Category: Daily

In 2012, Meredith participated in her school’s spelling bee.

In 2013, Meredith participated in her school’s spelling bee.

In 2014, Meredith participated in her school’s spelling bee. (It was her final year to participate, and she won.)

In 2015, Harper participated in her school’s spelling bee and although she did a great job, she didn’t want me to talk about it at Fluid Pudding.

Yesterday morning, Harper once again participated in her school’s spelling bee. Because she is now in the fifth grade, this was her final year to participate.

Harper and Meredith are two very different birds. When Meredith made it into her school spelling bees, she studied her ASS off because she wanted to win. She sat with that list of words every single night and constantly asked us to quiz her on words that were especially tricky. Harper? She was proud that she made it into the bee both years at the new school, but when it was time to study the list she wasn’t into it.

Harper: I just don’t want to be the first person out.

Me: But what if every single other person in the bee is studying like crazy?

Harper: It’s fine.

Things tend to come easily for Harper. She tested into the gifted program in kindergarten, which is the year she wrote a poem that was published in the school’s literary magazine. (She was able to read it at a reception honoring the contributors, and if you follow this link you can watch the reading. (Please know that I’m unable to watch that video without clutching my chest. (My mammogram was normal, by the way.))) Harp is currently the student council president at the new school. She tutors. She sings in the choir. She’s funny and she’s an extremely loyal friend. She doesn’t stress herself out for things like piano recitals and spelling bees, because honestly? I think she knows that in the scheme of things, it’s just sort of cool to be there. (Harper has taught me a lot. Harper continues to teach me.)

Anyway, Harper made it through 15 rounds in yesterday’s spelling bee before she was taken out by Mazel Tov. At that point, 5 of the 21 spellers remained. (I think the bee went 20 rounds before the boy who won last year won again.)

Woman Next To Me: Mazel tov? That’s a really tricky one!
Me: Not if you’re Jewish!
Me: We’re not Jewish.
Me: We go to a UCC church, but I’m a Baptist/UCC blend.
Me: Oh. I guess the bee is still happening. Thank you!
Me (to myself): Thank you? Why am I like this?

When I picked Meredith up from school, I told her that Harper made it through Round 15 before Mazel Tov did her in.

Meredith: When she gets home, I’m going to say “15 rounds is an awesome accomplishment! Mazel tov!”
Me: Don’t. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If you’ve been with me for a bit, you know that I’ve been a little floopy lately with nose hoops and yoga and meditation and breathing and cat adoptions and power greens. (A side effect of my migraine preventative is impulsivity. So far, my impulses have led me toward more good than evil (also more olive oil than canola), which I believe is a natural inclination for me. I haven’t had a dead guy in my trunk for nearly two decades. (At this moment in time, my trunk is filled with old magazines and hot sauce, so I don’t really have room for People Who Need To Hide/Be Hidden.))

Bob Dylan once said, “Act the way you’d like to be and soon you’ll be the way you’d like to act.” Several other people have said similar things. Hell, before I even read the Dylan quote I used to try to dress like Amélie with the hope that I would eventually BECOME Amélie. Just forget the Dylan quote. (Don’t really forget it. Unless you want to. I’m not your boss.)

In November of last year, a good friend of mine sent this to me and it resonated:

I’ve probably read that quote at least 50 times in the past two months and I love it because it seems to expand on something I read several months back that asked: How different would life be if we focused on all of our senses the same way we focus on the sense of taste? Also, if I protect my time and keep good sentences in my ears will I eventually become the natural fiber wearing drama free relaxed motivator that I want to be? (What I want to be is begging for some hyphens, but I’m okay without for now.) I WANT to be a good steward of my gifts after I determine what my gifts are. I NEED to avoid too much noise.

I feel like I’m all over the place right now. Let’s just slow down a little and hang out in Tuesday for a bit.

On Tuesday morning I met up with a friend for a yoga session at a church and it looked a little something like this:

It was peaceful and perfect and it was exactly where I needed to be on Tuesday morning. Afterwards, despite the below freezing temperatures, we walked a nearby labyrinth.

(My friend is a photographer. The friend who shared the Kenyon quote is also a photographer. Both are talented and authentic and I really love knowing the people I know. You’re one of those people, you know.)

While walking the labyrinth I thought about David Bowie (obviously) and I thought about a friend whose husband recently died and I thought about how I could see my breath and how much things have changed (for everyone) in the past three years.

After the labyrinth, we enjoyed lunch at The Hot Pot where my friend told me about her chosen word for 2016. Every year she (and every member of her family) chooses a word for guidance through the next 365 days. The word she chose for 2015 was what led to us hanging out and becoming friends nearly a year ago. I won’t share her words because they’re her words, but I will say that I went home that afternoon completely jazzed about choosing a word for myself (or two words, and the reason I say “or two words” is because I chose two words. There are no rules!).

My primary word for 2016?
Release.

My secondary word for 2016?
Inspire.

This year I’m going to focus on letting things go. Grudges. Toxic relationships. Guilt. Stress about things that aren’t under my control. Anything I might do that could harm someone or something. Anything I might do to harm myself.

I’m also going to focus on lifting others up and to control my tendency to sit back and watch.

The combination of releasing and inspiring also connotes exhalation and inhalation.

I own seven pairs of Birkenstocks and I’m trying really hard to not use the word Journey.

What will your 2016 word be? (My tertiary word is Burrito.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

1. All About My Mammogram

I had my annual mammogram appointment on Monday. (If you’ve never had one, I explain the entire process over here.) Anyway, my past two mammograms were abnormal which led to more scrutiny before I could receive my final Nice Chest! certificate to hang in the foyer. In other words, the dénouements of Cancer Scare 2014 and Cancer Scare 2015 were as anti-climactic as Y2K. (Thank God.) BUT, that isn’t stopping me from feeling a bit restless in 2016. I should have a letter in ten days.

As I sat in the mammogram waiting room, a woman entered the office and said the following to the receptionist:
“Hi. My mammogram appointment is scheduled for next week, but I was in the area, so I thought I would go ahead and have it done today.”

Receptionist: So, you don’t have an appointment scheduled for today?
Woman: No. My appointment is next week. BUT, I want it rescheduled for today.
Receptionist: Are you having any problems?
Woman: No. But like I said, I was in the area, so today would be better for me.

Believe it or not, they worked her in. They were booked solid, yet they worked her in and I still don’t know if I should hiss or cheer. (My grandma used to show up for appointments a few hours early with the hope that she could be worked in. This woman took Grandma to a whole new level.)

2. All About My Hair

This morning I had a haircut appointment at 9:30. For the first time in ages I took in a Dreamy Hair photo, which was sent to me by a woman who once shaved some triangles into the side of my head and then allowed me to amble around in a tiger suit. I trust her completely, even though I wasn’t allowed to attend my Uncle Ray’s funeral because of the triangles.

When I asked my tress artist (I just made that up) how long it would take to achieve the hair in the photo, she told me that I could have it in March if I was able to chill out and let it grow. This afternoon I will cast on a bright green beret to take me through the awkward stages. My next haircut is scheduled for March 5, which is 58 days away. To give myself something else on which to focus, I’ve reinserted my nose hoop and am attending yoga camp.

3. All About Yoga Camp

My headache doctor will not shoot botox into my shoulders, and although she’s cool with occasional massages she thinks I’m goofy for choosing passivity for headache relief. (Yep. I’m still getting headaches. They aren’t horrible or frequent, but they’re still there.) Anyway, she remembered that we had talked about yoga several times in the past and she mentioned how she wishes I would take her advice. Then (THEN) she said, “Instead of a six month follow-up, I want you to come back in THREE months, and all we’re going to talk about is how much you are enjoying YOGA, damnit!” (I added the damnit, but I do believe it was implied.)

Anyway, because just enough people have mentioned Yoga With Adriene, I went over to her site and noticed that she was starting up a 30 day yoga camp on January 1. I’m in. Not only am I in, but I’m loving it, mainly because I really dig Adriene’s style which is very much “do what feels right” and absolutely no “your heels MUST touch the floor.” I now know enough about yoga (and myself) to know that I really hate downward dog, I really love child’s pose, and I really kick ass at lion’s breath.

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I once spent New Year’s Eve watching Rattle and Hum with my sister during a snowstorm.
I once spent it eating turkey with my hands on the roof of a rented house. (My whole body was on the roof. Sometimes sentences are tricky!)
I once spent it getting dumped. That sucked.

This year I spent it hanging out with a cheap pair of fake fingernails.

Purchased at Target because I knew I had nothing going on for the next twelve hours as Harper was going to a friend’s house and Meredith was sick, it didn’t take long to figure out that these nails were going to transform me into the pretend host of a pretend television show titled Nailing It!

(Confession: Sometimes when I’m cooking and no one is around, I narrate my actions as if I’m Bobby Flay or Ree Drummond. By doing this, I’ve come to realize that these guys don’t just cook. They spin yarns. And so do I, but more literally than figuratively. Being a TV host is tricky, and that’s why I prefer a keyboard to eyeliner.)

Here are my big fake nails (BFNs) Nailing It! on the tablecloth that my sister made.

Here are my BFNs Nailing It! at pretending to receive a box that was given to us by Jeff’s mom. (It held tickets to Newsies!)

BFNs can pet a dog! Nailing It!

BFNs can hang out on my fleece snowflake pajama pants! Nailing It!

BFNs don’t care that yet another person from my high school unfriended me on Facebook, because BFNs are Nailing It! while watching Going Deep with David Rees!

(BFNs know that when someone unfriends you, it just means that you are making your views known and it’s making someone uncomfortable and they don’t value individual differences the same way you do. In other words, you’re supporting Bernie Sanders and you’re Nailing It! Mostly! Also, you’re drinking Nighty Night tea in a Vegas mug! Nailing It!)

The BFNs were trimmed and destroyed on the morning of January 1, 2016. However, I am still Nailing It! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Christmas 2015 goes down as one of my favorites. Sure, we ended up having to miss one of the family parties and my migraine meds are still lost in the mail and Harper’s “big gift” didn’t arrive so I had to brave the crowds on Christmas Eve morning to actually enter a store and it has been raining for the past three days and Henry was sick on the night of Christmas Eve so I had to skip the candlelight singing of Silent Night at church, BUT: everyone was in a great mood and I think my anti-anxiety pills are making me a better person and this stuff:

It’s Brussels sprouts and butternut squash and pecans and cranberries and maple syrup and I’ve been eating it for three days and although my digestive system is starting to wave a white flag, I’m not quite ready to say goodbye.

Harper gave me a great set of colored pencils this year and Meredith gave me the chicken cookie jar that I love. (We’ve decided to not stuff the chicken with cookies. Instead, we’re stuffing it with notecards that have recipes or restaurant names written on them. When we’re feeling hopeless about dinner, we’ll “Go to the chicken.” When a random card is drawn, no one gets to complain. Go To The Chicken!)

2015 was one of my better years. Sure, if you sit it next to Kanye West’s 2015, my 2015 was crap. BUT, if you sit it next to my 2014? 2015 sparkled!

Why did 2015 sparkle?

4. I rode a horse. I thought I wouldn’t make it from the trail back to the car and I had trouble walking for a few days, but: I climbed onto Luke and let him carry me through the mud and at one point we actually galloped.

3. Cats! We adopted some! Chip and Graham still haven’t met the dogs, but they’re cool with that. For now, they’re just hanging out upstairs knocking lotion off of tables and attacking our feet as we attempt to saw logs.

2. I worked with a health coach to change my relationship with food, and change it I did. I’m still down 20 pounds from May, and a few days back I purchased jeans in a size that makes me wonder if the jeans were mislabeled. Although using the phrase “my body” makes me cringe (it’s in a list with the following words: bottom, cream, bubblegum): my body finally looks and feels healthy. (Healthy for me. If a Victoria’s Secret Angel (???) (!!!) had my body, they would not be allowed to walk around in their underpants for pay. Lucky for me, I’m not in a position where I HAVE to walk around in my underpants for pay. Poor angels.)

((A friend of mine made this for me, and she believes that the words on the bracelet describe me, and I’m still completely floored by this. We should all have nice adjective bracelets, don’t you think?))

1. On October 29th, I had a conversation with a friend that changed everything. It’s a personal matter, and it falls within the 17% of my life that I don’t share over here, but: I’m no longer struggling to get something back that I had in 1983. (This has nothing to do with Jordache jeans and everything to do with the happiness that comes from making other people happy. This has nothing to do with walking around in my underpants with feathered wings and everything to do with, well, Jesus.) ((15 of you just rolled your eyes. That’s okay.))

This is what I would look like if the world suddenly cookiefied.

As far as 2016 goes, I’m planning on continuing to do what I do, which is everything that’s listed on the back of this shirt. (I really need to get the shirt. If I’m going to continue with pre-shrunk cotton advertising of what I believe in (Mizzou, Bernie, Black Lives Matter, etc.), this shirt mentions just about everything that’s important to me.) Now. Let’s get out there and sign up for Yoga Camp and be sane and realistic about who we want to be our next president. Eat more vegetables. Read good books. Take care of yourself and others during The Week Between (and beyond).

(The song starts at 1:30, and I love it.)

I’ll see you next year. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Although I intended to have all of my Christmas stuff taken care of well before the holiday arrived, I’ve once again failed. It’s not a big deal, because Christmas will happen regardless of my (in)ability to hit everything on the list. (I just had a long talk with my mail lady, and she told me that she often asks herself if she’s doing something because it has to be done or if she’s doing it just to get a pat on the back. If it’s a back-patter it can be skipped to give more time to the necessary things. In other words, sometime between now and Thursday, I need to go to the grocery store. Also, sometime between now and tomorrow the mail lady needs to deliver my migraine pills because right now I have only one to get me through the holidays. The End.)

These guys. Dear Lord. They run around and play all night and it’s ridiculous and adorable. Keepers, for sure.

I’ve missed hearing the sound of a cat jumping from the bed to the floor. I haven’t really missed the whole litter box thing, but sometimes I have to do things I’m not really into like chopping a bunch of apples for a weird salad or shaving my knees.

Just in case I’m not back before Christmas, I hope you have a good one and that you’re able to sing or hear Silent Night in German.

Wait.

Just in case.

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Our adoption application was approved, meaning Graham Cracker and Chocolate Chip Cookie now have last names. They’re moving in tomorrow and I’m nesting like an ostrich, meaning I’m unpredictable with a goofy face and sheepish tendencies and could probably kick a hyena to its death if I tried (not that I ever would).

Today is a day for baking and cleaning and finding the litter box and filling it with litter and taking Meredith to the orthodontist and picking up the audiobook version of Avenue of Mysteries at the library (I’ve been reading the book for over a month, and I’m less than halfway in. Time to turn it on in the car so I can finish it before the end of the year, because I have reading plans for 2016!) and winding down at Harper’s choir concert where I hope to sit on the edge of a row because I have my reasons.

The tenth and final Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert went live yesterday, and my entry is way long. Also, my piano is in need of a tuning and several small repairs. (Three of the keys won’t play unless I bang them, which introduces a Pop Goes the Weasel feel when I’m not trying for that vibe at all.) Also, I will go to my grave making excuses as to why things that I’ve done are not as good as I wish they were. (I really need to start journaling my journey. Journaling My Journey is a phrase that provides a similar mouth dance as the word Tiddlywinks.)

Here. (Wait. Turn your sound down.) ((If you don’t have time to deal with this, just start the video at 2:45.))

What I was TRYING to do was be all “CHRISTMAS! In your FACE!!! Bustle and deck halls and cuss a little and don’t even THINK about what Christmas is about!!! But wait! The world is having cycles of suck right now, and just imagine (IMAGINE) what would happen if we could all just be peaceful and NICE to each other (and to ourselves). Okay then. Look up at the sky. Now go to bed.”

One week from today is Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is my favorite, but you know what? Today’s not so bad. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Yesterday morning I went to the grocery store to load up on sweet potatoes and lunch supplies. (You needed to know.) Afterwards, I went to a different grocery store because Meredith prefers pear sauce to apple sauce and not all of the stores carry pear sauce. (The story just keeps getting better.) After that, I went to the pet store because our dogs have blasted through yet another 33 pound bag of food. (Because dogs eat.)

When I walk through the pet store, I always stop and talk to the adoptable cats for a few minutes because I like to whisper hopeful messages to living things who spend time in tiny cages. (I suppose that’s not exactly true. I’ve never visited a prison. With that said, I would like to put out some hopeful messages to Adnan Syed, but that’s a whole other bag of different colored horseworms.)

All four slots were filled with cats, and it broke my heart, as my heart is easily broken.

Me (to Toby): You’ve been here way too long. I just know you’re going to find a home soon. You’re so smart!

Me (to Gingersnap): You have an odd name for a boy cat, but the fact that I’m saying that says more about ME than it does about you! I hope you’re able to wake up in a house on Christmas morning. You’re so sweet!

Me (to Graham and Chip): Hey. Whoa. This might sound weird, but I think you are meant to be my sons.

I put my hand close to their window and BOTH CATS REACHED THROUGH THE HOLES TO TOUCH ME.

I immediately texted my patient, kind, not envious, not boastful, not proud, et cetera husband.

Yesterday afternoon I called the rescue agency and left a message to ask if Chip and Graham are cool with dogs.

At 8:30 last night as we drove home from the band concert, Meredith announced that she was craving a baguette from Panera. As we made our way into the Panera lot, I picked up a message from the woman at the rescue agency telling me that she was at the pet store and that I could call her back.

The pet store shares a parking lot with Panera, and some things are just meant to be.

We went to the pet store. We met the woman from the rescue agency and told her all about Sidney and Ramona and how we think they were poisoned by the formaldehyde in our new carpeting. We told her that Ramona had died a year ago, so we were starting to have the conversation about adopting another cat. We told her that we would keep Chip and Graham together. She opened the door to their cage so we could interact with them. Meredith fell in love with Graham. Harper fell in love with Chip. (We found out that Toby was adopted yesterday!)

This is what I know: Chip and Graham were living in a house with a number of other cats when the owner died unexpectedly. The cats were all taken to the pound. Chip and Graham were selected to spend a semester in a vet tech school, where they did very well.

In other words, Chip and Graham are homeless kids who persevered and went on to college.

This morning I filled out the forms so that we can foster them before finalizing an adoption, and I’m going to pitch this entire story to the Hallmark Channel because they haven’t released anything decent since A Cookie Cutter Christmas. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I made moonbeam cookies and then I donated the heck out of them because they’re better than a baked sweet potato. Earlier this week I made ginger molasses cookies, and I sent most of them off to a friend because: 1. She was craving them, and 2. They were also entirely too good.

I made a bunch of cards with quotes that I liked and while making the cards I realized how much I like making cards.

I had a hoop installed in my nose and both of my kids hated it and I took it for a trial run this morning at a Breakfast With Santa event, and I felt like everyone was staring at my nose, so I came home and put the blue opal back in. My ego is a self-conscious jackass who constantly slaps me and tells me that I can’t be who I want to be, and who I want to be right now is a card maker with a hoop in her nose.

Back to Breakfast With Santa. Before we moved into this school district, I was one of those moms who helped out in the classroom and held a PTO office and attended (and helped with) nearly every event at the school. I loved the school, I loved the teachers and staff, and I loved the students. When we moved into this school district, my volunteer spirit went from 10 to 0. I haven’t attended a meeting or party. I haven’t volunteered or helped with any field trips. I’ve become the sort of parent that I used to resent at the other school.

Last week I took a deep breath and put the word out that I was willing to help at this morning’s Breakfast With Santa. The woman organizing the event has become a good friend of mine, and she placed me exactly where I needed to be: In the cafeteria with a rag and cleaning spray. My job? To wipe down tables and benches when people were finished with their pancakes. I put on a goofy shirt and a smile and prayed for my Celexa to ward off my fear of people.

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Although I often feel the need to run to a sink at the mere THOUGHT of touching something sticky, I did fine in the cafeteria until this happened.

Some tall bald guy dressed as Dieter from Sprockets was there with something like 82 kids. (There may have been only four, but they were noisy and fast.) One of the kids was ripping his Styrofoam cup into tiny (TINY) pieces, throwing them into a pile of syrup, and then wiping them onto the bench and the floor.

The kid’s sister: Hey! You need to clean that up!

Tall Bald Guy (LOOKING RIGHT AT ME): No he doesn’t. The clean-up crew is right here.

Me (wishing I had the nerve to say): Are you shitting me right now?

Me (with a rag in my hand, a raised eyebrow, and a feeling of frogginess): Yep!

Twenty minutes later, Tall Bald Guy brought all 82 kids back in for another round of pancakes and because I wasn’t thrilled to see him, I detained him using reasonable force until the police arrived which is slang for “I rolled my eyes into the back of my head and once again wiped up their syrupy mess when they were done.”

All of this to say: The Celexa seems to be working, although I’m still ruffled by approximately 7% of people. Also, the tables and benches in that school are currently sparkling and I’m back home getting ready to dive into a baked sweet potato. Figuratively. I hope your weekend is a good one.
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Yesterday morning I went to the ophthalmologist for my annual exam, and we discovered that my enigmaticy has spread to my eyes. (Is there no noun form of enigmatic? Do I really need to rewrite the English language to include the words I sometimes use, or do I just need to start using real words? Saying that my enigma has spread to my eyes sounds like I have a problem. I have 99 problems, but an eye enigma ain’t one.) Anyway, I’m 45 years old and my vision is improving which probably means that it’s only a matter of time before I can see what you’re thinking.

Is my vision improving because I sold my soul so that the painting of me in our attic can age as I continue to indulge in libertine impulses? Probably not. Is it because I switched things up at the intersection of Food Street and Peace of Mind Avenue? Probably? Maybe? Let’s say yes.

This has nothing to do with that: A few years back, Jeff had to drive me to the hospital because I thought I was suffering from gastric dilatation-volvulus, which is something that mainly affects dogs, but never say never! Anyway, I left the hospital (against medical advice!) a few hours later after having the following conversation with the emergency department nurse.

Nurse: Can you tell me what you ate today?
Me: For breakfast I had corn on the cob. Lunch was corn on the cob again, but on a spinach salad. For dinner I was feeling off, so I just had some popcorn.

Once I verbalized my food, I realized that I had spent the day eating like a factory-farmed cow while living less than five miles away from Monsanto! I went home to ride out the storm, thereby saving us millions of dollars in hospital fees.

Yesterday after having my eyes dilated, I drove home (CAREFULLY! SQUINTING!) and had some coffee. I then fixed myself a huge bowl of roasted Brussels sprouts. I washed it down with more coffee. Three hours later as I drove Meredith home from school, I wondered if eating razor blades would have been less painful than flushing my innards with a Coffee-Brussels Sprouts-Coffee cocktail. Some lessons are learned in the most memorable ways because those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>