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100 Things About Fluid Pudding

The List o' Links

Loopy Ewe Wish List!

St Louis Knits! << Previous | Next >>

© Copyright Fluid Pudding 2008
Banner photo courtesy of YPD


(I made out with Harry Truman.)

Day One: I'll take that NaBloPoMo entry, and I'll RAISE you THREE!!!

That's right. I'm not going to write ONCE a day for the next month, I'm going to write FOUR times a day! Take that! Shot to the heart and you're to blame!!!

(I'm lying to you. And it feels good to start the month off with a bowl of stinkin' lumpy dishonesty. Try it.)

Ok. No more lies starting...Now!

Last week I was completely thrilled to receive an e-mail from Leah, in which she asked me to consider participating in her new project titled Flawed but Authentic. It is a site dedicated to all things that raise your hopes and boost your spirits. She has collected a fairly diverse group of people to share inspirational bits, and it's exciting--because what I find inspiring might not be what YOU find inspiring, but you might be jazzed by the things that spark some of the other writers and so on. There are no rules. (And holy! That's an awfully big picture of my face, isn't it? I might need to rethink that one.)

Anyway. I'm your Tuesday girl.

Here's the badge that Leah created. (And because I know what I'm doing over here, if you click the badge, it will take you to the site! Suddenly, I'm a wizard!)



(The badge is perfect, because it contains an orange flower. The path to my heart is lined with orange flowers. Jeff knows that. And now you do, too.)

This is one of the most depressing times of the year!

I believe you need a big spoonful of FbA.

Day Two: Helping Others

(I received the following e-mail from Jon yesterday morning.)

Dear Fluid Pudding:
My brain just went "ping" and I am driving great big ol' ZILCH-mobile of things to say down the road of doom that leads to a giant dead end of a blank page.
I don't swear that often, but damn, I'm screwed.
Can I just steal your stuff?
-Jon


(I answered him with the goal of establishing empathy. You MUST establish empathy before you suggest something huge.)

Dear Jon:
I woke up this morning with a HUGE sense of dread.
I fucking HATE NaBloPoMo!
You know it's bad when you're considering just puking up some Cher song lyrics...
-FP


(He got the empathy thing. Now we're getting somewhere.)

Dear FP:
Resolved:
I am just going to start stealing stuff.
So what if people get confused because I start talking about my kids, "Harper," "Henry," "Leta," and "Jackson"? They'll get over it, I need material!
And since NaBloPoMo obviously isn't going to be about quality writing, I can feel free to become what I've always wanted to become!
The Wal-Mart of Blogging—Cheap, plentiful and smells kinds of strange.
ONWARD!
-Jon


(The following should not be juggled around to make me look like an accomplice. I'm just trying to squirt the juice of creativity onto everyone, and perhaps score a "I need somewhere to store this" vehicle in the process! I am not responsible for anyone else's actions. I am not Marilyn Manson.)

Dear Jon:
Wait a second. I think you've got something!
"I am just going to start stealing stuff."
Why don't you spend the month shoplifting--and then document how it made you feel?
Increase the value every day.
Like, today you could take a penny out of those "take a penny if you need it" containers.
You don't need that penny--but you're going to take it, damnit! Stolen penny!
Tomorrow? Steal candy.
Thanksgiving? Steal a flat screen television!
November 30th? Jeep Cherokee.
I promise to NEVER turn you in.
-FP


(Let's keep this exchange on the DL, by the way. The last thing I need right now is a screechy Katie Couric at my door or an orange suit on my person.)

Day Three: Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting Renee Zellweger (and Knitting)

This morning I took Meredith to see Bee Movie.

My favorite Meredith quotes during the movie:
"Mom? I've never seen a movie like this in my whole life!"
"Mom? Get your purse out of that chair. Someone might see it and think that it's theirs."

The movie wasn't that great, and I'm not just saying that because a lot of other people are saying that.
I'm saying that because I will never like anything that involves Renee Zellweger.
She ruined this particular movie for me because she sounded like a total airy drunk, and it's difficult for me to feel anything but indifference toward a total airy drunk who runs a flower shoppe (and I inserted that extra "pe" very loosely!) and cavorts with a bee.

I've said it before.
You know I don't like her.
She's not a fan of my work, and I'm not a fan of hers.

(Okay, so she's the Entertainment Industry Foundation's Ambassador to Saks Fifth Avenue's 2007 Key to the Cure Campaign. I'll give her that. Whatever.)

Anyway. Go see Bee Movie if you want to, but don't yell at me if Zellweger ruins it for you. I'll just flash my big ugly "I Told U Sew" tattoo in your face.

(Also, don't yell at me if you're a big Zellweger kisser. Believe me, I understand the whole Unrequited Love for a Famous Person arm wave. If you really want to get back at me, insult Zach Braff.)

Onward.

What am I doing tonight?

Well, because I am slightly migrainesque today, I will be sitting on the couch in my pajamas and knitting.

Specifically, I'm trying to finish this sweater by Thanksgiving.

So far I have a back and two sides:




Also, I've started on the only Christmas gift I plan on knitting this year--a drop stitch wavy scarf for Meredith's teacher:



If you feel like delivering some comfort food and your name is not Renee Zellweger, I'll open the door for you if that comfort food is one of the following things:
1. A quart-sized portion of homemade macaroni and cheese--you don't actually have to make the noodles or the cheese, but I don't want the boxed powdery stuff if you can avoid it.

2. One small slice of homemade apple pie--warm, with a tiny sliver of vanilla ice cream on top.

3. An Art Vandalay from Moe's. (Made with pinto beans, please.)

Day Four: Miyagi Have Hope for You

Me: Well, it happened. I've got absolutely nothing to say for Fluid Pudding today.

Jeff: You went to Moe's and a yarn store today, could you talk about that?

Me: Do YOU want to read about that?

Jeff: Nope.

Me: I could talk about that time when I took a standardized test for someone and they ended up getting kicked out of the university.

Jeff: It's a good story.

Me: Yeah, but I really don't feel like getting my degree revoked if the university decides to go all ex post facto on me. But then again, my annual income for 2006 was less than five bucks, so it's not like that degree is really getting me anywhere. I could talk about how I'm losing my marketability with every passing year and how difficult it's going to be for me to start working again. I could talk about how that really scares me sometimes because I thought I was going to be a bigshot someday, and now my goals have really turned around and I don't know what I want to do anymore. Yeah. I could talk about how I've been sleeping with a cold headband tied around my head and how I look like a really dilapidated version of Daniel Larusso.

Jeff: You went to Moe's and a yarn store today, could you talk about that?

Day Five: Double Entendres for Everyone!

Because Meredith is a four year old who weighs more than 40 pounds, we decided to rip her out of her car seat and slap her into a booster chair.

Yesterday evening I removed the booster chair from the box, punched the armrests into their holes, and screwed them into place.

Meredith: You like to do a lot of things.

Me: What do you mean?

Meredith: You like to play, right?

Me: Yep. I like to play.

Meredith: You like to put things together, right?

Me: Sometimes.

Meredith: And you like to screw.

Me: Heh.

Meredith: You like to screw, right?

Me: Wait a second. Pass me that little baggie thing.

Meredith: SAY IT!

Me: I like to screw.


Hey, Fluid Pudding! What's For Dinner?!

I'm glad you asked!

I just put four frozen chicken breasts into the crock pot. Then I mixed up a can of cream of mushroom soup with a cup of sour cream and a packet of onion soup mix. Then I dumped the soupy mixture over the chicken, pressed the "Low: 8 hours" button, and crashed on the couch! In about 7.75 hours, I'll cook some brown rice and some green beans or something. Dinner!

Fluid Pudding likes to screw!

Day Six: After dessert, we fell off of a bridge and I woke with a jerk. And by Jerk I mean Jostle, not Jeff.

Day Seven: You know I'm out when I start doing numbered lists.

1. I made one of these yesterday:



It is a gift! (Not my knitting ability. The glove. It's a shame that the recipient has two hands, because I really suck at the "Part Two" when it comes to socks and gloves.)

2. Tonight we're attending a Parent/Teacher conference where I plan to get to the bottom of Meredith's claim that the teacher keeps trying to fight all of the kids. Meredith is a terrible liar, and she always tells this story with a big grin on her face: "Kevin pushed Miss Debbie, so Miss Debbie pushed Miss Sara! And then Miss Sara pushed me, so I had to push Maleena!" Apparently, preschool can be a fairly volcanic place. Meredith also claims that there is never any food or milk at snack time, and that all of the kids just sit on a bench and cry. (Last year she earned low marks in Creativity. Let's see if that has improved.)

3. In preparation for a video interview on Saturday (?) (!!), I'm once again having my eyebrows waxed and dyed tomorrow night. The last time I did the dye thing was way back in April, and at that time the aesthetician tried to talk me into an eyebrow tattoo, which is the last thing I need right now. I don't care how natural you claim it will look, I can pretty much guarantee that the 80 year old gray version of me is not going to look very "natural" with black eyebrows. I can be talked into just about anything. I can not be talked into eyebrow tattoos.

4. I wish I looked like Mariska Hargitay. She's my current "I Want to Be Her" celebrity. Because of this haircut, she scooched Juliette Binoche into second place. (Someday, if you're interested, I will list the celebrities I want to see when I look in the mirror.)

5. I wish I could write like Sarah Brown.

Day Eight: She scored a 4 in Responding to Sensory Input! (That means I can start spanking, right?)

Last night was the big Parent/Teacher conference at Meredith's school.

And as expected, I got all worked up and nervous about the whole thing.

I changed my outfit three times before finally settling on something that made me look like I was paying tribute to Mr. Rogers:



(Black and white cardigan from 2001. Converse All Stars from 1996. Levi's that show a tiny part of my underpants if you know where to look.)

((On the top left edge of the right back pocket.))

(((And I wasn't going to put up a picture of my outfit, but then I found that I sort of liked the picture, and that certainly doesn't happen very often, so there you go. Bonus Pudding.)))

I love Meredith's teacher.
And after she agreed with my reluctance to have Meredith screened for kindergarten, I love her even more. (Don't even get me STARTED on the DIAL-3 and how CRAPPY I think it is.)

Anyway, Meredith is doing well. In a world where kids are earning 2s and 3s, she tends to earn 3s and 4s.

For the most part, her vision doesn't inhibit her from participating in the daily stuff.

The only thing she needs some help with is relating to other kids. (She's been known to approach the teacher during clean-up time, cross her arms over her chest, and say, "I love to watch the kids clean up. They're doing a great job.")

Yesterday while all of the other kids were playing, Meredith sat under a table with a bunch of plastic food. When the teacher asked her what she was doing, she answered, "Well, I think I'm just going to sit under this table and eat my supper by myself."

As you know, I've never been very good about getting Meredith together with other kids outside of school, because I suh-huck in social situations.
I have GOT to break myself of that and start getting her out more often.
She can't sit under the table and eat supper by herself forever, right? Right.
(It breaks my heart a bit to see that she's turning into a mini version of myself.)

Incidentally, guess what I'll be doing tonight?
Eating supper by myself. (I will not be eating under the table.)
It's not because I don't want to play!
Really! I've got a meeting and an eyebrow appointment!

It's important that my solitariness take place with nicely shaped brow arches.

Day Nine: I almost asked someone to hold my hair. But I didn't want to be a nuisance.

I haven't been to Weight Watchers in a few weeks, so last night I put on my gossamer clothing and headed out.

Just so you know: I'm a Lifetime Member at Weight Watchers. What that means: according to their records, I have maintained my goal weight (within two pounds) for quite some time. As long as I keep it within two pounds of my goal, I don't have to pay for the meetings I attend. (It sort of sucks, because if my weight is up and I NEED to go, I often DON'T go because I don't want to slap down twelve bucks just to be told that I'm a little too big for my britches. Anyway.)

When I went three weeks ago, I was up. I knew I was up, and I needed to get back on track and blah, blah, blah, Zig Ziglar. I paid my twelve and was told that I was four pounds above goal, meaning two pounds above my "within two pounds" thing.

Last night, according to my scale, I was back into the free range. (Like a tasty chicken!)

I headed in.

Weight Watchers Weigher (WWW): You're down two pounds!

Me: Excellent.

WWW: BUT, you're still a quarter of a pound out of the two pound range, so you'll have to pay.

Me: No!!!!

WWW: Wait. Go to the back and use the restroom. That might get rid of the quarter pound.

So I sprinted back to the bathroom, um, emptied my bladder, removed my socks, removed my wedding rings, and hauled ass back to the scale. Before stepping on, I took a really deep breath and held it in. (I have no idea if that helps or not. I also filled my head with ethereal thoughts.)

WWW: Oh no!!! You're still TWO TENTHS OF A POUND ABOVE THE TWO POUND RANGE!!!! Is there anything else you could take off?

Me: If I wasn't wearing these ratty old Hanes Her Way underpants, I'd rip my pants off.

WWW: Anything else?

Me: I could go back and remove my bra, but if unleashed, these gigantic newly-discovered ferocious breasts of mine might take over the entire meeting. Nobody wants that.

I slapped down the twelve bucks and was then told that Millie, my all-time favorite Weight Watchers leader, has resigned her Thursday night position.

Twelve dollars. No Millie.

I didn't stay for the meeting. Instead, I moped on over to Crazy Bowls and indulged myself in a High Protein Bowl before Eeyore-ing my way over to the salon to get my eyebrows micro-managed.

And what's on the agenda for today?

I heard a rumor that my dad baked an apple pie.

In my opinion, that is worth a thirty minute drive.

(My new eyebrows need to practice their "Mmmmm. This is some good pie." dance.)

Day Ten: Shortest Entry Ever, but it counts.

Harper: Damnit! I want some candy!

Me: Harper! We don't say that word!

Harper: Damnit! I want a Kit Kat!

Me: That's better.

Day Eleven: Care to join me on a trip to the store?

I try my best to get to the grocery store every Sunday to stock up on dinner supplies for the week.

What was that?
You want to know what the dinner plan is for this week? Really?

Well, okay!

Tonight we'll be having Whole Wheat Linguine with Parmesan and Tomatoes.
Tomorrow? Chicken in Dijon Mustard Sauce.
Tuesday? Turkey Burritos with Tomatillo Salsa.
Wednesday? Chicken with Turkish Bean Salad.
Thursday? Grilled Cod with Red Onion Salsa.
Friday? Turkey Mustard Pretzel Burgers.

You're so funny. You want to see my grocery list? The one I just wrote in my little notebook thing?

Okay then!



The list is organized by aisle. Because I'm sly like a fox!

(I'll be doodling a bit on this list and then leaving it in the cart with the hope that it somehow lands in the hands of Mr. Keaggy.)

Do you need anything while I'm out? Is there anything that I missed?

EDITED TO ADD: The Friday Turkey Burger recipe is now linked! (I add a few tablespoons of Dijon mustard to the mix. The pretzels bulk up the burgers, but don't add much flavor.)

Day Twelve: At this rate, I'll be posting nude photos by the end of the month.

Day Thirteen: Did you know that Sydney is sixteen hours ahead of St. Louis? My new calendar told me!

Every year at about this time I start scheduling things for next year.

And because I don't have a 2008 calendar, I've written something like 21 things in the December 31 space for this year.

Just like so many other things in life, I believe that you really need to understand yourself before you purchase a calendar. After all, you're going to partner with it for an entire year!
Do you need blank lines for grocery lists or meal plans?
Do you need a page-a-day version, or does a week per page work for you?
Are you one of those crazy people who can cram everything into a tiny glossy box?!

Two years ago I used an organizer type of family planner system complete with an address book, paper for notes and grocery lists, and stickers that say things like "No School" and "Game" and "Doctor".
It was heavy-duty.
(For my birthday, it made me a pepper loaf sandwich.)

Last year I found that the refill for my system was something like $89.
$89 is way greater than what I wish to pay for a calendar, no matter how many stickers are included.
(I don't know about you, but to me $89 = 4 skeins of sock yarn.)

Anyway, last year I settled on another mom type of planner deal, but the paper was sort of glossy, meaning you had to either scratch your plans in with a skippy ballpoint, go the Sharpie way, or blow and dab anything written with a gel pen. So frustrating.

Today I studied the calendar selection at Borders for nearly twenty minutes.
I paged through the family planners.
I checked the prices on a few mom calendars.
I realized just how tired I am of family planners and mom calendars.

Finally, I settled on this:



It's green, it has a plastic cover, it's organized by week, it features five different languages (Monday = Maandag!), and it contains drawings of bunnies doing themselves in.

Who could ask for anything more?

Day Fourteen: Your opinion, please.

Okay.

A friend of mine (and it truly is a friend and not me, Jan Brady!) went to a big chain store yesterday.

She purchased many things, including a DVD, an Xbox backpack thing, an Xbox game, and a few CDs.

After paying for her items, she tried to leave the store, but the alarm went off.

She promptly returned to the checkout lane, where her bags were investigated, her receipt was studied, and she was given the OK to go.

Upon leaving, the alarm did not chime. All was well.

Later that day, she noticed that the DVD she had purchased was on sale at another store.

She decided to check the receipt from the first store to see how much she had paid for that DVD.

Upon perusing the receipt, she noticed that she had not been charged for the Xbox game.

It is a $60 game.

She has asked three people what they would do about this, and surprisingly, my opinion is not the popular opinion.

(Do you want to know my opinion? Do you? Okay. I told her to take the game back and pay for it. There is really no other option, because what goes around comes around and spinning wheel goes round and round and such.)

What would you do?

EDITED TO ADD: The game has been paid for. The store was called, the manager was very kind and appreciative, and that's that. Thanks so much for your thoughts and your words. I love (99.8% of) my Fluid Pudding people.

Day Fifteen: What was I saying?

Last weekend I went to a Mommy Hobby party at Karaoke Diva's place.

It wasn't advertised as a Mommy Hobby party. It was an All Day Scrapbooking Extravaganza, which sounds like great fun unless you (and by you I mean I) can't motivate yourself to pack up art supplies and have digital photos printed.

I CAN, however, motivate myself to pick up the damned cardigan sleeves that are sucking the life right out of me. Why can't they knit themselves? Stupid, stupid lace increases and such.

While we were there, Word to Your Mutha was gathering footage for The Show.

And now I'm part of the Mommy Hobbies show!

Watch closely--I'm the argyle girl with the terrible posture who never makes eye contact and mumbles something about Throwing it Down.

Be sure to watch the outtakes. I'm mumbling again! (Listen closely. I think I'm saying something about how the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. Either that, or I'm ordering another burrito.)

Now you definitely don't want to be my friend. I'm one of those argyle-sporting mumblers! And there's really nothing worse.

The show is good. (And you can watch the others here.)

Enjoy.

 

Day Sixteen: I've almost achieved Loopy Groupie status!

A few days back, I visited The Loopy Ewe website and ordered some sock blockers.
(Okay. All of the non-knitters have left the room. Now it's just you and me.)

This morning, Tempe, my mom, Meredith, Harper, and I visited The Loopy Room to pick up the blockers and smell some yarn.
(Before we went in, I made the girls repeat our rules--No Hurts, Stick Together, Have Fun. Meredith then asked if we're allowed to smell yarn. And smell it, she did.)

Anyway, all I can say is: The Loopy Ewe gives me yet another reason to love St. Louis.

Sheri and her staff were absolutely delightful.
Also, I got to touch Wollmeise Lace. It's not yet available, but I'm in love with it anyway (sort of like how I feel about George Clooney).

Did you just say that you wanted to see some photos? Well okay then!

Here is one of my new blockers modeling a Louet Gems Shamrock "Go With the Flow" sock.




Here is a lovely skein of Duet Sock Yarns.
The colorway is Army Guy, and the color blend is amazing. (Look at that blue popping out at you! You can't help but be mesmerized. No apology necessary.)
(The extra mini skein is for the heel and toe of the sock. Ingenious.)
Also, I shaped it to look like a pony. Or maybe it's more of an ostrich. Potato Potahto.


Here is my latest skein of Woolly Boully.
It was dyed specifically for The Loopy Ewe, and is named "Won't Ewe Come Out Tonight? (Sheri, Baby!)".
When I threw it up into the air (because I, too, am pretty good at the Spin and Toss, Mary Tyler Moore), I couldn't see it.
It blended perfectly with the sky on this beautifully brisk November it's-a-good-day-for-swilling-a-chai morning.
(Jenny Boully is a poet. I am not.)



Meredith really likes the smell of Cherry Tree Hill, by the way.
(She also likes Spongebob fruit snacks and posing for pictures.)
And as I type this, James Taylor is singing, both kids are napping, I've got some new yarn, AND I just heard that My Bloody Valentine will be releasing another album.
(Did I mention that my mom actually paid for my yarn? Something about Early Christmas!)
It really doesn't get much better than this.

Day Seventeen: Quick! Add this to your Thanksgiving menu!

My Dad's Caramel Pie

1 can Eagle Brand milk (no substitutes, must be Eagle Brand)
1 prepared graham cracker pie crust
2-3 bananas (not overly ripe)
Cool Whip (small size)
5-6 maraschino cherries
Handful of pecan pieces
Large size Hershey Chocolate bar

This part takes 4 hours + an overnight cooling
The evening before you need the pie, peel the paper wrapper off of the Eagle Brand milk and put the can in a pot of SLOWLY boiling water. The can should not be opened or punctured in any way. Be sure to keep the can covered with water and SLOWLY boil it for 4 hours. After the 4 hours remove the can and let it cool overnight to room temperature.

This part takes 10-15 minutes
To put the pie together, place ¼ inch thick slices of the bananas over the bottom of the pie shell. Cover the entire bottom, but don't go up the edges of the shell. (Only have one layer of bananas on the pie shell, don't stack them.) Open the can of Eagle milk. You'll find it has turned a nice caramel color and has thickened to the point where you'll have to use a spoon to get it out of the can. Spread the entire can of caramelized milk over the bananas. Cover the caramel generously with Cool Whip. Cut the Maraschino cherries into pieces and sprinkle them onto the Cool Whip. Sprinkle the pecan pieces onto the Cool Whip. Using a vegetable peeler, shave strips off the edge of the Hershey bar and distribute the shaved pieces onto the pie.  Cover the pie and place in refrigerator until serving time.

Disclaimer
The Fluid Pudding Family is not responsible, or liable, for injuries, damages, or any liability as the result of, or resulting from, the intentional acts of any person including, but not limited to, the owner or assembler of the pie, or persons eating the pie. Further, we are not responsible, or liable, for injuries, damages, or any liability as the result of, or resulting from, the negligence of any person, including, but not limited to, the eaters of the pie, the assembler of the pie, any owner of the pie, or any persons maintaining or inspecting the pie. We are also not responsible, or liable, for injuries, damages, or any liability as the result of, or resulting from, the improper maintenance of the pie.

Day Eighteen: Can you tell my mind is elsewhere?

Day Nineteen: I'm dressed up like a librarian.

Day Twenty: The God of a missing elephant would like to eat an Indian head.

Meredith approached me last night and asked if I could help her write a letter to God.
We sat down at the computer and I typed as she dictated.

Obviously, my favorite part is the line about having the head of a missing elephant.
Because it reminds me of Mimi Smartypants and her quest to find a severed head.

Please remember: After God paints his face with a pen, the nice thing to do is unbuckle his hat and carry the buckle all the way up to Heaven.
If everything goes as planned, there you will find the head of a missing elephant.
And nearby, that elephant's God will be eating the head of an Indian.
And that will be The Final Thanksgiving.

Day Twenty One: I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now!

Day Twenty Two: This is a story about my toilet. Happy Thanksgiving!

Our toilet broke almost a month ago.
The pipe in the basement started dripping a tiny bit with every flush.
We planned on fixing it, but only because the drip was occurring within inches of my wedding dress.
(Where should I be storing that thing to keep it safe? In the trunk of my car? Between my mattresses?)

Anyway, because we do what we do, we sort of conveniently forgot about the drip until the drip turned into a leakage onto the bathroom floor. Every time we flushed, water oozed out from around the bottom of the toilet all over the floor. And, boy, that really made me crabby. You don't even want to know the things I yelled and slammed around on The Day The Toilet Started to Spit.

Because Jeff was at work, I did what any relatively normal girl would do.

I called my dad.

And even though he had worked that day from five in the morning until three in the afternoon, he packed up his tools and came over.



In other words, after putting in a ten hour day, he drove thirty minutes to our house and stared down a pipe that smelled like, well, raw sewage.

Dad: Hello down there!

Voice in the Pipe (VIP): Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

Dad: Did you just say something?!

VIP: Let us leave pretty women to men devoid of imagination.

Dad: Um, yeah. I was just kidding with that whole Hello Down There thing.

VIP: People who are not in love fail to understand how an intelligent man can suffer because of a very ordinary woman. This is like being surprised that anyone should be stricken with cholera because of a creature so insignificant as the comma bacillus.

(The ghost of Proust resides in plumbing system.)

Anyway, so Dad fixed the toilet, thereby saving us something like $27,932.

And three days later he drove up just to deliver us some of his famous chili, because that's how he is.

And today is his birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

(And Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who don't celebrate my dad's birthday.)

((And Good Thursday to the rest of you.))

Day Twenty Three: If my mailman wasn't so hateful, I'd French him.

I will not tell you if I was one of Those People who ventured out at 4:30 this morning to take advantage of the early bird specials at various crazy big stores.

What I WILL tell you is this: Today was the Best Day Ever for my mailbox.

Why, you ask?

Today I received The Gift of Choppa in the form of two items.
First? An amazing soap necklace for Meredith, lover of soap.



And if that wasn't great enough, Amy also sent this:


It's a ball of yarn with a knitting needle, and I absolutely adore it.
(You can get your own Gift of Choppa at the Choppa Charms Etsy Store!)

Okay.

Do you remember when I went to Stitches Midwest in Chicago a few months back?
While there, I purchased these three skeins of Tess' Designer Yarns.


My plan was to make a pair of stripey socks and call them something like Sock on These Christmas Apples, Granny Smith!

Anyway, I haven't gotten around to making the socks yet (YET!!!), but I DID get around to joining the Woolly Boully Sock Club.

Today I received the second installment.

Look.



I can't even tell you how thrilled I am that my Sock on These Christmas Apples, Granny Smith! colors have been merged into one skein.
It's like the second Christmas miracle of 2007 or something.
(The first Christmas miracle? The fact that by 9:00 this morning I had finished nearly half of my Christmas shopping. God rest ye, merry Gentlemen!)

Day Twenty Four: M-I-Z! Z-O-U!

There's one thing of which I am sure.
I'm still a menstrual migraineur.
Your cheek gets a peck.
(Ice on head, heat on neck.)
I don't wear fur, meat is murder.

Day Twenty Five: Headaches and Hanami

I will be typing this entire entry in three minutes, which is the amount of time it takes for my birdseed arch to heat up in the microwave.

I have a piercing migraine, you see.

In fact, this particular migraine is the first runner up to my absolute worst migraine, which came about in October of 2000.

(Funny how one remembers these types of things, no?)

Let's see: My dad and Jeff dragged our (assembled!) Christmas tree from the garage extension to the family room this afternoon. A quick fluffing, and voila! Pre-lit tree! Does it make me lazy that I cover our tree with trash bags after Christmas each year so we can drag it out to the garage and leave it standing up until the next Christmas? I haven't had to assemble the tree in three years! (I do take the ornaments off. I wouldn't want them to break during the drag.)

Also, last night I had a dream in which a boy named Hanami mistook me for Kanye West. And when he asked for an autograph, I didn't have the heart to deny him. I wrote the following words on a napkin: "To Hanami. Best wishes forever. Love, Kanye West." A few minutes later, I found myself eating fast food hot dogs with the real Kanye West, and it made me very uncomfortable to think that Hanami might walk by, see us, and feel very confused.

Three minutes. Done. As you read this, I'll be on the couch with a hot birdseed arch around my neck.

Day Twenty Six: Meredith has one of those twenty teeth smiles.

Day Twenty Seven: We all cough for Dummkopf!

Day Twenty Eight: And Meredith slept like a log.

Scene: Two thirty in the morning. All lights are out. The children are nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugarplums dance in their heads.

Harper (from her bed): Daddy! WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!

Me (elbowing Jeff): Harper wants you.

(Jeff trudges into the girls' room.)

Harper: I forgot my bedtime drink in my dinosaur cup!

Jeff: That's okay. Let me tuck you in, and we'll get your drink in the morning.

Harper: I want my bedtime drink now!!! WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!

Jeff: Fine. Get up and go into the kitchen.

Harper: I want MOMMY to get my drink. WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!

Jeff: Mommy's sleeping. Come on.

Harper: I WANT MOMMY TO GET MY DRINK!!! WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

(This is where I pissedly jump out of bed and stomp to the kitchen. I HATE catering to ridiculous requests at this time of night, but with Harper and Meredith sharing a room, we try to do anything we can to stop the screaming.)

Me: Fine. Get into the kitchen. Now.

(Jeff reaches into the cabinet and grabs a dinosaur cup. A green dinosaur cup.)

Harper: I WANT THE GRAY DINOSAUR CUP!!! WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

Me (with absolutely no patience): Fine! Here. Drink it.

Harper: I WANT TO DRINK IT IN THE FRONT ROOM!!!!

Me: No. You'll drink it in the kitchen.

Harper: FRONT ROOM!!!! WAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Me (not very proud of how I'm handling this): You can drink it in the kitchen, or I can throw it away.

(Harper then drank her milk and headed back to her room. I followed.)

Harper: No! I want DADDY to cover me up!!!!

By this time, adrenaline was dripping out of my ears. And this is where I give a big shout out to God for podcasts. I was able to catch up on two episodes of This American Life before conking out.

During Terrible Two Meltdowns, I like to count down the hours until I can leave the house on my own.

Eight hours until my haircut.

Thirty two hours until dinner and knitting.

(Sometimes Indian food gives me a stomachache. But that doesn't mean I don't love it. Keep that in mind.)

Day Twenty Nine: Is this thing over yet?

It has been a fairly mundane day at the House of Pudding.

Let's see.

I could tell you that I took the girls to get their flu shots this morning and that they cried and cried.

I could tell you that I practiced the French horn this afternoon until a vein in my eyeball exploded.

I could tell you that I took the girls to have their picture taken on Santa's lap and how the photos were pretty horrible and how I was sort of heartbroken about it so I complained (which I hate doing), and now we're doing a re-take tomorrow morning.

Speaking of tomorrow morning, I could tell you that I have a doctor appointment at 8:55 because I still can't completely shake this migraine. (It's still behind my eyes and is now creeping down my neck. Fix it. Please?)

On the plus side: I just returned from a dinner/illegal pattern exchange where I learned of a headache center in town where a cocktail pill of sorts has been invented that works like a charm on the Weasel's headaches.

Also, I saw Robin's fresh hair, and it's even more amazing in person than in the pictures.

AND, I'm getting ready to take a bath. A hot bath. My first hot bath in four years or so. And after my bath I will apply my flannel monkey pajamas, put the hot seed on my neck (innuendo not intended), and a cold rag on my head.

Tomorrow? Let's do something special, shall we?

Day Thirty: Oh, that we could always see such spirit through the year!

Let me tell you something.

For my last day of NaBloPoMo, I was going to record myself playing the French horn, and then I was going to record myself playing the piano--accompanying the French horn, and then I was going to figure out how to put the two together, and holy smokes. You were going to want to make out with me.

But then time ran out and something in my eye exploded and today I took a $27 pill to fix my head, and then I spent the day with the kids at my folks' house, and wham! It's 8:00 at night! I really don't have time for anything!

So, you get this.

And of course, because I'm just another one of your insecure buddies, I can't watch this video without staring at my nose.

(They say the nose continues to grow throughout life, and I never believed them. Until now.)

(Someday I will invite my nose to play a stirring duet of Bless the Beasts and the Children.)

Do me a favor.
Watch the video with your eyes closed.
Because now I'm realizing that my hair looks like I took a two hour nap earlier this afternoon.
Because I took a two hour nap earlier this afternoon.
Also, the piano is way out of tune, and I don't claim to be a Pianist.
Have I covered all of my bases?

Anyway, all of this Woe is Me action when all I really want to say is: Thanks for sticking with me every day for the past 30 days. You're a gem. And so are you.