P-Funk All Stars Perform The Anxious Puppy Blues

I’m moving back to Nashville.

(I’m not really moving back to Nashville.)

As you know, we spent a few days in Nashville last week. The entire trip lasted less than 60 hours from start to finish, which wasn’t nearly enough for me. I often wonder how my life would be different had we stayed in Nashville after getting married in 2001. I can’t help but think we would be struggling a bit more. AND, because I’m a clever blend of “The world revolves around me” and “Every time a butterfly flaps its wings, it changes the course of something else” I wonder if Nashville would still be Nashville without us there. I love Nashville just the way it is, so perhaps leaving it was the best decision. If you love something set it free or time keeps on ticking into the future or step off the crack, Jack and make a new plan, Stan.

Little Kids in a Big Chair

A day will soon come when my kids no longer want to sit in a gigantic rocking chair. During our trip to Nashville, they sat in it twice and posed for photos. Together. Last night Meredith pulled me aside and asked if she could help pick out her summer clothes this year. The basic short/t-shirt combinations that I tend to buy in bulk at Target are no longer her style. Also, late last week she told me that I shouldn’t be wearing black shoes with light jeans. “Maybe a different pair of black shoes would work, but those don’t look that good. No offense.” Her Smiling in a Big Rocking Chair days are numbered.

The Pfunky Griddle

One of our favorite meals in Nashville was breakfast at The Pfunky Griddle. Each table had a griddle built in, and if you go for the all you can eat pancake breakfast, the griddle is turned on and the staff continues to deliver wheat and white batter to the table. (Everyone gets to choose one topping. Harper went with M&M’s. Meredith went for chocolate chips. Jeff? Blueberries. Me? Banana slices, plus a side of vegetarian sausage. I mixed it all together and made banana/sausage pancakes. Not bad.)

Pfunky Griddle All Stars

Did you notice that Meredith is wearing a hoodie in that photo? I’m telling you, the child is living on the edge these days.

While we were gone, we boarded the puppies at their vet office. When I called on Wednesday, I was told that Henry was a bit of a “Nervous Nellie” at first, but he was now doing well with eating and playing. When I called on Thursday, I was told that both dogs were “doing great” and playing/eating/having a great time. When we arrived to pick them up on Friday, the woman in charge of the boarding facility came out and told us that Henry had a horrible experience during his stay. They couldn’t get him in and out of his crate very well, they had to get the help of one of the veterinarians because he was starting to get aggressive, he never pooped, and on and on until I interrupted and said, “Every time I called to check on the dogs, I was told that they were doing really well. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?”

Vet Tech: Well, I guess it depends on who you talked to. They may not have been familiar with the situation.

Me: They may not have been familiar, yet they gave me a glowing report. That bothers me.

Vet Tech: Well, the next time you board, you could consider having a sedative prescribed for Henry so he deals with the situation a bit better.

Me: Had I known he was going nuts, I could have asked for him to be given something during THIS visit. Again, it really bothers me that I wasn’t told what was going on.

Vet Tech: There are a lot of big dogs here right now.

Me: I sometimes dream about taking a nap in a bathtub filled with scrambled eggs. That doesn’t change the fact that something could have been done to help my dog.

When we got Henry home, he pooped for three hours (I’m exaggerating. Slightly.), and then slept for nearly twelve hours. I don’t believe we’ll board him again. (The thing that bugs me? I really like everyone at the vet office. And I know their job is hard. And I know that it’s a busy time of year. And I know, or at least I hope that everyone was doing their best. Still, I hate that Henry was terrified for sixty straight hours.)

Inedible

In my mind, this truck is filled with the pink slime everyone seems to be talking about. Also, it could be filled with a scrambled egg type of substance that stays at ninety nine degrees indefinitely. For my bathtub. Because I’m sleepy.

(Heads Up: Yesterday I renewed Fluid Pudding for two more years, so you’ve got me until I’m almost 44, if not longer. Cheers to us.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Nashville Cats Play Clean as Country Water

I come to you today from a hotel bed in Nashville, Tennessee. The Pudding family normally takes a cold weather trip before Christmas, but that trip didn’t happen this year. (The cold weather didn’t happen this year, either. Perhaps the cold weather relies on our plan to leave town. Next month I’ll be apologizing to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change.) Anyway. Because we were all itching to hit the road, we chose to spend the girls’ spring break in the town where, in 2001, Jeff and I decided to seal the deal and make some babies. It’s been entirely too long.

We spent part of our afternoon in Franklin, Tennessee, and WHOOSH! So many memories. This is the street where I used to work. This is the ice cream shop that my co-worker and I often visited when we were feeling disgruntled. This is the road where that co-worker told me how he knew he was gay. This is the old stove factory where I held a door for Naomi Judd, and she stared right at me as if it was my JOB to hold the door for her, and then she passed on through without thanking me. (She has porcelain skin and a cactus where her heart should be.) This is the Starbucks I once visited less than ten minutes after Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman visited it! This is the art store where I bought the supplies to make our wedding invitations!

The afternoon ended with “This is the steakhouse where you can throw peanuts on the floor.” AND, because God tends to high five me at least once a day, the steakhouse now has veggie skewers! My dinner consisted of a veggie skewer and one of my very favorite Nashvillian combinations: A baked sweet potato and sweet tea.

Keep being Nashville, Nashville.

I wouldn’t have you any other way. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand.

The phone rings. I pick it up.

Me: Hello?

Guy: Angela?

Me: Yes.

Guy: Hello there! It’s Ben from The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time!

Me: Oh! Hi there!

Ben: I’m just calling to wish you a happy two year anniversary with the Sonata!

Me: Has it really been two years?

Ben: It has! Are you still liking the car?

Me: We’re loving the car!

Ben: Great! Well, this might sound silly, but I’m calling to give you my phone number in case you ever want to send one of your friends or family members over to The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time. If they actually buy a car from me, I’ll send you fifty dollars!

Me: That doesn’t sound silly. I spent fifty dollars filling up my tank this morning!

Ben: I hear you. (He continues talking and Henry decides that he needs to go outside and my potato finishes baking in the oven and everything is happening all at once, so my brain hiccups and all I hear is…) …so Happy Anniversary!

(Suddenly, Henry is knocking on the back door and I’m balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin and I have my hands in the oven and I have completely forgotten why I’m on the telephone, so I do what you do when a pleasant-sounding man wishes you a happy anniversary.)

Me: Happy anniversary. I love you.

(Suddenly, I realize what I have done, and I quickly hang up. You see, I do not love Ben, but I also don’t want to hurt his feelings so soon after using the L word.)

((If you’re interested in a Hyundai, let me know if you need a guy. I’m curious to see if he’d really send fifty bucks to a married lady who just confessed that she’s interested in a tasty side dish that she hasn’t heard from in over two years.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

We shall surely reproduce!

(I suppose I should say re-produce. My oven? It is bunless. My countertop? It is full. Of produce.)

Because I’m trying my best to be one of those stinky hippies who eat only from the ground (also trees and bushes!), I decided to sign The Puddings up at our community produce co-op. $21.50 for a big basket/box/bag of fruits and vegetables that will feed a family of four for two weeks? Count me in! (Please know that I know that my kids will probably refuse to touch roughly 73.4% of the score. This means that every two weeks I’ll be picking up enough fruits and vegetables to feed MY family for three point two weeks! If I had the patience to do the math and I could somehow figure in the fact that both kids will probably move away for college, it means this: If I buy in to the co-op every two weeks for approximately seven point eight years, I think Jeff and I will have enough fruits and vegetables to feed us until we’re ready for assisted living! I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO CAN AND/OR DEHYDRATE!!!)

When I paid for the first installment last week, I was sent an e-mail that held a short list of what may or may not be included in the next delivery, along with the address of the home where the truck drops everything off (or: …along with the address of the home off which the truck drops! Everything!).

“Please pick up your produce between 5:30 and 6:00.”

Because the girls and I are nothing if not punctual, we left our house at 5:10 and arrived at the delivery location at around 5:20. We were told that this week was a bit weird because the truck normally arrives at 5:00, which gives everyone time to unload and sort before people start arriving at 5:30. Personally, I was thrilled with the delay, because helping unload the truck and divide the gazillions of zucchinis and cabbages was possibly the most thrilling thing I’ve done in months! (Someday I’ll attach a cord to my torso and jump off of a bridge. In the meantime, I shall sort produce!)

At the end of the day, we ended up with a huge pile of food.

Community Helpings Produce Co-Op, 3/13/12

6 bananas
5 apples
1 bag green beans
2 eggplants
1 pineapple
1 container of strawberries
1 container of baby bella mushrooms
1 bunch of green onions
1 puppy forehead
4 zucchini
1 cabbage
1 Bibb lettuce
1 head of broccoli
2 bunches of cilantro
6 kiwi
1 puppy nose

The girls will enjoy the bananas, the strawberries, the apples (they’re already gone), and the pineapple. The green beans are questionable because they don’t come in a can. I’ll be “forcing” five bites of the eggplant. This evening for dinner I’ll be grilling zucchini. Tomorrow for lunch I’ll be roasting broccoli. The kiwi will all go to Jeff, as kiwi makes my tongue go numb, and Meredith and Harper have complained that they suffer the same effects.

I’ll be making baby bella lettuce wraps with the mushrooms and Bibb lettuce.

I’ll be removing my Birkenstocks from their box in just a few hours.

Harper owns a broom skirt.

I haven’t shaved my left leg in nearly two months.

It’s happening.
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Sunday!

The chocolate chip banana bread did not last long in our house.

Banana Bread

I haven’t shared a Henry photo in quite some time.

MC and Henry

My pewter Damask is folded in half and is currently blocking on my bed. (I tried to stretch it out, but trying to even out the scalloped edges was driving me insane. You know how it is with those scalloped edges.)

Damask! Blocking!

I’ve been spending a lot of time with this thing lately. The perfect cup of hot tea every single time.

ingenuiTEA

Do you remember when Harper went to that dance with Justin Bieber?

Twelve years down the road, if Bieber doesn't age, and Harper remains interested.

I finished this sock four years ago, and it STILL doesn’t have a partner. Unacceptable.

Anniversary Sock

Speaking of socks, I finished my very first pair five years ago today.

F to the MFO

We went to an engagement party today, and it was lovely. Very happy for that couple, we are.

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Doors and Windows with Handles for Handling

How many times do I have to hear/think the old line about God never giving you more than you can handle?

In the past week, I’ve had lengthy conversations with two people, and both conversations have led me to sit in my car afterwards and think, “I have no idea how I would handle that. How would I handle that? Could I handle that?”

(I was once able to handle Haydn. I hid from Handel. Five minutes ago those two sentences were VERY funny to me.)

Last night I asked Jeff if he believes that you are never given more than you can handle. He replied, “Anne Frank was given more than she could handle.”

I can handle quite a few things. I can handle cooking meat for my family and I can handle the dry skin on my hands that results from washing them at least fourteen times after handling said meat. What I can’t handle is knowing that whatever I’m cooking won’t be enjoyed by the girls unless it is named Toasted Ravioli or Crazy Bowls or Sloppy Joe or Homemade Pizza Roll. (As a result, I now call EVERYTHING Sloppy Joe. I currently have a pork tenderloin in the oven for tonight’s dinner. When the girls come home from school and ask what’s for dinner, I will say, “Sloppy Joe.” They will cheer and high five one another. Later, when it’s time for them to eat, I will be at the PTO meeting—where I won’t be able to hear their cries of disappointment.) I can handle being the treasurer of PTO and I can handle writing checks and depositing money and keeping track of the checks and the money. What I can’t handle is sitting at a table in front of people every month at the meeting and trying my best to smile, keep my mouth closed, and not fall down. (As a result, I am not “running” for a second term. (I am not running for anything. My life is all about the stroll these days.) Oddly enough, shortly after I announced that I’m going to Jimmy Carter the treasurer position, I was recruited to be on a committee at church. Door. Window. Bonus: I will not be asked to sit at a table in front of people. I will be asked to eat pizza, and I’ve already made it very clear that if anyone tries to sneak a slice of pepperoni onto my lunch, there will be hell to pay. Big crazy table-flipping hell.) I can (normally) handle my freelance stuff along with volunteering at the school and keeping up (mostly) with laundry and playing with the dogs and grocery shopping and (sometimes) wearing eyeliner and baking the occasional chocolate chip banana cake. Ah, but last week I *couldn’t* handle two of my freelance projects and I had to admit that they were beyond my level of experience and I actually cried my eyeliner away about the whole thing and I didn’t do laundry and I made toasted ravioli TWICE just to avoid the whole, “Do I HAVE to eat this?!” gig. (As a result, I’ve eaten way too much of that chocolate chip banana cake. Get this. Last week I hit my “goal” weight at Weight Watchers. I know. This week I’m no longer there. Oh, Chocolate Chip Banana Cake. You were 117 points of hard to handle craziness. The good news? I’ve accepted a new freelance project. Please know that I know how lucky I am.) This paragraph keeps on going and going, doesn’t it?

For Jeff, Bruce Springsteen released his new album today. For me, Andrew Bird released his new album today. For the girls, Big Time Rush released their new EP today. Television off. Music on. The towels are in the washer.

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Special Pudding Moments

I went to the pool yesterday.

I went to the POOL yesterday.

When I walked out of my bedroom wearing my swimsuit, Harper said, “Mommy! You look so PRETTY!”

She then busted out laughing and said, “I’m just kidding.”

Last night, after I had washed my face and pajamafied myself, she looked at me and said, “Oh! I like those purple circles under your eyes!”

Nice.

This morning on the way home from church we tuned in to Radio Disney.

Jeff: Oh! Harper! It’s the song!

Me: What?

Jeff: Harper and I disagree about this song.

Me: Why?

Jeff: Because I’m not too crazy about her listening to a song about a stumble bum. Listen. “TONIGHT I’M A STUMBLE BUM!!!”

Harper: No! She’s UNSTOPPABLE.

Meredith: No! She’s a SOCCER BALL.

Jeff: TONIGHT I’M A STUMBLE BUM!!!

Me: I remember the night *I* was a stumble bum. I had no IDEA how strong Southern Comfort is! Thank God for my friend Caryn. She took me home that night.

Meredith: What?

Me: I was feeling unstoppable.

Harper: Yes. See? UNSTOPPABLE.

Did I mention that I went to the pool yesterday?! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I used to have the Demi Moore “Ghost” haircut.

And I’m all, “Whadya MEAN you don’t carry Fresh Take? The store ad says it’s on sale and I have a COUPON!!!”

Yes. That’s where I am right now. The good news? I was able to score the very last Katie’s Pencil Box dress while Jeff was seeing Radiohead in Tampa earlier this week. (He was there on business and sort of fell into the Radiohead show. (Oh, the good life. Full of fun. Seems to be the ideal…))

This week has flown, and I have fig marmalade to thank. Before last Friday, my “List of Experience with Figs” both started and ended with “1. Ate Fig Newtons with Grandpa once.” Ah, but then I received word that my church’s Adventurous Women Out Late (AWOL!) group was gathering at a tapas bar! I put on my glad rags, drove ten miles south, and enjoyed an evening full of flatbread covered in fig marmalade and Gorgonzola cheese. I returned to the restaurant on Tuesday and discovered that fig marmalade and I are capable of much more than a tipsy one night stand. Fig marmalade and I are in this love together, Al Jarreau.

A few weeks back, I listened to The Moth’s Chicago Grand Slam. My favorite story didn’t win. In fact, and I hesitate to admit this, I felt like the Chicago Grand Slam was mostly a waste of my time. (I know! Look at me trying to be all highfalutin while wearing pilled leggings and mismatched socks! If I knew any French phrases, I would type them right now! Poorly!) ((I’m still wearing the boot on my left leg. No one knows that my socks don’t match. Until now.)) (((Speaking of the boot, I saw the ortho guy a few days back. I’m in the boot for another month, AND he wants me to go swimming. (Not with him.) It’s almost like the guy can see into my soul. He knows exactly what to say to piss me off. And I KNOW that “You should go swimming.” wouldn’t piss off the average person, but here I am. Unable to swim, highly self-conscious about being seen in a swimsuit, and pissed off.)))

Back to the Chicago Grand Slam. Peter Sagal, who was the host of the show, shared a quote from Dr. Stephen Weeks at Lewis and Clark College. Dr. Weeks once said, “The best way to live your life is to choose the experience that will have the most anecdotal value.” I love that. Given the fact that in one month I have to return to the ortho guy and tell him about my swimming adventures, you would think that swimming lessons would be the obvious choice for a high anecdotal value life experience.

And that’s why I’m signing up for a pottery class. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>