June 2012 : Fluid Pudding

My hair is still growing, and I have a strategy!

I’m sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and waiting for a guy to show up to talk to me about a thing.

After he leaves, the girls and I will be taking Scout and Henry to meet a new friend who just might watch them the next time we leave town. (After the bad boarding experience we had in the spring, I have become the jerk who refuses to leave town ever again unless I’m absolutely sure the dogs will be treated with respect. This afternoon I will decide if my suitcase comes upstairs or stays in the basement.)

When we return to the house, another guy is going to show up to take some money and talk a little more about another thing.

I don’t have much to report, because most of the past week has been spent stomping around in the mundanities. I bought what I think is a cute dress for an October wedding, and it’s too small. I need to lose two inches from around my rib cage for the zipper to zip. I have three months to make this happen, so I’m not terribly stressed out. I’m still doing the running thing, but I’m reluctant to sing about that too much. Just know that week four begins tomorrow morning at six, and I’m not feeling very confident. (Week Four suggests that I run four minutes, walk two minutes, run six minutes, walk three minutes, and then run four minutes again. Yesterday morning I reached the point where I could run three minutes without feeling like my heart was going to explode. The “run six minutes” thing will be tomorrow’s Eleanor Roosevelt “Do one thing every day that scares you” event.)

Tomorrow evening I’ll be eating fancy food and then watching a movie about a stripper. Eleanor Roosevelt!

This is what I did last night:

I don’t spin nearly as much as I should. When I’m downstairs spinning, I achieve a pretty amazing level of relaxation. My shoulders drop down from their normal location (they spend most of the day reaching for my ears), I lose track of time, and suddenly I have a bobbin filling up with yarn. I’m fully convinced that everyone needs something like this.

This evening I’ll be preparing a silk/merino blend for the Tour de Fleece. (It runs parallel with the Tour de France. Everyone spins their wheels. I’m not an official participant, but I do need to start spinning more regularly.)

I’ve been baking zucchini bread and reading Nick Hornby and listening to Fiona Apple and putting the first sleeve on my Acer. I’ve been thinking about taking a writing class or joining a writing group or just simply writing. You can’t be a baker unless you bake. You can’t be a runner unless you run. And so forth. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Koalas will not do.

It has been exactly one week since I’ve had coffee in the morning. Part of me wants to say something about getting control of my life and wanting to be the boss of caffeine rather than allowing it to be MY boss. Part of me wants to sing empowering folk songs about deciding to do something and then just DOING it instead of dancing around and whining and making lame/tired jokes about how I NEED coffee. (Those ridiculous cartoons of women sitting around in robes with screwed up hair and tired swollen eyes mumbling something about coffee IVs and calling themselves Mommy even though there are no kids in the room? I can’t even think about it without wanting to punch the wall.)

The truth is, I bought a gigantic container of coffee creamer eight days ago, and it’s horrible. I feel guilty about throwing it out, yet I refuse to use it. (I know what you’re thinking. “Toss it out and go buy your normal brand of coffee creamer!” Nope. Tossing it out right now feels so wasteful. Instead, I’m going to wait until it expires on September 4th. (Expiration dates give me that feeling of perceived permission to pour things down the drain.) Please don’t try to heal me. (I’m still saving all of my positive pregnancy tests (dated with Sharpies!) as well as my kids’ belly button stumps.) I am beautiful in every single way. Words can’t bring me down.)

Anyway, I no longer drink black coffee (it’s ACID to my MUCOSA!!!), so I feel like I have no options. It’s just that easy.

(My plan for going full-on vegan is to fill my refrigerator with rancid butter, moldy cheese, and blood-soaked eggs. That should do it.)

Jeff is out of town again. (I wish you could hear the tone I’m assigning to the word Again.) The girls and I will be going on a drive-thru doughnut run sometime today. We will then split up so they can play/read/practice the piano while I stomp out some freelance. Later this afternoon, we’ll be making vegan cherry almond cookies. (Please know that although it’s not credited, the recipe is from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar by Moskowitz/Romero.)

A few moments ago, Meredith proved that she is my biological child.

Meredith: There’s only one thing in life that I want to do today.

Me: Go on.

Meredith: I want to stock up on tiny containers of hand sanitizer, and I need at least two of them to have panda bears on the label.

(We’ll be heading out within the hour to do just that.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

One?! If even?!

Jeff was in North Carolina all week, so I did what I always do when he is out of town. I went pretend dress shopping at ModCloth. This is how it works: I put the kids to bed, I jump on the computer, and I spend (probably too much) time browsing the styles I like. I then put all of my favorites into a shopping cart to see how much it would cost to have everything. I then take every single dress OUT of the shopping cart and go to bed. No one gets hurt.

Ah, but Wednesday evening was a bit different. I had spent the better part of the afternoon working on a freelance project, so I decided to actually order a dress. I turned to Facebook, where several of my most fashionable friends hang out, and I presented them with three options: This, this, or this (which is NOT from ModCloth, but is still very cute). At the end of the evening, I went with the Craft Festival Dress. (It was the last one in stock. Victory!)

This afternoon, the girls and I found ourselves at a mall choosing a Father’s Day gift for Jeff. While there, I noticed that two teenaged boys were quietly (but not quietly enough) rating women as they walked by. My gut reaction was to quickly change directions and find a different route to our destination. (Believe me, I also considered confronting the boys, but deep down I knew it would have done more harm than good—especially since my voice shakes and it sounds like I’m about to cry whenever I confront anyone. “Stop judging women! I’m not crying about this despite my quivering tone!”) Because I’m a sucker for the whole “shortest distance between two points” thing, we soldiered on. The woman in front of me, who was probably in her mid 30’s, was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a shiny tank top. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail, and she was pushing a stroller. She scored a five. I decided that although I was wearing a brown cotton dress that sort of resembles a cleaning uniform, I could possibly outscore Ponytail Mom if I put a confident smile on my face and perhaps a bit of a bounce in my step. With the girls at my side (they had no idea what was going on, and I wasn’t about to tell them, because I DO know how disgusting it is), I did my runway walk.

Boy #1: One.

Boy #2: If even.

How deflating! I know I’m no Cindy Crawford mom, but a One?! And an If Even?! (I’m so self-conscious of my neck lately. I wonder if my neck had anything to do with my low score. Also, my posture is terrible if I’m not actively thinking about it!)

When I returned home from the mall, I received an e-mail from ModCloth. Apparently, there had been a mix-up with the dress I ordered and it ended up NOT being available after all. They refunded my money and offered a coupon that included free shipping toward the purchase of a new dress.

This was a sign from the universe. (I’m pretending that) I couldn’t care less about those boys and their shoddy rating system. However, perhaps at 42 I really SHOULD try a bit harder to _______ ______ _______. (Try a bit harder to what? I have no idea. I’ve been sitting here for three minutes trying to complete that sentence. Try a bit harder to showcase my inner Amelie? Try a bit harder to not give a crap? Hrm. So many directions.)

Anyway, I once again turned to Facebook. (Because that’s what I do.) This (which I really love, and I can see myself wearing all year round with a black cardigan and leggings—so Amelie-esque!) or this (which will force me to look like I give a crap!)? My friends had definite opinions about both dresses. (One person was brave enough to say that those who voted for the Dressing Room Dress are not my real friends.) Although I definitely wanted to walk away with both dresses, I eventually chose the winner and checked out. I will be bedecking myself with the victor in the next 7-10 business days and will probably need your shoe opinions at that time.

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Puppies and Celine Dion rage! Also, DSM-IV 300.23 with a side of epistaxis!

I need writing prompts! I need to step away from Instagram and Facebook and hang out over here some more! Last week I tried to write every day, and it looks like I crapped out after Monday and Tuesday. Summer is so difficult for me, what with the eating like an idiot and entertaining the kids and reading books and freelancing and whatnot…

Last week we signed up to participate in this morning’s Whiskers and Tales event at the library. The local Love on a Leash chapter was there with eight adorable dogs, and each child got to choose a dog and read to that dog for twenty minutes. Meredith read during the first round, Harper read during the second round, and because so many kids cleared out after round two, Meredith and Harper stuck around to read again during rounds three and four.

This photo was taken during the second round. As Harper read to Lola, Meredith hugged, scratched, and petted Lola. (We loved Lola.)

Speaking of Harper, she is now wearing glasses.

She has always been jealous of Meredith’s glasses, and she often tries on my glasses and wears them around the house. Sadly, her vision is perfect, and she has no need for a prescription. Ah, but last week she had ten dollars and we found ourselves strolling around a store that sold plastic lenses for nine dollars, and finally! (She has received many compliments on her glasses. She is quite pleased with her purchase.)

This morning I spent nearly twenty minutes watching Celine Dion videos. A friend on Facebook posted a video of Ms. Dion singing an Adele song and it made me so angry and I wanted to find some footage from the Oprah episode that featured Celine Dion because that woman drives me crazy (Clarification: Celine drives me crazy. Oprah? I can’t relate to her, but I don’t necessarily want to beat her up in my front yard.) and I wanted to be able to show people WHY she drives me crazy, and the more time I spent watching Celine Dion videos the more angry and sickened I became, and finally I found myself hurling frozen chicken breasts at the computer screen because, yes! Here are some highlights from that Oprah show. (If you can’t watch it without feeling rage, we should get together and do the tapas thing sometime because I think we could share tidings of great joy as well as a plate of fig marmalade on fancy bread.)

Yesterday I went “running” for the fourth time since May 31. (I’m trying to stick at least 48 hours between “runs” so that my left leg doesn’t crack.) Anyway, I’m finding that when I get to the track, more often than not, someone is already there. I then take off walking in the same direction as that person so that I never find myself face-to-face with them. Have I ever mentioned my weird social anxiety? I have? Well, take that anxiety and multiply it by 34 when I’m “running” toward someone and feeling the need to make eye contact. Okay. Yesterday I got to the track and quickly learned that it was going to be a counter-clockwise day. Fine by me. When I was about halfway through my program, an older woman showed up at the track and started walking clockwise! Argh! Are you kidding me? I “ran” past her and gave her a half-smile. I “ran” past her again and noticed that she was looking at me, so I gave her the same half-smile. (Please know that I just spent about 20 minutes trying to take a photo of myself giving a half-smile. Failure.) After about four awkward and hating it half-smiles, I ripped my ear buds out (it was my final cool down lap which means Then She Appeared was playing), gave the woman a full-on crazy smile, and yelled/sputtered, “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” (I lack creative openers when my heart and knees are on the verge of blowing up.) Anyway, as soon as I passed her, she CHANGED DIRECTIONS so that we didn’t have to face each other again. Half of me celebrated a tiny OCD victory, because finally! Everyone was moving in the same direction! The other half felt a little MORE self-conscious (is it even possible?!) because I really do feel like my awkward and loud “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” freaked the lady out.

As soon as I got to my car, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my nose ring was bleeding, and I had a dime-sized spot of dried blood on the side of my face.

The woman changed directions because I was an unpredictable semi-fast-moving hypertensive psycho and she couldn’t help me or fight me if things moved closer to the edge! (My philosophy: If you cannot (or are unwilling to try to) help someone, you should be willing/able to fight them. I’m looking at you, Celine Dion. You too, Naomi Judd.)

A big part of me loves that I scared that woman. Another big part of me wants to bake something and keep it in my car in case I ever run into her again. I feel like I owe her an Apology Pecan Pie. It won’t freak her out at all if she sees me “running” toward her with a steaming hot pie plate, right?

Let’s meet up here more often, shall we? I miss you. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tuesday!

Because Jeff has authors in town and authors in town sometimes means dinner away from home, the girls and I decided to declare this evening Pizza Night.

We left the house at 5:15 to pick up our produce bag from the co-op.

If you’re interested in the contents, here is the photo:

Lettuce and sweet potatoes and garlic and apples and peaches and bananas and strawberries and peppers and tomatoes and green beans and corn and grapes and artichokes. I predict zero waste this time around. Artichokes!

On the way home we stopped by Little Caesars. (Little Caesars is not particularly GOOD, but a cheese pizza is $5 and it’s definitely edible.) The boy working the drive-thru window was very smiley, and probably high.

Meredith: Mom, I think that guy likes you.

Me: Why would you say that?

Meredith: He can’t stop smiling at you.

Me: Meredith, that has nothing to do with me. I think it’s just his demeanor.

Meredith: Are you talking about his privates?!

Me: Yes. I’m talking about his privates. Do you want Crazy Bread?

Meredith: Yes, please. WHAT IS DEMEANOR?!

I hope this summer never ends. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Monday!

A week has passed, and what do I have to show for it?

A friend and I signed on for the library’s adult summer reading program. They’re pushing science fiction this summer, but I know myself better than they do, and I know that science fiction will slow me down even more than I’m already slowed. I *am* pleased to report that I have finished one book since signing on last Tuesday. (If I remember correctly, I’m supposed to finish ten books before mid-August. I lack the energy to check the pamphlet because deep down I know that if I’m required to read 12 or 15 books, I’m going to walk the pamphlet over to the recycle bin, call my friend, and change our plan from life-transformation through books to social transformation through a weekly drink on the town.)

What did I read? I read Good Stuff by Jennifer Grant, and I always hesitate to say awful things about books, so I’ll just say this: Despite the book, I still love Cary Grant. Because of the book, I do believe that perhaps *I* could write a book! Bonus: Unlike Jennifer Grant’s book, *MY* book would not contain anything about anyone being “all that plus a bag of chips.” I’m currently halfway through both Some Assembly Required and Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, and I have five more books waiting for me at the library. (Not a smart move. As soon as I stack those five books on my shelf and remind myself that they’re all due back in two weeks, there’s a really good chance that I’ll grab them all and immediately drive them back to the library so someone else can have a chance. Have I mentioned that Jeff and I have also been baking a lot of cookies and that I currently have seven games of Draw Something going on? It’s all so time consuming.)

These are so good. If you can ignore the part about the chocolate, it appears that they’re good FOR you, too!

AND, speaking of good for you, I was the pissiest you’ve ever seen me last Thursday, so I decided to take my anger to the streets! I didn’t have the proper equipment to blow up a car, so I ran around a track instead. (By “ran around a track”, please know that there was more walking than running. Also, lots of huffing (oxygen, not paint fumes—but remind me to tell you about the time when my mom and I were eating at a Popeye’s and some guy came wobbling out of the bathroom with a brown paper bag in his hand and spray paint all over his mouth.)) All of this to say: I’m currently two days into the first week of my third attempt to get through Ease Into 5K. I find that I run really well when my phone shuffles into Pass the Mic, and I tend to twirl and sashay when I’m given Reflecting Light. I’m definitely developing my own “running” style.

This morning while I was “running” (I’ll remove those quotation marks when it’s deserved, and not a minute before), I was joined by a class of 20 high school summer school students. Four of them were walking around the track with coffee. It made me so happy.

Okay, so with the Draw Something and the cookies and the running and the reading, I’ve been busy. (Did I mention that I’m now on Instagram? Funny how my new phone is making me more social and less social at the same time. (I believe my user name is fluidpudding, but I can never really remember who gets to see my real name and who doesn’t. Someday I’ll admit that my last name isn’t really Pudding.))

Yesterday morning I was recruited to work in the church kitchen to prepare for the congregational lunch. Within the first five minutes, one woman told me (snidely!) that I looked lost. Another told me (smart-assedly!) that it looked like I was the one who NEEDED help. I got pissed and walked off the job. Ten minutes later, when those women had left the kitchen and were sitting down in the pews where they belonged, I returned to the kitchen and had a wonderful time sticking spoons into potato salads and “accepting” the delivery of something like 100 chickens who had been killed, dismembered, and fried to “perfection.” (Two of us worked the kitchen yesterday morning. Both of us are vegetarians with vegan tendencies. The chicken delivery man seemed a bit disappointed that he wasn’t greeted with adoration. “All six of these vats are filled with chicken parts? Okay, then. I’ll put them in the oven and try to forgive myself for feeding dead birds to people I actually like. Carry on to your next destination, Chicken Man.” (All of these things were said in my head. I’m very kind to chicken delivery men when I’m in God’s house. I’m kind to chicken delivery men when I’m NOT in God’s house, too. Everyone is doing their best.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>