot at the gym. Last week when I went on a Friday at 6:00 in the morning? I had to park thirty miles away from the front door. This morning at 5:30? I stepped out of my car and into the gym.

3. For a few moments, I was the youngest person working out. I’m very rarely the youngest person anywhere.

4. I was back home before the kids got up.

After Jeff left for work and the kids left for school, I grabbed my laptop to get some freelance work done at a coffee dump. I got my coffee (which I view as Rent when I’m about to hog a two seater table), opened up my computer, and found that the battery was dead. I had charged it all afternoon yesterday, so this whole dead thing stirred me up a bit. (Especially since I had just spent $4.11 on a 16 oz. coffee that I did not need.) I packed everything back up, went to the store for edamame, a salad, and some macaroni and cheese, came back home, and discovered that the outlet strip I had used yesterday was in need of resetting. As I bore you with these details, the laptop is charging and I’ll be heading out again in a few hours.

Meanwhile, since my original plan was wrenched, I decided to spin the remainder of my first bobbin of Amaranth. I’ve never spun anything with silk content before (honestly, I haven’t spun much of anything because I was operating under the false assumption that my wheel was broken. Whee! I know nothing! But I’m learning!), and I’m loving it. So shiny! My plan is to spin the remaining two ounces before the weekend, and then ply them together. AND, depending on the result, I’m envisioning a shiny pink cowl. Or fingerless mitts. Or a thick and thin beret? (I realize my single ply is highly uneven. I’m working really hard at drafting the amount required to produce thicker yarns. This bobbin reflects my very happy experiment.)

Two ounces of Aramanth!

Tonight I’m hooking up with some friends from high school for Mexican food and fist fighting.

Back to your Tuesday, then. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Stirring of the Stumps

So, it has been nearly two months since I told my doctor I was going to do a Couch to 5K program. School started, and I didn’t get off of the couch. I used my surgery as an excuse to stay on the couch a little longer. Then I got a cold. It’s difficult to run when you’re on the couch with a cold. (I’ve got the couch part down. Funny how I think about running only when it’s impossible for me to run. “Tra la la. I should be running, but it’s tricky when the anesthesia is wearing off, so here I lie. Fiddle dee dee!”)

My sister is a runner. When I told her that I was toying with the idea of running, she started calling to encourage me to put my shoes on.

Jen: So. How’s the running going?

Me: Well, I’ve got that surgery in two weeks and right now I need to shave these legs of mine and…

Jen: Ang. I think you’re okay to get started.

Me: I can’t hear you.

I set my start date for Tuesday. The day after Labor Day. My running day. Yes. Tuesday. And then I had to take Henry to the vet and get through some paperwork for school and figure out what I was going to wear for a meeting, and damnit. I finally reached the point where I was getting sick of my own excuses. SO, I watched this video again.

(It makes me cry Every Time I Watch It. I’ve watched My 120 Pound Journey about 25 times now, and I can barely think about it without my lip quivering. The most recent Shrek movie made me cry. Glee does it to me fairly often. Toy Story 3? I was a mess. I have no idea what’s happening over here.)

Yesterday morning I got out of the shower and put my “running” shorts on. I call them running shorts because they’re slippery. I then reached into my Drawer o’ Underpants and pulled out two sports bras. The first one was a nursing bra that was purchased to hold my lactaters back, and it always seemed to come unhooked at unfortunate times. (This is not an option at the track.) The second one? I purchased it during my sophomore year in college. Because I was really getting into the Jane Fonda workout. The year was 1990. My sports bra is 21 years old, and I am no longer the same shape that I was  when I was 20, but I didn’t let that stop me. I wrestled myself into the thing and immediately felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. (I then said a little prayer that the bra would be the ONLY cause of tightness in my chest.)

Confession: When I think about running, I am terrified of two things: 1. That my heart will explode. 2. That I will pee myself.

I found my athletic shoes, loaded my running app onto the iPod, ate a banana while telling myself that the extra potassium will hug my heart and prevent it from exploding, and drove to the gym.

The first thing the app does is choose a tune from your iPod. Then it says something like, “Ding! Walk!” So, I walked. And as I walked, I watched the program count down to my first sixty seconds of Run. And when I had less than ten seconds to go before Run, I started freaking out. It’s happening. It’s happening.

Three.
Two.
One.
“Ding! Run!”

I took off running like someone was chasing me, and it didn’t take long before I realized that I didn’t really know how to handle running. Three other people (who knew what they were doing, as evidenced by their cute running clothes) were running, and if I would have kept up at my “Someone is CHASING ME HOLY CRAP!” pace, I would have lapped them repeatedly. I slowed down to a jog and immediately felt a lot less frantic. “Ding! Walk!” Yes.

Because I’m a huge fan of experimentation, every time I got the “Ding! Run!” I practiced a new style of running in order to figure out what was the most comfortable. Do I use my heels? Do I run on the balls of my feet? Do I kick my legs backward? I tried everything, and sadly, I never found a style that felt right. (I *do* know that the heel-to-toe method felt very wrong.) If anyone was watching me, I’m sure I provided great entertainment as I sweated and panted and snorted and hopped and repeatedly replaced the ear buds that kept falling out of my ears.

When I noticed that I had only one more run followed by a five minute cool down walk, I got really excited to hear if I would be congratulated when the workout was over. I ran a little faster. I walked with a bit more bounce. And then the vocal track went out on my iPod, and I immediately knew that I was having a stroke. I was sweaty, my right leg felt like it was about to separate itself from my torso, I was seeing a few spots before my eyes, and I could no longer hear Cee Lo Green. It’s all over.

And then it WAS all over. Week One, Day One. Completed.

Tomorrow is Week One, Day Two. And just typing that makes it seem like a plan. I just need to figure out  HOW to run. (Do you use your heels? Do you kick your legs up? I would hate to think that I’m running the exact way that will surely lead to a heart explosion or a bladder failure…)

Don’t look at me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Snorting and Stomping

Jeff came home early from work last Tuesday because he had a terrible cold. He’s not one to jump the gun on sick days, so it really surprised me when he stayed home on Wednesday, too. On Thursday, when I started feeling heaviness in my head, I was So Angry. Friday found me home alone with the animals, who were not happy to see me cocooned in my robe on the couch sneezing and coughing and drinking hot tea and yelling things like “Jeff! Why did you DO this to ME-HE-He-he?!”

Yes. This is all about me having a little cold. Intriguing! I really need to start planning some adventures. Know that I know that.

Side note: I hate taking cold medicine. I hate the hungover feeling that comes with it. I would rather not take anything and suffer through the symptoms than swallow a pill that makes me feel hazy. On Friday afternoon, I raided our medicine cabinet for cold medicine. I could NOT fight this without help. The cabinet was empty. (It’s actually pretty full—of nail polish and magnesium supplements and some weird gauze thing and pain pills that expired back in 1996.) I called Jeff and asked him to stop by Walgreens and get something for me.

Jeff: What do you need?

Me: EDDIEDING DAT WILL BAKE BE FEEL BEDDAH!!!

Thirty minutes later, he arrived with Pretzel M&M’s, a dark chocolate Milky Way, a Twix, and some sort of Three Musketeers wafer thing. (He knows me so well.)

Another side note: A friend of mine knew that I was feeling punky, and she delivered Delhi’s Chaat (#30 on the menu) to me earlier in the day. I am terribly lucky to have people who get my need for chocolate and Indian food.

I spent most of Saturday in my bed and on the couch. I found that it helped a bit to stand up and scream, “I’m MISERABLE!” for anyone who might be interested. (Not many were interested.) I have no idea where Sunday went. I honestly have no memory of Sunday. I turned a corner yesterday morning, and celebrated by juicing carrots, a beet, and some ginger. It was terrible. I then juiced an apple and mixed it in, which took it from a level of Terrible 8 to Terrible 3. Drinkable. (I’m really trying to not be afraid of my juicer.)

Today is Tuesday. I have an itchy dog, and it appears that my cold is 89% gone.

(Thanks for all of the itchy dog suggestions, by the way. He has now been on the prescription food and the flea pills for four days, and he’s scratching more than ever. Although his follow-up appointment isn’t until Thursday, I’m going to try to get him in this morning.)

((Also, Scout got her first all-over groom on Saturday morning. She’s now clean, fluffy, and proud.))

Scout, who now looks like a Trixie!

(((Oh! I met with the principal last week about Regina and The Sex Girls (I know. Awesome band name.), and without missing a beat, he came up with a perfect solution. All is well.))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Mr. Itchy McScruffy

Mr. Itchy McScruffy

When we got Henry (nearly three weeks ago!), he was on post-neuter antibiotics, and he was itchy. At his post-surgery vet appointment, the veterinarian determined that he had some sort of skin infection. We switched him to an antibiotic that was more skin-specific, and we tried some medicated baths. The itchiness actually got worse after the baths, so we dropped the medicated soap and went with oatmeal baths and perfume-free (and alcohol-free) baby wipes. The itchiness got a bit better, but became worse again when the antibiotics ran out. We started him on a very low-dose steroid. The itchiness got a bit better, but became worse again when we started weaning him. (He has tested negative for mites.)

We are now going to see if he could be allergic to his food (Blue Buffalo Puppy Food). Starting this afternoon, we’ll be giving him a prescription food along with Capstar to see if it’s a flea allergy. If that doesn’t help, I may have to take all four of my pets to the vet every two weeks for three shot-in-the-dark mite treatments. (We’re all hoping it doesn’t come down to that, as I don’t have enough Xanax for a four pet injection adventure.)

I know most of you are bored with this information, but I wanted to throw it out there just in case we’re missing something obvious. (He’s current on his heartworm preventative. He’s current on all of his vaccinations. He’s cute as a bug’s ear, and he lets me hold him in my lap like a baby.)

PLUS, his feet look like this!

Henry Feet!