Category: Cucumbers aren’t always cool.

I just can’t wipe that “I’m helpless and not so bright” wrinkle from my forehead.

After picking Harper up from preschool this morning, I drove over to the Hallmark store to purchase candles. I’m sure you can relate to this statement: When I’m all out of creativity and energy and I’ve just been to the doctor for what I believe is lymphangioleiomyomatosis, I sometimes throw my hands in the air, cough a bit, and purchase enough candles to heat our entire house for ten days.

As I coughed and sputtered into my elbow with an armload of candles and a three year old who really just wanted to run around touching and smelling things, the Hallmark lady asked if I wanted to stack my stuff on the counter until I was ready to bail.

Me: HACCKKKK! Thanks! Actually, I think we’re ready to check out. HACCKKKK! Excuse me! HACCKKKK!!!

Hallmark lady: Oh! Hello, little one! Is SANTA CLAUS coming to visit you this year?

Harper (still sort of unimpressed by strangers who speak to her with sing song voices): Yes.

Hallmark lady (very much into changing tone with each spoken syllable): What did YOU ask SANta to BRING you this YEAR?

Harper: A white kitty cat.

Me: Yeah. Santa and I have been going around in circles about it for quite some time. Apparently, it’s against the law HACCKKKK!!! in the North Pole to deliver live animals on Christmas, and he’s not so sure he wants to risk it. I keep telling him HACCKKKK!!! that I’m the boss, and I don’t really care about the HACCKKKK!!! laws in his country. He keeps snarling and throwing big shiny boots at me, HACCKKKK!!! which I believe is an insult.

Hallmark lady (singing. she’s actually singing at this point.): PerHAPS he could BRING a STUFFED kitty CAAAAAAAAAT, MOMMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!! HHHhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMM??????

Me: HHAAAAACCCCKKKK! Whoa there. Hey! I would have NEVER thought of THAT ONE on my OWN!!! God bless us, Everyone.

So, Harper and I left the Hallmark lady thinking that she saved our Christmas. And, whatever. I’ll let her sing that story to her friends if she wants. Because I’m cool like that. Merry Christmas. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

These are my final complaints of the year. Probably. (Maybe.)

1. I don’t mind Christmas shopping. However, when everyone in the family suddenly pretends to have never met my kids and I end up having to do Everyone’s Christmas Shopping, well, I get tired. And then I lose my bubbling Christmas spirit. And suddenly, when Amy Grant’s Christmas CD comes on, I find myself thinking, “Suck it, Amy. I’m trying to make 42 To Do lists over here.” This happens Every Single Year, and I hate it because I Am Known For My Holiday Spirit. (Not really. But I *could* be if I didn’t have all of these damned lists to make for everyone!)

2. If I had time to construct a pie chart to show you The Things I Hate, screenings and assessments would fill roughly 63% of that chart. Two weeks ago, Jeff and I participated in a social and emotional screening to try to get a grip on Harper’s tantrums. The outcome? “She scored a 65, and the Ideal Child scores below a 59.”

Me: Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. How do we move forward?

Screener: Oh. Well, I’ll have to get back with you sometime on that, won’t I? See you in January!

(65 Crickets are chirping. Only 59 are supposed to be chirping.)

I suppose I now need to make Harper a shirt that says 65 and just assume that Everyone Will Get It. Except I don’t get it. So, on to the next Thing, yet back to where we started and on and on. (Are you smelling something that sort of stinks like an unclever blend of patchouli and horseradish? That’s my discouragement with assessments and screenings!)

3. I’m having a hard time finding parents who are able to attend the kindergarten holiday party next week. (I know. Life is good when I have time to complain about these ridiculous things, right? I know!) And I’m fine with that because I know that everyone is busy and everyone works and so on. However, I hate that I take every single No (not to mention every unreturned phone call) personally. Because that’s silly. People aren’t saying No because I’m sort of socially inept, are they? No. (Are they?) But, anyway. I just need to find someone who is willing to pour rice into 16 tube socks and then tie them off with yarn. Tube Sock Snowman! Anybody?! I promise not to make awkward eye contact with you! Actually, no promises. Suck it, Amy.

Wait. Let’s end this with something good. Kara recently listed her Christmas stockings at Etsy, and I love them. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Thoughts I Had While Watching “The Secret Life of Bees” With My Mother

We’re kicking it off with a four-year-old girl shooting her mother, and I can hear vampires in the next theater. Clearly, I am lost.

Alicia Keyes might be pretty and blah, blah, blah, but she certainly cannot act. Then again, I cannot act. Why do I insist on judging Alicia Keyes? I always judge the pianists, and that’s ridiculous.

I wonder how things would be different had Meredith shot me when she was four.

Okay. This is going to be a busy week. Play date tomorrow, volunteering and work on Tuesday, Harper’s assessment on Wednesday, Thanksgiving dinner Thursday and again on Saturday, church and book club on Sunday along with Twilight.

Wait. Is everyone’s voice muffled, or am I starting to have a panic attack?

(Me: Can you understand what anyone is saying?
Mom: I’m having a bit of trouble. The sound is sort of garbled.)

Whew. Okay then.

Sweet potatoes, marshmallows, butter, sugar, milk, crushed pineapple, peanuts, Cool Whip, cider vinegar, and green apples.

Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth. Lyle Lovett married Julia Roberts who was part of Charlotte’s Web with Dakota Fanning who is starring in The Secret Life of Bees. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

You can eat it with your fingers, and it leaves no residue.

My grandmother used to have a very annoying habit of saying things like, “Oh! If only you knew what I know about Blashenblash! But I can’t tell you. I promised not to tell ANYONE! But you would DIE if you knew!” On a similar note, I can’t help but become annoyed when people shout out something like, “I have a Major Announcement to make, but you will have to wait until next week to hear it.”

If you can’t tell me something, don’t tell me how you can’t tell me something. Seriously. You’re wasting words. And words are not meant to be wasted.

And now I am guilty: I received some Big Happy News yesterday, and I spent a good part of today reading legal documents and signing away some rights. And I’m not allowed to tell you any specifics. But I CAN tell you this: If it is determined that I meet all eligibility requirements, I will be accepting a major prize valued at $1,000. And this prize has absolutely nothing to do with a Wii Fit and everything to do with me spending 30 minutes in my yard taking photographs of food and then freaking out in church about the fact that a peace sign and a Mercedes logo look oddly similar and then rushing home to redo the photo shoot in order to eliminate any potential shout-out to the kind folks at Mercedes, and that’s about all I can say.

I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Grandma?

I will say this, with the slight fear of releasing a rattlesnake: A picture is worth a thousand words. And when my prize arrives (if it is determined that I meet all eligibility requirements), I will post a picture.

And now I shall change the subject somewhat drastically. A few days back, Mercy Buttercup, using a popular social media program, announced that she had found The Most Comfortable Nightgown Ever. I took her recommendation to heart (because we own the same Wiggles guitar), and as I type this entry I am wearing The Most Comfortable Nightgown Ever. And now I shall showcase it for you, using my signature America’s Next Top Model pose.

Nightgown

A huge thank you to Mercy Buttercup. Because I’m never taking this thing off. In fact, Jeff just gave me the go-ahead to wear it to Thanksgiving dinner next week. Aces.

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Could you also prescribe some laceweight silk yarn?

This morning I visited my headache specialist to figure out how to eliminate this ridiculous everlasting headache. After we briefly discussed my terrible posture and the fact that I get zero exercise each day (I really am a complete disaster), we had the following conversation.

Headache Specialist: Do you, by any chance, have a Wii?

Me (wanting to cry because No. No, I do not have a Wii!): No. No, I do not have a Wii!

Headache Specialist: The only reason I ask is because the Wii Fit has a good yoga routine, and a lot of my patients have found that it helps with their tension headaches.

Me: Prescribe one for me. Seriously. Will my insurance cover it? Let’s do this.

HS: If you already had a Wii, I’d probably suggest you get a Wii Fit. BUT, I can’t ask you to spend that kind of money on the entire system.

Me: Prescribe it. Do it. Let’s make this happen. I dare you.

HS: I think I’ll give you a muscle relaxer and ask you to get a basic yoga DVD.

Okay. I’ll probably take the muscle relaxers a few times. However, I know myself well enough to know that the DVD will get exactly six days of use. (I tend to lose motivation with exercise DVDs after six attempts. See, I really AM a complete disaster.)

Anyway. Starting tonight? Muscle relaxers and a second attempt at Rodney Yee, who wants to kiss me. (At least that’s what I pretend as he poses himself wearing nothing but leggings.)

(This is the headache talking. I don’t normally beg.) Oh, Nintendo. If I had a Wii Fit, my headaches might be cured! Seriously: You could heal a girl in St. Louis with the mailing of one complimentary game system! Is it time for you to Pay it Forward, Nintendo? Is it? Um, please? How’s this for an incentive: If you send me a Wii/Wii Fit combo, I’ll make a video of myself working out wearing nothing but leggings. (If that’s not an incentive, well, let’s just forget I ever typed that sentence.)

EDITED TO ADD: Jeff just called to express his concern about the muscle relaxers. “Wouldn’t it be weird if it went straight to your bowels? Like, you’re still feeling a bit stiff-necked, and then All of a Sudden! Whoops! What the…?!” So, yeah. Now I’m afraid to leave the house. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Conversations with Jeff

Jeff: Today is the day I make chili. Italian Sausage Esquire Magazine Chili. The only ingredient we need is meat.

Me: Wouldn’t it be weird if we used Sidney?

Jeff: Yeah. That would be weird. Like, “Okay, Folks! The weather guy said it might snow today!” And because there’s a tiny chance that it could perhaps snow, the Puddings go all DEFCON-1 and make chili out of their cat.

Me: And then it doesn’t snow after all, so we pop open a bottle of Fresca and invite the neighbors over.

Jeff: “Hey! Guys! Yoo-Hoo! Hey you over there across the grass from our house over here! You wanna come over? Something is happening! We just made chili out of our CAT, for God’s sake! You gotta get over here and help us eat it!”

Me: “Hey! You thought you hated us because of our Obama bumper stickers?! Scratch that one! WE JUST MADE CHILI OUT OF OUR DAMN CAT!”

Jeff: “The kids LOVED that cat! Heya! Who’s bringing the oyster crackers?! Cat Chili! Ding-a-ding-a-ding!”

(Just so you know: We went to the store and purchased Italian sausage and Pancetta. Sidney is resting comfortably on the couch with no idea that we were planning on eating her for dinner.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

5 Reasons Why I Might Be On Day 10 of a Migraine

1. Coming soon to a public place near you? Harper and The Tantrums!

2. Meredith’s eyes were dilated today. She’s been crying about The Potential for Dilation (my next book title) for nearly a week now. And when I say “crying” I mean that Meredith may or may not be performing with Harper and The Tantrums in a public place near you.

3. I have started 483 more knitting projects, including a mystery shawl (the first clue comes out next week!) named Mystic Ice. Starting Projects coupled with Never Finishing Projects seems to be a seasonal trend for me. I swore I wouldn’t do it this year. But there I went. Oh, 2009. I am sorry.

4. Someone just told me that Christmas is less than six weeks away. And six weeks is too soon! With six weeks to go until Christmas, it almost feels like Christmas is over. Oh, Steve Miller.

5. I’ve eaten too much cheese. It’s just that simple. Specifically, Swiss cheese and mustard sandwiches, often followed by a snack of more Swiss cheese.

I have an appointment at the headache clinic on Monday morning, where the following conversation will surely take place.

Headache Doctor: Have you been doing your exercises?
Me: No.
Headache Doctor: Did you sign up for the yoga class I was telling you about?
Me: No.
Headache Doctor: I hate you for never listening to me. Is this how you treat everyone?!
Me: Wow. I think it is. Will you drill a tiny hole into my head?

Wait. Estonian Lace! Also, Tyrolean Stockings!! Sei Shonagon Pillow!!! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Part of me hopes she suffered a tiny ketchup stain.

Oh, my aching head.
I forgot my PIN, in the
White Castle drive-thru.

So, yeah. They’re like, “Pay.”
And me, with migraine, cannot.
“My brain? Infarcted.”

Four cars behind me.
Drive-thru guy losing patience.
I’m almost crying.

Two eight two one? No!
Eight two one two?! That’s not it!
“I am so sorry.”

“I take credit cards.
You won’t need your PIN for that.”
(I am ninety four.)

I grabbed my Visa
And charged a Chicken Ring Meal.
Sunk to a new low.

And while my mood is still floating foul, let me just say this: When you walk in front of my car to enter White Castle all dressed up in heels and a fancy pants pashmina wrap, you’re just the same as the guy entering White Castle in paint-stained bib overalls and the frazzled woman entering White Castle with the three toddlers—two of whom are crying. In other words, you can stop with the loud “Do they give best-dressed awards at White Castles?! Is THIS what IRONY is?!?!” attempts at humor. That kind of crap will NEVER get a smile from me.

We’re all in this White Castle thing together, lady.

And I have forgotten my PIN number.

So, please hush your “Can people in my tax bracket enter White Castle without exploding?!” talk so I can think. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

NaBloPoMo Day 3: I despise the phrase Super Fling Boogie, Fly Lady.

Our house is not clean. Seriously. (That’s why you haven’t been invited over for dinner or coffee.)

Our house is very small. We have more stuff than storage space for that stuff. And I know we need to either look inside ourselves for some motivation to release Stuff, or else we need one of those television crews to come over and humiliate us into The Disposing of The Stuff.

We have lived here six years, and we haven’t yet hung anything (except for a few photos here and there) on the walls. Our family room carpet is disgusting, and we haven’t yet been able to find the cash to rework it.

With all of that said, I’m supposed to be making a video of our bedroom sometime in the next seven days. I’ll leave it at that, because the ideas stirred up in your imagination are surely more dazzling (and Marvin Gaye-ish) than what is actually taking place.

I’m feeling surprisingly shamefaced.

I guess I just need you to tell me that your place is a dump, too. Or, better yet, motivate me to step away from the kids, the computer, the knitting, the muffins, the whatever, and Beautify. I dream of entering a fresh-smelling house with zero clutter, clean carpets, and kids who eat anything I put on their plate. Right now I’m 0 for 4. (My mother-in-law just returned my copy of Sink Reflections. That stinkin’ bright pink book has been screaming and following me around the house spiderwalk-style for the past 48 hours.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>