The word that Meredith will remember for the rest of her life? Defiantly.

The great news? Meredith finished in third place. (Of course, because she’s just like me, she HATES that she came in third. She’s PISSED that she came in third. This anger will drive her to work extra hard next year.) ((She knew Defiantly. She got nervous and tripped. Many of the other participants did the same thing. In fact, the very first speller missed his very first (and only) word. My heart broke for him.)) (((Confession: I cried before, during, and after the bee. Before? Just seeing Meredith sitting up there with the seven other students did me in. She looked so small. During? When Meredith missed her word and the round ended and everyone cheered for her? It destroyed me. After? When a fifth grade girl correctly spelled her final word and was declared the winner, she immediately began to do the ugly cry. So did I. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I need a prescription.)))

I’m abruptly changing the subject now, because it’s Saturday night and I’m seriously considering having a tiny silver ball pierced into the side of my nose. It just might be the crab rangoon talking (Happy Chinese New Year!), so I wanted to put it out there and see what you think. I just searched out some photos on Flickr, and I’m liking the tininess of this woman’s diamond, but I don’t want a diamond. (I know. I know! Actually, this photo made me take a step back, but now I’ve moved forward again. Because look! And look!)

Meredith has a friend over. The girls are dancing in the front room. Jeff is playing guitar in the dining room. The dogs are running around in the back yard. I’m just sitting around drawing dots on my nose with eyeliner…

Meredith: Racial is just like facial. Schooner is like school, but you take away the L and add a nerd with no D. There is a nest in the siologist in anesthesiologist.

Me: A girl named Tracey won our elementary spelling bee. The word Attitude killed me. A-t-t-i-d-u-d-e. ARGH! Where was my head?!

Meredith: Wow.

After school today, we will celebrate spelling with frozen yogurt and hot fudge.

Because, according to Meredith, that’s what you do.

On a related note, a monumental change has taken place in my parenting philosophy. (Read that sentence again while picturing this version of me. It’s much less wearisome that way, no?) I have always encouraged my girls to be friends with everyone. “It’s good to have some close friends, but it’s also good to be friendly! That’s how you learn about other kids! You don’t have to play with the same group every day. Shake it up! It helps you learn who you are!”

No more. NO MORE! Meredith is “friends” with a girl in her class whose main purpose seems to be making other girls feel badly about themselves. This girl (shall we call her Regina George?) repeatedly tells Meredith that she doesn’t like Meredith’s clothes. Yesterday Regina George made fun of Meredith’s clothes until Meredith reached the level of anxiety where she couldn’t wait to come home and change OUT of those clothes. Regina George has started a club called The Shady Girls, where she requires the girls to wear certain colors and devote their recess to playing tether ball. (I know. I don’t know.)

I asked Meredith if she knows what Shady means.

Meredith: Like when it’s sunny outside, and you make the choice to hang out under a tree?

Me: Metaphorically, yes. But I have a funny feeling The Shady Girls don’t prefer to actually hang out in the shade. It’s about maybe being a little dishonest. Maybe being a little mean. It’s not necessarily a good thing.

Meredith: Regina George is mean.

According to Meredith, if Regina George gets angry during class, she has been known to yell, throw things, and curl up into a ball.

Okay. Let me say that again. According to Meredith, if Regina George gets angry during class, she has been known to yell, throw things, and curl up into a ball. To me, this means Regina George has some issues, and probably really NEEDS a friend, right? If the girl has to create clubs to have other girls hang out with her, she has some stuff going on, right? Right? Because of that, it hurts my heart (figuratively!) to ask Meredith to leave The Shady Girls, but that’s exactly what I did. Meredith has had a terrible relationship with this girl for over three years. Meredith has come home crying more than once because of things this girl has said to her. The last thing Meredith needs is to feel badly about herself at age eight. (At age six? The girl broke Meredith’s glasses. Oh my goodness, people!)

I’m a bit conflicted, because as I mentioned earlier, I’ve always encouraged the girls to try and be friends with EVERYONE. BUT, at this stage, I would be much happier seeing Meredith make a connection with some girls who exhibit kindness and curiosity and intelligence, perhaps with a love of American Girl stuff and Big Time Rush sprinkled in. (I’m not saying that the girl in question is lacking in those areas. I’m just saying that Meredith has been fairly miserable striving to “turn things around” with Regina.)

I’m trying to remember what it was like for me in the third grade. It was the year that Mrs. Barker read “Island of the Blue Dolphins” to our class. I don’t recall anyone being mean. Then again, that was many many years ago (over thirty years ago! Holy crap!) — before hormones in milk and rude kids on television. And padded bras in kid clothing stores. And raunchy magazines in every checkout lane at the grocery store. Oh, internet. This is a tough one. Have any of you dealt with this? By encouraging Meredith to gently leave the group, am I encouraging her to turn her back on someone who probably needs some help? Then again, Meredith has been reaching out for three years, and it’s totally killing her joy.

Please know that I have never said anything bad about Regina George in front of Meredith. The closest I came was this morning when I said, “Meredith, sometimes people who are unhappy actually feel a bit happier when they make other people feel unhappy, too.”

Today I shall get a haircut. This has nothing to do with anything.

When your kid is tearful, you do what needs to be done: You take her to 7-11 for a cherry slurpee, and if that doesn’t help, you throw a local cheese pizza on top of the slurpee. And then you throw a Dairy Queen Blizzard on top of that. (Please note that six hours passed between Slurpee and Blizzard. Nevertheless, now that I’m typing it all out, it really does look like we feed our sorrows. By the way, these are wonderful. Hi there, Weight Watchers! Long time no see! Catch me if you can!)

Last night after Harper had fallen asleep, Meredith called me into their room.

Meredith: Mom, do you think I’m a nerd?

Me: Hrm. What exactly do you mean by nerd?

Meredith: I know there are smart nerds and I know there are dorky nerds who are weird, and sometimes I think I’m one of the weird ones.

Me: If you’re weird at all, it’s a really good type of weird. Plus, yes. You’re really smart. You read smart books. You hit all of the notes when you’re singing Selena Gomez songs. If Nerd is a good thing, I would wear it proudly. If you see Nerd as a bad thing? You’re no nerd.

College for Kids starts up tomorrow, where both girls will be taking Xtreme 3-D Studio Art, plus a few other classes. School starts up on August 15th, and I’m terribly excited. Not because I want the girls away from the house, but because it’s at school where they get to see their friends. Once again, I’ve been pretty terrible at keeping them social this summer. (I hate that I’m one of those weird nerds Meredith is so afraid of becoming. I keep hearing myself say, “If you don’t like it, change it.” BUT, it’s not really that easy, is it?)

All of the nerd talk last night stirred me into revisiting my past while wondering when I started falling onto The Nerd Spectrum.

Answer: It had to have happened sometime between elementary and high school.

Have I ever shown you my senior picture from high school?

I dressed like I was fifty, I rarely smiled, yet I tried my hardest to rock asymmetrical hair. When I had this particular photo taken, the photographer said something like, “Well, we typically use that chair for our church directory or career shots.” It didn’t matter. I begged for the blue chair.

Sure, I had this one, too:

I sort of look like an athlete who occasionally kneels down and punches herself in the face. What you cannot see in this photo was my golden brooch—carefully chosen to add a touch of our school colors, which were brown and gold. (By the way, it STILL bothers me that the photographer used white type on a white background.)

I’m now changing the subject: Does anyone REALLY need help knowing how to wear a denim skirt or a pair of striped shoes? I’ve been wincing lately when I run across websites that try to teach me how to have fun with my kids at the grocery store or how to wear a strapless bra without drawing attention to back fat. (Hi. I’ve been cranky.)

And once more: I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are crazy good! Apparently, not many people want gloves or a hat!)

Meredith: Mommy! MOMMY!!!

Me: What? WHAT?!

Meredith: Scout just pooped on her piddle pad and it looks like popcorn!

Me: Okay! I’ll take care of it when I get out!

Meredith: You don’t understand! I think she’s trying to tell us that she wants to go to the movies!!!

It’s Migraine Week at Fluid Pudding! I’ve been able to keep it at bay for the past two days, and as I rest and take pills, the girls have been downstairs planning a garage sale. They’ve created a To Donate stack and a To Sell stack. If you want to buy our plastic baby slide you have to pay Harper eighty dollars, although it’s probably not worth more than three.

Harper: We have to charge a lot of money so people know just how important this stuff IS to us.

Me: If it’s that important, maybe we shouldn’t sell it!

Meredith: But we need money. Mommy, you should think about selling some of your jewelry—like those earrings you were wearing yesterday.

I’ll keep you updated on our garage sale. If all goes according to the girls’ plan, we’ll be selling all of our valuables for lots and lots of money.

In less than two hours, I will be entering a local shop and purchasing a spinning wheel. The thought of this is both highly exciting AND terrifying, because it’s a big purchase, and big purchases tend to make me all squirrelly and apologetic. (Also, I cry and whisper “I’m so sorry” every time I vomit. Can we please hang out sometime?!) In my mind, I’m going to spin fiber into yarn and then knit that yarn into a cowl or something and then give it away on my site because you guys really are the greatest. (Thanks for all of the positive feedback on my post about Aaron’s bike! As of this morning, we had collected $800. It’s definitely a start! And there’s still time to contribute!)

One last thing! Yesterday I received a wonderful gift in the mail from Sarah M. I was completely floored and excited, and whoa! When I told Meredith about the gift and how it’s from someone I’ve never actually met, she said, “Wow. Sarah is really nice. I bet her door has a rainbow on it.” I love that. Sarah’s door definitely has a rainbow on it. Each of you who contributed to Aaron’s bike? You have rainbows on your doors, too. I’m so lucky to have so many rainbow doored friends here. Have I thanked you lately?! Because, really. Thank you.

So, it’s Spring Break at The Pudding Chalet, and your guess is as good as mine as far as what Spring Break should entail. We were going to go see Rango, but one kid called the other kid a Liar, and that’s really all it takes to cancel a movie. (Confession: It doesn’t really take much to cancel a movie. Especially if I have no desire to see that movie. With that said, we don’t do name calling at The Pudding Chalet.)

Jeff’s dad gave us a lava lamp several years ago when we were dating. I’m still not really sure why, but I sort of went with it, as I often do. By the way, the neighbors down the street now have a huge wooden stork in their front yard, and that huge wooden stork is holding a sign that says “Taylor, 6 lbs. 15 oz., March 17th!” This afternoon Meredith came up to me and said, “If the neighbors can’t find a home for Taylor before the end of the week, can we take her?”

Me: Yes. But before we continue with this conversation, can you tell me what you think Taylor is?

Meredith: I think she’s a puppy.

When I broke the news to Meredith that although WE know that storks deliver pickles, there are some people out there who like to pretend that storks deliver babies, and sadly (sadly?!) Taylor is a BABY and NOT a puppy. (Meredith knows that storks do NOT deliver babies. She also knows that she was pulled (quite unnaturally, with the use of a spinal block of all things) from my abdominal region. She also knows that because of this highly unnatural way to enter the world, there’s a 23% chance that she’ll raise some sort of whimsical hell someday. Anyway. Where was I? Storks! Pickles! Puppies!)

Have I told you that we’re probably getting a puppy at the end of April? Sort of like the lava lamp thing, I’m just nodding my head and going with it. When it happens, you’ll be the first to know. By the way, I got a pair of jeans yesterday, and they call themselves Slim Boyfriend, and for whatever reason, that makes me want to hear this song over and over. (Have I ever told you about my bus ride to Atlanta when I *did* hear that song over and over?) Hey. Tell me a gallbladder story. Because I think I’m starting this sort of stuff up again, and I want somebody to sing a song about beet juice to me.
——————————–
I am drinking Tropicana Pure Premium and giving away a $100 Visa Gift Card! Leave a comment for your chance to win!

I went shopping at Walgreens, and now I’m giving away a $100 Walgreens gift card! Come on over!

Meredith: Mommy, do you know what Hypohogia is?

Me: I’ve never heard of it!

Meredith: Hypohogia is a rare made up condition where a groundhog throws up and coughs so hard that its teeth fall out. I saw it on the news. With this condition, groundhogs sneeze so hard that they fall to the ground. Seriously.

Harper: I’m making this up, but I saw on the news that a groundhog with Hypohogia once sneezed so hard that his house shook!

Meredith: And once? A groundhog threw up and coughed at the same time and actually caught hypoDOGia, which made the groundhog act like a dog for the rest of its life.

Harper: For real?

Meredith: Yes.

Harper: For real for real?!

Meredith: No.

This is Meredith when we first started patching. What a cute three year old! Argh!

A week or so after we started patching, her glasses came in, and she started doing this thing where she would close her eyes because she thought if she couldn’t see us, we couldn’t see her.

She was a total good sport about the patching. I think she even wore the patch to school a few times, even though I promised her that I would never make her do that if it made her uncomfortable.

(I found this sort of interesting. If a child approached her while she was wearing her patch, more often than not, the child would ask, “Why are you wearing a patch?” If an adult approached her, the adult would look right over her head and ask me “What’s wrong with her?” This normally took place at the grocery store by our house—the store where the ill-mannered elderly often shop. Also, they don’t sell chipotle chiles in adobo sauce there, and it drives me crazy! Anyway.)

(Side story: We always let Meredith choose her own frames, because we want her to be happy to wear her glasses. The frames in the above photo (better seen here) were more expensive than any other pair we’ve purchased. When I asked why, I was told that the tiny ladybugs on the nose and sides were handpainted by elderly German artisans. True story. My shoes were probably sewn by a four year old in China, and Meredith’s glasses were painted by an 80 year old in Munich. We Are The World.) There were months when we patched for six to eight hours per day. Sometimes two to four hours per day. For the past six months, we were asked to patch “for a few hours two or three times each week or so.”

This morning, Meredith had an appointment with her pediatric ophthalmologist. Her quality of vision showed no change with the sporadic patching during the past six months. Because of this, I’m pleased to report that we will no longer be patching. (Obviously, if her vision had improved, we would be happy to continue with the patching to see if the improvements would continue. However, the articles I’ve read state that improvements are seen less often after a child reaches the age of seven. We Are Average, and with 20/40 vision with her glasses on, we’ll accept Average.)

We’ve come a long way. High fives to MC’s doctor, high fives to the kind folks at Patch Pals, and high fives to Meredith for being a Super Trooper and never converting the patch into an albatross.