When I pick Harper up at pre-school each day at 11:30, I sometimes get there early enough to see Meredith at recess. (One of my very favorite things to do is park the car, listen to a little This American Life, and watch Meredith running around with her friends. Sometimes I have hot tea with me. It really doesn’t get much better than that, does it?)
This morning as the kindergarten kids lined up for the walk back to the building, I noticed a plastic bag blowing around on the sidewalk. As the kids passed the bag, many of them jumped over it. A few kicked it. Meredith picked it up and tried to hand it to the recess monitor.
Before I go any further, please know that although her room is a complete disaster, Meredith is very sensitive to litter. Together, we’ve picked up quite a few discarded cups and cans out of parking lots. I stop short at the scraping up of dead birds, but it’s only because I never have a spatula handy, and I’m a big believer in the circle of life and whatnot. (I’m also a big believer in Avian Influenza, so the No Spatula thing is really more of a decision than an inconvenience. Don’t tell Meredith.)
I’m not sure what Meredith said as she tried to hand the bag over to the recess monitor, but I could hear the monitor’s yell through my closed car window. “Throw that down!”
Meredith said something else.
“No! Just let go of it!”
Meredith looked crushed as she put the bag back down onto the sidewalk—being “forced” to litter by an authority figure.
After Meredith entered the building, I got out of the car, picked up the bag, and walked it over to the trash can—the trash can that the recess monitor had to pass by in order to enter the building with the kindergarten kids.
Tonight I’ll be teaching Meredith about civil disobedience and the importance of doing the right thing—even at the cost of respectfully disobeying an authority figure.
Sometimes the mom thing is really hard.
With that said, sometimes it’s really easy. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
As you know, we did the Parent/Teacher conference last week.
Harper’s report stated that she represents feelings and ideas in a variety of ways.
She shows confidence and takes initiative.
She responds to sensory input to function in the environment.
Yesterday, when I asked Harper what she learned in school, she handed this to me:
Apparently, “responds to sensory input to function in the environment” is fancy for “totally relates to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I have totally sucked at checking in over the past few months. You know how everyone says that your cells change every seven years and it makes your hair change and your skin change and Oh! So Much Change!? After hitting the seven year mark with Fluid Pudding, I almost feel like my motivations are changing.
(I’m not quitting, nor am I having a Jeff Buckley moment. Bear with me.)
Let’s see. The past week was a good one.
I finished Delphine, and then I went outside and got all frowny faced!
And, to that person who never misses an opportunity to say “You have jowls!” or “Getting wide there, Pudding!”, please know that it’s still winter! Also, I’m (perpetually) working on it!
After finishing Delphine, I went all knitting crazy and finished a hat for the shop:
(It’s the March project for our Yarn Over EZ program, which is an entire year devoted to working through Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Knitter’s Almanac. I’m sort of taking charge of the March thing, which makes me feel the need to get my eyebrows done or something.)
Anyway. That’s it for knitting.
We had parent/teacher conferences this week, and as always, I stressed out entirely too much over what to wear and what to say and how to express my disenchanted state with that whole screening thing they did on Harper a few months back, and I ended up not approaching it at all, which is quite a shame, because I really enjoy using the word Disenchanted. (To me, it’s a glittery word. Specifically, blue glitter.) Long story short: The girls are doing Just Fine, and they’re well-respected amongst their peers, and I wore a long-sleeved gray t-shirt with a silky scarf thing plus jeans if you’re wondering, and I really love the girls’ school and their teachers and the fact that there are no Issues other than the fact that Harper will occasionally refuse to eat a vegetable snack. Things are good, and that is great.
The Girl Scout cookies are in. And because of that, I actually worked out today to try to avoid the “My butt looks like two giant Tagalongs” thing. Why do I suddenly feel that it’s okay to eat an entire box of cookies in one sitting? I’ve done this every day for the past three days. First up? Lemon Chalet Cremes. Second? Tagalongs. Today? Samoas. Am I depressed? Is it once again time to hit the Weight Watchers meetings? Am I depressed? Wait. Am I repeating myself?! (I must be depressed. Time to pull out the The Polyphonic Spree albums! Or not.)
Finally, the final paragraph! (I’m that friend you never see but it’s okay because when you DO see her she just rambles on and on about herself and it’s really more exhausting than interesting, isn’t it?) Anyway, onto God. (It seems logical, no?) As you know, we’ve been on a fairly hard core church search for the past few years. About six months ago, we found Our Place. And it’s a slightly different denomination than what I’m accustomed to (I was raised Southern Baptist) with a few different traditions and different ways of thinking and so forth. Anyway, the Lent thing came up, and I’ve never really done the Lent thing before. SO, last week I said, “Okay. I’m going to give up meat to the 100% level, and also give up buying yarn. If I fail on one, I’ll be sure to succeed on the other. Ready, set, go.” This morning, the minister didn’t stress the giving up of Things as much as he stressed the importance of taking Time over the next forty days. Time to reflect and time to enjoy the moment and time for silence and time for preparation and renewal and so forth. So anyway, I left church feeling refreshed that I don’t have to fret over silly things like bacon or not having enough time to knit that baby sweater if I can’t even purchase the yarn until April. Instead, I’m going to take Time! (And I’m going back and forth about trying to write here every day until Easter just to share my Time with you. And I know it sounds like I’m just about to break into some weird Cowboy Junkies-like version of Amazing Grace or Turn, Turn, Turn or something. Bear with me. I’m wearing eyeliner, and my lids might just be sparkling.)
I can’t get enough of the following song. And I’m not sure how that makes me feel. (Full disclosure: I do a really awkward (because there’s really no other way for me) dance every time I hear the song. The dance involves quite a bit of tip-toeing and head nodding. You will never see the dance.)
Six hours have passed since you came to visit, and I’m feeling sort of awkward about being such a time suck. Can I get you a drink or something? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
“Ah. It’s sort of delightful to be sitting in front of someone who can actually sing. I need to see who she is and try to sit in front of her more often. O splendor of God’s glory bright la la la la la la la laaaaaaah… Oh. Wait. Who just poked me in the eyeball with a butter knife?”
“Yeesh. Okay. It’s not so delightful when she starts hitting those notes above B-flat. Settle down there, Liza. Liza? SETTLE DOWN. You’re HURTING me.”
“I’ve never been this annoyed by the opening prayer before. Does the woman behind me think she’s the only person reading this thing out loud?! Pipe down there, Boasty!”
“Weave, weave, weave us together. Weave us together and temporarily numb her laaaaaar-ynx. Oh. Wait. I think I’m about to throw up. Yep.”
“Tracers! Tracers!”
“Jeff, I’m afraid it’s going to be Colonel Pudding in the Church of Christ with a Candlestick if she doesn’t stop screeching EVERY NOTE ABOVE B-FLAT. I think I need to go out to the car. No. I’ll wait. No. I need to go. I’ll wait. I’m out of here. No, I’ll wait.”
“That’s it. Don’t anyone look at me or talk to me or offer me a hand of friendship. You see, I believe Satan is chewing on the inside of my head. Right behind my right eye. And that birthday cake in the fellowship hall? Oh, man. I’m going to throw up. Why is this church spinning?!”
(I’m much better today. High five, Maxalt!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
So, last weekend got completely crazy and we ended up NOT getting Scruffy. We DID, however, get runny noses, a fever, and a cough that still isn’t completely gone, so we have that going for us. (Scruffy is still there. I still check on her every day. The only problem is that she is classified as Medium-Haired, which means I would either have to go back on the Zyrtec (or the booze) if we welcomed her into our home. Believe me, we’re weighing options and making pro/con lists and I actually got my Xanax prescription refilled today for the first time in 18 months, and that’s sort of a monkey of a different color, but I’m coming completely clean with you right now. And I don’t think I necessarily need Xanax, because going through 24 pills in 18 months doesn’t really classify me as needy, but it’s nice to have them around. Like a funny cousin you get to see only once or twice a year. Or a special cake you eat only at funerals or something.)
I’ve been really REEEEEEEALLY irritable over the past week or so, too. And for the first time in a LONG time, I’m going to sort of censor myself, because the folks with whom I’m irritated actually know about Fluid Pudding. (Have I ever told you that no one in my extended family knows about this site? Why is that? Why do I feel like Fluid Pudding has to be a private thing? It’s not like I really get all puhrivate over here, do I? No. I really don’t. I don’t think my secrets would interest you in the least.) Anyway, I’m in one of those moods where I sort of want to jump in the car and drive east or west (or north or south) for a few hours, check into a cute (or not so cute, really) place with a blanketed bed and knit, read, jot silly things into a big fat notebook, and sleep my weekend away. I will leave my dwellings for yarn stores and pecan pie hunts. I might even wear sneakers. I will definitely wear a hat in lieu of hygiene. Sounds dreamy, no?
Good News: Next week I’ll have a finished sweater for you. It’s my Delphine! AND, I actually know enough about knitting now that I was able to spot an error in the pattern. And this excited me in the same way that I get excited when I find a misspelling in a novel. (And, yes. I submitted the error and the author is sending it on to a tech editor, and I’m now only three degrees of separation away from H.L. Mencken.)
When I was in high school, I set a goal of learning to play all 27 Chopin études. To date, I can (just barely) play two of them. Last night I broke down and purchased the études on iTunes. It felt like I was closing a chapter, and as a result I’m feeling a bit mopish.
Yesterday afternoon you probably felt a slight shift in the universal barometric pressure. I apologize for that. It’s just that I finally came to grips with the idea that we’re going to adopt another cat soon, and the cat I’m feeling some sisterhood with is Scruffy.
Sadly, I have to work today, and I doubt Scruffy will still be available tomorrow. Nevertheless, it’s kitten time.
I really hate when people use the word Whirlwind to describe how their week has gone. With that said, the past week has been mighty sprightful. Today is Meredith’s kindergarten Valentine’s Day party, and because I’m still suffering from that whole No One Will Call Me Back thing, Jeff is having to take time off of work to help me with the party. (Big sarcastic and passive-aggressive Thank You shout out to all of those moms who filled out the forms saying they would love to attend all parties and provide party favors and “Just call me! I’ll be there!” and whatnot.) I could go on and on about courtesy and whatever, but I’m afraid I would once again start puking tired phrases like “dying art” and yikes. I’m really trying to be better than that.
Because I’m feeling overly ambitious, today’s party will include a banana split bar. I used to work at Baskin-Robbins, you see, and one of my greatest talents is The Ability to Cut a Banana Without Actually Touching the Edible Part. Someday I’ll make a video for you, and I’ll even dress up for that video, because when I’m slicing and dividing bananas, I feel like one of those tuxedoed and amazing card dealers on Super Poker Blowout. (That’s not an actual show. But you get the idea.) I hope to stun and mesmerize-to-the-point-of-temporary-debilitation the kindergarteners with my banana-slicing talent. Keep your fingers crossed.
You would not believe how quickly I’m typing right now. It’s just that I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages, and pretty soon I have to leave to pick up Harper, and how are you? I’ve missed you.
Speaking of Harper, yesterday she ate a heart-shaped sucker, and I melted all over her, and after I resolidified I took a photograph and then I did that annoying thing where I pretend to be an artist just because I shelled out the yearly Picnik fee on Flickr last summer.
Let’s see. What else? Last week my family was presented with something that I would normally refer to as An Embarrassment of Riches, but man! I’m really trying to become original in 2009. Anyway, we are now the proud owners of Guitar Hero World Tour. In other words, this is my final blog entry, as I am now dropping everything to crystallize my dream of becoming the world’s greatest pretend drummer. Oh! What’s that? Pretend writer is more respectable than pretend drummer? I hear you, but I have no idea what you’re saying. Please know that when it comes to drumming along with 311 tunes, I’m completely insufferable. However, by the end of the tune, my face hurts from smiling so much. This is a good thing.
My knitting group is meeting for dinner before knitting tonight, and I can’t even tell you how excited I am.
Tomorrow is the eighth anniversary of Jeff’s proposal. And I know you don’t care, but it’s honestly one of my favorite days of the year. (My archives are out. Please know that the evening of the proposal included a dishonest death-defiance, me angrily hurling couscous down the sink, a down-on-the-knee thing over tiramisu, and a woman sending us a sort of crappy (but much appreciated) bottle of wine.)
I hope you’re doing well out there. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I think you all know me pretty well by now. So, you know that I sort of wish I was a dainty French girl, right? I love Amélie, I eat at least one biscotti per week, one of my favorite meals is champagne and French toast (I just made that up, although I did have it once and really enjoyed it), and I’m very happy to report that Gérard Depardieu is still alive. (Gérard Depardieu, Eddie Rabbitt, Kenny Loggins, Louie Anderson. All of these people are dead to me for some reason. In fact, I couldn’t point out the actual dead ones if I tried.)
Anyway, I’m going to approach knitting a bit differently in 2009. In an attempt to stomp out my capricious knitterly ways, I’m making myself finish something before I can start something else. A few days back, I purchased French Girl Knits, and holy crap how I fell in love with Delphine. In fact, I fell So Hard for Delphine that I stayed up late on Monday night to finish my Versatility—a project that has been going on and on (and on) for nearly three months. Here I am, smelling like French Vogue in my Versatility:
Here I am, showing you how much I look like a Wii character in my Versatility:
Meredith has told me that I’m not allowed to wear my Versatility to school. Apparently, she hates bobbles and cannot appreciate the fact that I am sometimes Juliette Binoche.
Tonight I shall choose my yarn for Delphine. It’s a stinking CORSET, people. And because it’s a corset, I have once again kicked off the Weight Watchers Core Plan. (I’m down three pounds in three days, and I’m the crabbiest girl this side of the Mississippi. I’m snacking on apples, and that is NOT how I like to live.)
It’s all for you, my sweet Delphine. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Me: So, it appears that I have sort of let Fluid Pudding go these past few weeks.
Jeff: Huh.
Me: I got a new phone. Does anyone want to hear about it?
Jeff: It’s The Facebook Effect.
Me: I have no idea what you’re saying.
Jeff: You told your Facebook friends that you got a new phone. You went on for two sentences or so, and then you ran out of characters.
Me: Yikes. I’m running out of character and losing my ability to elaborate. Rattlesnakes are eating their way through my saucy shoes!
As soon as I hit the Publish button over there to my right, I’m going to high five myself and go Facebook-free for a week. It’s like my own little social experiment! Focus shifting and prioritization and sparking and let’s see what happens! LET’S SEE IF I GET POKED!
Oh. I finished a few knitting projects and am starting a new one on Thursday. Do you want to hear about it, or should I save it for Facebook? I have knitting goals, people! And that sounds really crazy to 43.9% of you.
I’m almost forty years old. (Technically, I’m almost almost forty.) I don’t think I have enough cheese to feed Fluid Pudding, Twitter, and Facebook. Are any of you worn out? Are you knitting? What sort of cheese do you prefer? Is anyone else robbing Peter to pay Paul?!?! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
In less than an hour I will be jumping into the old Nissan and driving thirty miles south to have dinner and drinks with some friends I haven’t seen in over twenty years.
Dear Facebook,
You are crazy.
Love, Angela Pudding
I always accept these invitations with a fist to the sky and a big bucket of “Hell, Yeah!”
THEN, as time goes by, I begin to waver and my brain kicks into Sniffling Excuse Mode.
“Hmm. My eye sure has been twitching lately. Perhaps this whole dinner/drink thing isn’t the best idea!”
“Wait. Was that a cramp? Is it a good idea to drink a margarita while ovulating? I better put my robe back on! Pass the lentil soup.”
And so on.
Thirty minutes ago I stepped out of my mind and into my cocksure shoes.
I know. Your cocksure shoes probably have a spikier heel. Please remember that my Stumble and Fall Incident List is a bit longer than yours.
Wish me luck and salty guacamole. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
