At age 32, when I became pregnant with Meredith, I removed my Billy Pancake ring (long story) along with the four “extra” earrings in my ears. For whatever reason, I viewed Pregnancy as a time to say goodbye to superfluosity, which is not a recognized word in the English language. (Apparently, I’m making up a lot of non-words these days. Unimaginability!)
When I was at Camp KIP (I know! Here I go again with the mentioning of knitting camp! NOW I’m actually calling it by name! Next up? I’ll probably rename my goofy website “Fluid Pudding Goes to Knitting Camp!”), I noticed a LOT of people with “extra” earrings, and some of the pierced folks were moms and some were not and I couldn’t stop wishing that I hadn’t removed my tiny hoops over eight years ago. Because, really. Being a mom doesn’t necessarily mean you’re allowed only two earrings, three pairs of khaki capri pants, and four t-shirts with subdued floral prints. There really is no Mom Costume, right? Am I right?
Last night we met some friends from New York for dinner, and the last time we saw these particular friends was nearly ten years ago—before any of us had kids. Last night there were four kids at our table, and for whatever reason, it really hit me that not much has changed in the past ten years, yet we’re now a party of eight instead of a party of four—BUT we can still talk about good music and books that poke our brains. (Can you tell that I’m typing this out really quickly? It’s very difficult (yet such a rattlesnaking cliché) to describe how some things change yet others stay the same, and perhaps I should have relegated this particular Ironing Out to my handwritten journal, but sadly, my handwritten journal doesn’t even exist at this time. I keep meaning to get back into pulling out my notebook every morning, but then I don’t. I could learn so much from this guy. (I actually cried when I watched that video. (Happy HandToFace Crying.) His website is here, and is one of my new favorites.) Where was I? Have I closed all of my parenthetical asides?!)
After we ate at Fitz’s last night, we walked to FroYo, whose website blasts annoying loud music, and I feel the need to warn you before I actually link to it. To get to FroYo, you have to pass by Phoenix Rising. (Fact: Nearly fifteen years ago, I purchased tiny hoop earrings at Phoenix Rising, and I’m now unable to find those hoops.) As we sat around eating our frozen yogurt, the pull became too much for me. I excused myself, walked next door, asked if they had tiny hoops (they did—at five dollars per pair!), quickly checked out, and was back in my yogurt seat in less than five minutes.
I am pleased to report that I have replaced three of my hoops, and only one of my three chosen holes needed to be partially redrilled. (In case you’re wondering about the fourth hole, I’m not quite sure I can get away with having a hoop on the top of my ear. For now, that story will remain untold. Also, I will not redo Billy Pancake.)
Suddenly, my ears look eight years younger.
Speaking of which, you know that I stuffed my mouth with marshmallows for you, I eyelinered my face for you, and I Sharpied my hands for you. My birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and I’m out of ideas. Feel free to challenge me.
I want a Fluid Pudding Regular to win this one!