Stirred and strained. No olives.

Some People (including me): Love and Equality! Little Pink Equal Sign on a Red Background!

Some People: What is this, this little pink equal sign?!

Some People: Love! Marriage! Equality!

Some People: GOD SAYS NO LOVE AND MARRIAGE FOR YOU!!! THUNDER!!!

Some People: God also said ‘Don’t eat pigs.’ How are you doing with that? God said ‘Don’t get divorced!’ God said you have to marry your brother’s wife if he dies! Et cetera and on and on and spitting with anger, which is never a good idea!!!

Some People: BIBLE!

Some People: YES!!! LEVITICUS!!! ALL of it!!! Changing times!!! Thomas Jefferson!!!

Some People: UNBORN BABIES!!!!

Some People: What?

Some People: God hates what you’re doing to the world.

Some People: Um, actually? I’ve talked to God a lot about this and He encourages me to love and to be kind.

Some People: UNBORN BABIES!!!

Some People: Honestly, not all of the folks who want their gay friends to be able to marry also want babies to die.

(Side Note: Seriously. I know this to be true. Also, you can be a Christian and still vote for The Democrat, and just because you vote for The Democrat doesn’t mean you should have to spend the next four years defending your church/religion/etc. (not that I don’t WANT to defend my church/religion/etc.). It’s just that I would rather talk about knitting or spinning or tea when we’re out enjoying lunch—unless you’re truly interested in my church. Oh. Wait. Back to Fluid Pudding.)

Some People (including me): Psst! Love! Equality! Changing equal sign to a heart now to remind myself to love EVERYONE despite how much they throw rocks at each other. Telling myself that I’m glad my name isn’t used the way God’s name is sometimes used. “ANGELA says a man should refrain from sex during a woman’s period!”

Oh.

Erm.

Comments off. Because I’m taking the kids to get cupcakes today, and my mind is not changing and neither is yours and we either agree or disagree and I see trees of green and red roses too, and I see them bloom for me and you.

And I think to myself. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right.

As I sit here at my computer in the kitchen of our tiny house, my oldest daughter is watching a human growth and development movie at school. This is The Movie. (I saw my version in 1981. Girls went into one classroom. Boys went into another. We each saw our gender-specific movie, we returned to our normal classrooms, and when it was all over I knew that vagina is NOT pronounced Va-GHEE-nah. (Similarly, penis is not PEN-iss, as I had originally thought. Please know that the PEN-iss was NOT covered in our girl movie.))

Last week I was able to screen the movie that Meredith is currently watching, and I was a little shocked. Although the girls and boys will be divided, they will be viewing the same video. The video is presented as a call-in radio show titled “Puberty Week with Brad and Janet!” and I have no idea how the obvious Rocky Horror Picture Show tie-in made it past the original reviewers.

This morning Meredith left the house as an innocent almost 10 year old. She will climb into our car this afternoon with the line drawing of an erect boy part fried onto her brain. She will know about wet dreams. She will know that a sperm is 50% of what makes a baby and that an egg is the other 50%. She will NOT know how those two parts hook up, and if she asks it during the Q&A session, it will not be answered because it wasn’t directly discussed in the movie. (I know.) It wasn’t directly discussed in the movie, yet I know my kid and I know how her mind works and this evening I’ll probably have to lay it all out for her. And I guess that’s fine, but I also think that 10 is young, but I also know that kids are growing up faster now, but I also don’t necessarily think that arming them with this knowledge at 10 is going to prevent teen pregnancy.

I’m a bit flummoxed and I *did* consider letting her skip the movie. (This morning she told me that she was going to eat a light lunch just in case the movie turned her stomach. Heh.) BUT, kids are kids and kids will talk and I would rather she see it than hear about it at recess.

I can’t remember if it was the fourth grade movie or the fifth grade movie that said something like, “Just because you’re now CAPABLE of making a baby doesn’t mean you’re READY. You need financial stability!”

Financial Stability.

Here’s a photo of me when I was a 19-year-old sophomore at Mizzou. I’m wearing a bolo and a vest, I’m drinking a wine cooler in my dorm room, I’m getting ready to attend my very first (and also very last!) fraternity party, and I had no concept of Financial Stability.

fratnight

In other words, “Just because you’re now CAPABLE of making a baby doesn’t mean you’re READY. You need blah blah blah blah babies are cute!”

(By the way, I’m pretty sure this song was playing as that photo was taken, and I was using a lot of aerosol hairspray in those days. The jeans were NOT mine, by the way.)

Anyway, the kids are growing up and the kids are alright and I’m sort of a prude and I’m getting ready to bake Snickerdoodles for a priest and I wish I knew where that bolo went because I’m suddenly feeling the need for some honkytonking. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Socks and Dogs and Eggs Wrapped in Wire

Once upon a time I knit a bunch of socks and because I really loved knitting socks, I decided to see if I could fund my trip to BlogHer ’08 by knitting socks for anyone who was willing to pay $50. It worked. (I was shocked when it worked.) BlogHer ’08 was weird and amazing and dramatic and wonderful. I haven’t been back since. (I do miss it and I would spend some time talking about it, but I feel like I’ve already beaten my Dead Horse o’ Neuroses into the ground. I’ll let you off this time.)

So, socks. After I knit a bunch of socks for the BlogHer gig, I quickly learned the following two things about myself: 1. I don’t really like to take orders for handknit items. So much pressure! (I will make rare exceptions if I’m given a LOT of time.), and 2. Socks really aren’t that much fun to knit. (For me. If you love to knit socks, we can still hang out, of course. I used to eat feta cheese and chocolate chips mixed together as a snack. We all have bags full of wacky, don’t we?)

In September of 2009, I finished these socks for myself:

Embossed Leaves Socks

Because socks really aren’t that much fun to knit (for me), this particular pair took exactly two years to complete. (When I was knitting socks for BlogHer, I had to finish one sock each week to keep up. So, although I can knit a pair of socks in two weeks, this pair took 104 weeks. Heh.)

I love these socks. They’re made of Koigu which is squishy and shows stitch definition really well and I find myself saving them for special occasions because they’re orange and warm and leafy and the toe construction is all crazy and nice.

Last week I wore the socks to a meeting, and then I came home and changed my clothes in the family room. (That’s where the laundry baskets are, and right now they’re filled with clean clothes. When in Rome!) I stacked the clothes I had been wearing (including the socks!) on the piano bench (as you do) and walked into the kitchen to check e-mail.

I soon noticed that Scout and Henry were playing tug-of-war with an old towel but it wasn’t really an old towel at all. It was one of my Koigu socks, and I didn’t realize that until it was entirely too late.

Rest in peace, Embossed Leaves Sock. 2009-2013, Victim of a canine tug of war.

And then I was very sad, but I knew it was my fault for leaving the socks out and socks and towels are pretty much the same thing when you’re a dog, so no one was punished, although both dogs WERE put in their crates for ten minutes or so because I needed some time to mourn.

Snoozers

(It’s impossible to be mad at Scout and Henry because sometimes they reverse spoon each other on the couch and it makes my blood pressure drop.)

Tomorrow is the first day of spring. I have a weird feeling in my throat and when I walk outside, it feels like November. The good news? I’ve had my eye on this ring for over two years, and now it’s off of Etsy and on my finger and if you can’t have spring in the air, you may as well have it on your hand.

The Only Sign of Spring

A friend and I went nose ring shopping over the weekend and as a result, I now have the ability to run faster than ever before. We have so much to talk about, don’t we? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I don’t believe I’ve ever typed the word Apocalypse before now! Apocalypse!!!

All it takes is for one person to say, “Tea is for Healing” and suddenly I’m drinking one and a half quarts of hot tea each and every day. (I’m not exaggerating.) Apparently, I need some healing. I’m cranky and a little stressed and my skin is all sucky and my stomach has been in knots. Although the tea is delicious, the whole Healing thing feels like a mug of crap, but at least I’m fake-healing with tea and not Crown Royal.

(Side note: I held a side plank in Pilates last Friday for the first time EVER. It had nothing to do with tea and everything to do with me refusing to be the only person in class who can’t hold a side plank. (Every time the instructor calls us into a side plank, I think of this dinosaur and how we’re more alike than different.))

The latest chapter in my tea obsession? This stuff. (I have Tempe to thank for this. She does RESEARCH.) Because I once again have the skin of a 14-year-old girl who doesn’t take hygiene seriously, Jeff and I found ourselves at Whole Foods last Friday to browse their Yogi teas and their meatless meats. The Skin Detox tea is supposed to clear me up and make me GLOW (like Edward in the sun, not that I have any idea what I’m talking about). ((This is the guy who develops the Yogi tea. I’m not sure we could hang out at a doughnut shop, but I think I can trust him with the whole tea thing.))

Right before I leave the house to pick the kids up from school, I brew a 16 ounce tumbler of the skin detox tea. I then take the tea bag and put it in a tiny cup for later. Before I go to bed at night, I wash my face (with Purpose cleansing wash because I’m not going to leave out any details here) and then I run the hottest water I can stand into the used tea bag before rubbing it all over my face. Sometimes the bag breaks and suddenly I’m Martin Sheen from Apocalypse Now and I’m frantically pushing old cardamom seeds and dandelion roots (and hibiscus flowers and rose petals et cetera!) into my pores and the hot water is dripping down into my mouth and I’m a disaster but I’m a disaster for the right reason: I’m trying to achieve The Glow. I’M HEALING.

(Kara made bread pudding last week, and you should go look at it because it’s BEAUTIFUL.)

I actually got a manicure last weekend before the mouse races. (I will NOT talk about the mouse races. In fact, I never again want my world to include the word Mouse anywhere near the word Race or else I may begin screaming the F word and sending out fake invitations for people to join me in my kitchen for a bit of accounting! It’s a long story that involves me being a little sensitive with a tendency to overreact!!! Where’s my tea?!?!) Anyway, I went with this color and I love it so much that I bought a bottle (50% off!) today. I don’t EVER get manicures and because of that, I tend to keep my hands below the table. Because of French Quarter for Your Thoughts, I hereby proclaim the remainder of March to be known as The Eighteen Days During Which I Gesticulate Flamboyantly!!! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s the Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong!

On Sunday afternoon, I walked into the grocery store at the same time as an older woman with crazy red hair.

FPBPA01

I grabbed a cart. She grabbed a cart. I headed toward the applesauce. She screamed, “WHERE ARE THE PINEAPPLE TIDBITS?!”

FPBPA02

One of the store managers came over and told her to head to Aisle 11. Because Aisle 11 was also the applesauce aisle, I secretly felt a small thrill at the thought that I might be able to help this woman locate her tidbits.

FPBPA03

As I grabbed my applesauce (the strawberry kind, because the kids are NUTS for it), I saw her choosing her tidbits about twenty feet down the aisle from me. As she threw them into her cart, she screamed, “WHERE IS THE DURKEE NUTMEG?!”

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The manager ran over and explained that they don’t carry Durkee spices and would she settle for McCormick Nutmeg? “BUT I HAVE A *COUPON*!!!”

FPBPA05

I had only a few things that I needed to pick up at the store (applesauce, peanut butter, bananas, black beans), and the firecracker continued to explode with every item on her list. (“WHERE ARE THE PORK TENDERLOINS?!”) I’m sure the manager didn’t love her, but I did.

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Banana Chocolate Chip Bread Pudding from Veganomicon. I’m sure the kids won’t love it, but I did. Please let me know if you BreadPuddingedAlong! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Unintentionally Taciturn

I haven’t been responding to comments again. I hate when I do that. Sometimes I wonder if I should go back to the No Comments thing, but then I know that I would miss hearing from you. Isn’t life hard? (I’m sitting on a stool in a warm house staring at the computer while eating a bowl of Purely Decadent Cookie Dough. My life is not hard.) I do apologize for being quiet lately.

The past week has been crazy and amazing. My mom had her surgery on Friday, and everything went well and I would post a photo of her in her anesthesiatic haze, but it seems that anesthesiatic isn’t even a WORD—so why post a photo and stir up hell with The Word People (not to mention the anesthesiatically hazy!)?

On Sunday I journeyed out for lunch to meet someone I’ve never met before. She and her husband moved to St. Louis from Boston, and it took less than two minutes for her to zoom way up to the top of my Favorite People list. She’s creative and super smart and funny and she knits and, yes. As nervous as I get about meeting new people, I do love eating cheesecake at a two-seater wooden table with a brilliant new friend.

Monday. On Monday I did Pilates and went to the library and did my PTO reports and had dinner with ANOTHER one of my favorite people. (I have at least twenty.) We went to One 19 North where I tried Brussels sprouts for the very first time. I also got my fig marmalade fix, and I drank the very best martini ever.

Baked Apple Pie Martini

It’s called a Baked Apple Pie Martini, and it was delivered steaming hot and delicious and I’m almost embarrassed about how much I smiled and looked up toward the heavens as I drank it and I’m even (almost) MORE embarrassed about how angry I felt when a fruit fly perched itself on my glass, rendering the final two drinks undrinkable. (I’m pretty sure I could create the drink at home using this recipe. However, to my knowledge, I have never purchased a bottle of vodka, and I’m not sure I should start now. Highway to the danger zone.)

Today I worked on freelance and I went to a parent/teacher conference at the middle school and I roasted Brussels sprouts for the first time. (Brussels sprouts no longer scare me!) I also dropped by the elementary school where I did that thing that I hate doing which involves calling things as I see them with ugly talk. (I really should carry a pack of Marlboros and some sloppy red lipstick in my pocket for these toxic moments, as I firmly believe that people who spout yuck should have lipstick on their teeth and a cigarette that flops around with every unnecessary exclamation point.) I once had a friend who waited at least ten seconds before answering a question because he didn’t want to waste words. I need to adopt that strategy starting right now. Now.

It’s time for me to step away from the computer and prepare chickenless dumplings for dinner. (Do you know what the opposite of excited is? That’s how the girls are feeling about the chickenless dumplings! Yet, I soldier on.)

Tomorrow? It’s the Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>