Daily Archives : Page 69 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. I ran all night and day. Couldn’t get away.

Hello there.

It looks like I’ve been away for nine days, hasn’t it?

Using what I’ve written in my calendar as a guide, I shall now fill you in on what you missed during the past nine days.

I printed some reports for a meeting. I then made copies of those reports and took them to the meeting, where I was once again elected into an officer position. I wore orange and did not have a drink after the meeting.

I attended a different meeting at church. At that meeting, I volunteered to drive to a train station and take a photograph of a sign. I drove to that station, but didn’t see the sign. (I often don’t see the signs.) Luckily, I *did* find a place to purchase a coffee. In other words, the trip was not a wasted one. (Warning: The pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks is NOT vegan—even if ordered with soy milk. The pumpkin syrup has condensed nonfat milk in it. You’re welcome.) ((And another thing: Meredith has now been mostly dairy-free for nearly a month. As a result, she has weaned herself off of Prilosec and is having no stomach issues. She had been on Prilosec since she was six months old. This is huge.))

I had lunch with a friend at a place where the owner knows exactly how I like my veggie kebobs. (I have trouble with skewers (and onions). Apparently, the kitchen term for Skewerless is Kaboob!)

I went to Target to purchase running shorts for Meredith, who has joined Girls On The Run and will be running her first 5K in November.

We had dinner with friends we haven’t seen in over a decade. (White Castle parking lots don’t count.) Our party of four is now a party of seven, taco night is always a good idea, and although Mizzou lost the game, we still had a splendid time catching up.

Harper had a friend over for seven hours on Sunday. It went down as one of her best days ever, despite the fact that her friend had no interest in watching Newsies.

Piano lessons, trips to the post office, trips to the bank, freelance deadlines, processing PTO stuff, dealing with a migraine which is now about 60% gone, mourning the fact that I’m no longer on Lysteda, taking notes to plead my ablation case, and celebrating the arrival of my 30 Day Shred DVD which is still sitting shrink wrapped on my bookshelf. (Kathy? I need you to come over, unwrap the DVD, and promise that you’ll have lunch with me if I manatee my way through it.)

I finished, blocked, and buttoned my Acer Cardigan.

I learned how tricky it is to be alone while feeling the need to take a photo of the BACK of a cardigan.

Finally, a few nights back, I found myself at the grocery store looking for SweeTango apples and vegan cheese.

Meredith: Did you find your apples?

Me: No, but I found vegan cheese! I went with Daiya.

Meredith: I hope it doesn’t give you Daiya-rhea!

Thank you and good night. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Results! Growling! Dropping two bags of sugar! Et cetera!

The first thing is typically first: All of my biopsy stuff came back completely normal. Let’s not talk about any of that again, okay? Okay!

The second thing most often follows: Although Meredith is home sick from school today, I got really angry this morning and loaded her into the car for a cookie field trip. (My Belief: If you’re home sick, you really shouldn’t have to deal with someone else’s rage. Instead, there should be cookies and naps and television and rotini. Thus it is, and so it goes.)

And the third? I’m once again in the position where I need to drop ten (or fourteen) pounds. (I know! I’ve been all over the place with my weight this year.) Who’s in? Let’s drop ten (or fourteen) pounds together. Don’t worry. I lack the energy to make buttons or graphs. BUT if you’re in, I’m in. Starting tomorrow, because Thursdays are a great day for ACTION, I’m going to eliminate processed foods and start exercising more regularly. (Yesterday morning I ran for the first time since my 5K a few weeks back, and it went fairly well. Very encouraging.) (Yesterday afternoon I finished off a pounder bag of chocolate chips. This is unacceptable.) My jeans always tend to shrink during the holiday season. Right now, my jeans think it’s Christmas Eve. Something has to be done, and it has to be done before Halloween. Thursday! You’re either with me, or you’re against me. (I know that’s not necessarily true.)

Who else wants to start a fight club?

By the way, Meredith said the funniest thing today as we were having A Special Talk. BUT, I refuse to type it out here for fear of embarrassing her. It’s happening. Fluid Pudding is setting fire to its Mommy Blog name tag. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Amanda Plan A Canal Pandamonium!

Me: Okay. The music is getting louder. It’s time for us to have a conversation.

My sister: What is it?

Me: If everyone around us starts to dance, are you going to join them?

My sister: No. I’m not.

Me: Good. Because me neither. Do you see that lady over there? Have you ever done that before and actually meant it?

My sister: You mean raising the roof?!

Me: Yes. Raising the roof.

My sister: No.

Me: Good. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I danced with abandon.

My sister: Who is Amanda?

Me: I don’t know anyone named Amanda!

My sister: Is that why you can’t remember dancing with her?!

Me: I’ve never danced with Amanda! IT’S GETTING SO LOUD WE CAN’T EVEN HEAR EACH OTHER! WHAT IF WE GET SEPARATED?! SHOULD WE COME UP WITH A SAFE WORD?!

My sister: I AM NOT GOING TO TRY TO STICK ANYTHING INTO YOUR BUTT!!!

This morning I found myself at my annual gynecologist appointment. (I know! Nice segue with the butt thing, right? Kind of!) Because I let the cat out of the bag regarding the fact that I tend to cycle (heh) for two to three weeks at a time, she decided to take a uterine biopsy.

Me: Do I have to come back for that?

My doctor: Nope. It’s quick. I’ll just do it before I do your pap smear.

Me: Cool beans.

(My slang tends to reach back into the 80s when I’m at the gynecologist. (I spent a lot of time in stirrups back then, too.) Pants. Stirrup pants! HA HA HA!!! I also wore a lot of brooches and fake pearls, Molly Ringwald.)

My doctor, slightly opening the exam room door: Nancy? Can I get a little help in here?

Me: Wait. Why Nancy? Is this going to hurt?

My doctor: You’ll probably feel a little bit of “WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?” but by the time you get to THERE, I’ll be done.

Me: What the–

My doctor: When I count to three, I want you to give me a cough. One, two…

Me: COUGH COUGH COUGH WHATAREYOUDOINGDOWNTHERE COUGH COUGH COUGH!!!!!!

My doctor: All done. You’ll probably be cramping and bleeding for the rest of the day.

And I am, and I am.

Psst! My Acer now has an arm! I just might have a new sweater to wear to marching band competitions! (See how I left us on a happy note? Fluid Pudding is a roller coaster!)

(This is how it works: Pandemonium is spelled with an E. Amanda Plan A Canal is heavy on the A, so I went with Pandamonium. Do not look up the definition in Urban Dictionary. If you DO look it up, please know that all of my Bundt pans are being used in the way that they were originally intended. Yeesh.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Happiest 5K on the Planet

As you know (because I can’t stop droning), today was The Color Run. I started training to run a 5K in August of last year, which is when I somehow screwed up my left ankle. I was released from physical therapy in January, so I started training again. That’s when I scored three stress fractures in my left leg. I was released from my big robot boot in May, which was when I started training again. (Every time I type the word Training, I feel a little silly. The Olympic athletes train. I ate Doritos throughout my “training.”)

This is a small sample of the (probably more than) 15,000 people who arrived in St. Louis this morning all ready to run and get colored. The people in this photo haven’t even crossed the starting line. When Jeff took the photo, my sister and I were nearly finished with the race, which shows just how many people were jazzed about this thing. (So many portable toilets. I haven’t used a portable toilet in years, and I hope to never use another. If this means I can never live out my dream to attend Burning Man, so be it.)

Here we have Jen and myself during the first stretch of the 5K. (One thing you need to know about me is that I never know what to do with my hands. The Weakerthans sum it up perfectly. “How I don’t know what I should do with my hands when I talk to you. How you don’t know where you should look, so you look at my hands.” Anyway, I tend to rely on peace signs entirely too much. Sometimes, when I’m especially frazzled and hand-conscious, I accidentally flip off the photographer, who is just trying to take a photo of her daughters running together. Right hand? Peace. Left hand? Sorry, Mom.)

Question: Did you finish the race?

Answer: I did!

Fun Fact: My dad took that shot. (Do you smell how he got all up in your bokeh?) My mom and dad came out for the race, as did Jeff, Meredith, and Harper. My family tends to be pretty amazing like that. (Also, peace.)

Another Fun Fact: My student number at Mizzou was 506354. (I graduated two decades ago, yet I still remember. Never Forget.) I love that my race number was a simple hiccup away.

Question: Did you run the entire way?

Answer: No. Don’t look at me.

Question: What?! WHAT?!

Answer: I know. I was so bummed. I’ve been running on the track and slowly increasing my run times and everything was going great until about a week ago when I couldn’t run for more than five minutes. I’ve gone running three times since then, and I categorized each of the three as Failure. I’m not quite sure what’s happening, other than the fact that I’ve had a cold, and that I switched from track (cushioned and soft!) to pavement (not so soft!). Please know that I’ve cursed more this week about running than I’ve EVER cursed (about running).

Statement: But you finished! You did it! That’s all that matters!

Retort: You keep living in your world. As much as I’d like to live there, too, I’m going to stay over here, where I’ll continue to beat myself up a bit (just a bit) for not crystallizing my dream. Then I’ll eat a big baked potato at Cracker Barrel with a side order of baby carrots.

BUT, you’re right. I finished.

Twice.

We finished the race and then went looking for the family. We eventually saw them about 300 feet from the finish line on the other side of the street. They clearly missed us the first time around, because they were standing there with cameras ready, just waiting for us to run by. SO, we decided to sneak back into the race and give them the photo opportunities they were craving.

(I’m glad we did. That was my favorite photo from the morning.)

Question: I thought the point of The Color Run was to walk away all colored. Did you get colored?

Answer: I did. And despite the fact that I’ve showered, I’m still finding color in my nooks. And my crannies. Enjoy your dinner.

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But like a big red rose that’s made of paper, there isn’t any sweetness in your heart!

You know how it is. You go to Stitches Midwest and you squeeze a bunch of fiber and you rub a bunch of yarn on your neck and you eat a bunch of curry (and cheesecake) and then you spend the next few months thinking of nothing but spinning and knitting and curry (and cheesecake).

Tempe, my mom, and I have now made six summer yarn trips. (If you’re interested, a summary of my yearly purchases can be found here! You love that sort of thing, right?! Right-o!) Because two people asked, I shall now share what I loved (and purchased) this year.

This is Greenwood Fiberworks Polwarth Wool Roving. The colorway is “Paper Roses.” (I originally thought it was called Harper Roses, and that’s what took it off of the rack and put it into my hands. What kept it in my hands was the memory of being three years old and sitting on the couch at my grandparents’ house watching Marie Osmond on the television as my aunt drew huge faces on my belly with an ink pen.) It’s lovely.

This is Classic Elite Silky Alpaca Lace. It looks gray, but it’s actually a very subtle green. This yarn is available just about everywhere, but I couldn’t pass it up, because I also purchased this pattern, and I couldn’t go home without the appropriate yarn. (I was searching for subtle with a bit of shine and a bit of haze. Done.)

This is Sunday Knits Eden, which is a light worsted weight merino. It will be used to knit an It’s the Berries cardigan. (I tried on the sample sweater, and all of a sudden I felt harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding, no more falsehoods or derisions, golding living dreams of visions, mystic crystal revelation, and the mind’s true liberation. It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.)

Finally, I went a little crazy at Lisa Souza’s booth. (I did the same thing last year, with no regrets.) This is a Silk/Merino top named “Iris Garden.”

This is a Merino/Tussah Silk/Bamboo top named “Salt Marsh.”

This is a Superfine Merino top named “South Pacific.” (I already have plans for this one. I want to spin it bulky.)

And this is a Merino/Baby Camel/Silk top named “Bayberry.”

I failed my practice run yesterday morning, and I failed it again yesterday evening. (I have a cold. I’m learning that I have absolutely zero patience/endurance when my nose is running. The failure makes me very nervous, because I’ve now fallen out of my schedule to complete the Ease into 5K plan before Saturday’s 5K. Urgh.) To make up for my disappointment, I took an hour to finish plying the merino/silk blend that I’ve had on my wheel for the past few weeks.

Ahhhhhhh. Much better. (Fiber is my Enya.) ((I wish I had a bumper sticker that says, “Fiber is my Enya.”)) (((Or a t-shirt. With Enya sitting at a spinning wheel. (Or Enya knitting.)))) Enya. Parentheses. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A scarf. A schedule. A question.

A friend of mine is making one of these, and yesterday I decided that I needed one, too. SO, I went downstairs, found four skeins of yarn that will work, drove to the yarn store, purchased three more skeins, and here we go. Impulse knitting!

Jeff left town yesterday for Florida, so I arranged for my kids to spend the night at my parents’ house. My original intention was to go for an evening run and then spend the rest of the night spinning. Instead, I went for a run at 3:00 (on a treadmill. It was terrible.), met a friend for a martini (or two), bought underwear for the girls (because that’s what I do for the first day of school), and then came home and watched the Olympics until the dogs decided it was time to go to bed (10:45). Excellent night.

Today I’m lunching (I’ve got big thoughts, big dreams and a big brown Mercedes sedan) with a few friends from high school at The Blue Owl. Tomorrow I’ll be delivering checks to teachers. Friday will find me rubbing yarn on my neck in Chicago.

Let’s see. What else? I finished Catching Fire (liked it), I’m now reading Mockingjay (liking it), and I’m gearing up to hit Gone Girl. (The library just called. It’s ready for me.)

Thanks to Tempe, I’ve eaten this for the past three meals.

Wait. I need your opinion. As you know, I don’t eat meat and I’m doing fairly well on my journey (journey!!!) to give up dairy. Occasionally I find myself at Subway. A few months back, I ordered a veggie sandwich, and the employee asked if I’m a vegetarian. When I told her that I am, she changed her gloves. When her co-worker asked why, she said, “I just made a turkey sandwich. If you’re a vegetarian, you don’t want turkey hands to touch your vegetables!” I almost jumped over the counter to French kiss her, because: Yes. I am the vegetarian who won’t eat the veggie kabobs if they held hands with the chicken kabobs on the grill. (I KNOW! I can hear your eyes rolling!!!)

Since that day, no other Subway employee has changed their gloves to make my sandwich. AND, I don’t have the guts to ask them to change their gloves, because who am I? They’re doing their best to make (delicious) sandwiches and get out of there without a bunch of grief from a jerk like me. I’ve made it a practice to not pay any attention to what the person in front of me has ordered, because I just don’t want to know if beef fingers are touching my bread.

A few days back, we went to Subway for dinner. I ordered a veggie sandwich. The employee did not change her gloves. Harper looked up at me and said, “She just touched turkey, and now she’s touching your bread.” This will sound crazy to you, but: I almost couldn’t eat the sandwich. (Thanks, Harper. Gheez.) So here’s my question: Is it too much to ask an employee to change their gloves before making a vegetarian sandwich? (I hate confrontation so much. I hate creating work for someone else even more than I hate confrontation. I don’t want to be the lady that deserves a million eye rolls.) Should I simply go back to the faraway Subway and ask for the schedule of the girl who understands me?

(Please don’t tell me I’m ridiculous. I have people in my family who will take care of that for you.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

My clipper skills are TERRIBLE, but my legs are like velvet and I’m a good mom!

I have received some of the nicest comments and e-mails about my most recent post. Thanks to every one of you for being so kind. As goofy as it might sound, I’ll be returning to those comments whenever I need a bit of a lift.

I decided to treat myself to a pedicure yesterday, and the woman in charge told me that my fingers are terrible. She also told me that I should NEVER use clippers because I’m clearly terrible with them. (She didn’t speak English very well, and Terrible was one of her more common words. I didn’t mind this at all. I AM terrible with clippers, and I’m glad someone finally put me in my place about it.) She also told me that she loves how smooth my legs are, and she thinks I’m a good mom for staying home with my kids when they were babies. (Apparently, her daughter hires a babysitter to come in while she’s at work. According to the woman at the nail place, “Stay at home? Good. Don’t stay at home? Terrible!”)

Me: Be careful there, Sister. Those are Mommy War words! Don’t you watch the TODAY show?!

Speaking of today, today I had lunch with someone I haven’t seen in 25 years, and it was delightful. I do love getting older and being more comfortable in my (terrible!) skin and being able to talk to people without staring at the floor. I also love that a half century of life has taken place (25 years for her, 25 years for me) since we saw each other, and there we sat eating black beans and rice (me) and a BLT (her) and talking as if high school was yesterday.

This weekend is my annual Yarn and Sushi Hajj. My shopping list holds one word: Fiber. I’ve been spinning on my wheel a LOT lately, and as a result, I’m all calm and happy and not losing sleep over the fact that our laundry is sort of stinking and our kitchen faucet is on the fritz.

Last week I plied this:

It was a pain to spin (very nubby, lots of vegetation that needed to be picked out), but in the end it became 360 yards of Beautiful Swan.

Tomorrow morning is my 26 minute run. (The program is slowly increasing my time until I reach 30 minutes.) I’ve decided to start shaking up my running locations, mainly because running circles around the same track every other day is starting to wear on me. Instead of driving 15 minutes west, I’m going to drive 15 minutes north.

This means instead of seeing this:

I’ll see this:

Although it will add a half mile to my morning, I’m pretty sure I’m making the right choice. (My very first 5K is in less than two weeks. After I get through it, I’ll be able to say, “I run” without making silly air quotes and rolling my eyes into the back of my head like I’m more of a Pretender than a Runner. With that said, I’ll be keeping the sticker.)

School starts on August 15th. I’m not ready. The summer has been a good one, and I’m not quite sure I can wait nine months for another. This has nothing to do with that, but: Have any of you ever purchased a Groupon thing for housecleaning services? Was it terrible? Because I’m doing my thing again, and something needs to happen. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Hippopotamus pencil pouches and two packages of disappearing purple glue for a dollar. That’s how we roll.*

When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time wondering if everyone saw orange the way *I* see orange. I can look at orange and call it orange, but is my orange your orange? (You call it orange, also, because that’s all you’ve ever known as orange, but what if your brain processes it differently than mine?) ((I promise I’m not high right now.)) Similarly, I associate green and red with Christmas. You might, too. BUT, you might see green and red the way *I* see blue and yellow.

I have spent many hours thinking about the moment when the discovery is made that everyone’s orange is not the same. “What?! Your orange is my BLUE, and your blue is my RED?! We can’t unsee it that way, so we just have to keep on trucking knowing that we’re seeing things completely differently!”

(I married a man who is color blind. His green is my red. He makes all of the time spent thinking about colors 100% worthwhile. “You honestly see those Christmas lights as green?! Oh my God, I feel like we’re in on the secret! Babies! Let’s have them!”)

I probably spend a little too much time on Facebook, and I handle my “wall” the same way I would handle a wall in my house. If you hang a Soundgarden poster in my family room, I’m probably going to take it down. I won’t think less of you for liking Soundgarden, but I don’t necessarily want Soundgarden to take up space on my wall. Similarly, if you hang up a poster that says something to the effect of “I don’t think your gay friends should be able to get married!”, I will quickly remove that poster for two reasons. 1. I disagree with you 100%. 2. My kids like you, but they’re still too young to figure out that you can love a person yet despise their notions. I don’t want them to 1. Not like you because they disagree with you, or worse, 2. Decide to blindly agree with you without thinking it through just because they DO like you.

Oh. You’re using the Bible to back up your claim that it’s NOT okay to help those in need? And YOU get to decide who is worthy of charity and who is not?

I love you like crazy, but your green is not my green.

Wait. You HATE President Obama and you say he HATES America (fists banging on the table!) and you’re really PISSED about this whole healthcare thing and you’re going to put up silly little posters about how you DID build your company and RAWR!!! CHIK-FIL-A APPRECIATION DAY!!!

You look really pretty today, but your orange is not my orange.

With this being an election year, my friends and family are being very vocal about what they believe. Some are vocal by using their actual voices. Some are more passively vocal and choose to hang posters on my wall. (Figuratively! No one has actually shown up at my door with thumbtacks. (I have a No Solicitors sign on my door. With that said, this woman once came to my door and told me that she’s NOT a solicitor. She’s a CANDIDATE! I still laugh and laugh about that. I WILL say that I’ll probably vote for her because I tend to agree with most of her ideas, but I ALSO like the fact that her opponent walked up to my front door and then walked away after reading the sign.))

I’m not saying that my orange is Orange or that my green is Green. I look silly when I fold my arms across my chest and get all scowly. (Most people do, don’t you think?)

This is what I know: If I see you standing out in the rain, I will offer you an umbrella. I don’t care if you’re rich or poor or black or white or straight or gay or old or young. I used to have three umbrellas in my car. I’m now down to one. (I have several public bus stops near my house. Sometimes it rains.)

This is what I know: If, during a friendly conversation, you tell me that you will disown your child if she “says she’s gay”, I will offer you an umbrella if you’re caught out in the rain, but I will definitely not nod my head and agree with you. AND, I will actually choose your child OVER you if she needs a friend someday.

This is what I know: I attend church regularly. It’s a church that builds homes for the homeless and makes sandwiches for the hungry and sends mosquito nets to areas where people are suffering from malaria. It’s a church that welcomes everyone. Everyone. EVERYONE. It’s a church that doesn’t suggest you vote a certain way. It’s a church that encourages you to think and engage in dialogue and love your neighbor. (This is sometimes hard for me, being that I live next door to one of the top ten crabbiest women in America. (I am not making this up.)) It might not be like your church, but its Orange walls are my Orange walls. (It doesn’t have orange walls. I think you know what I’m saying over here.)

I’m 880 words in, and I just want you to know that I think you’re the tops regardless of who you vote for or who you love. With that said, I’ll be trucking along over here in the corner supporting my gay friends and my president and eating eggplant fries and drinking sweet tea and trying like hell to love my crabby neighbor.

*Meredith just came up and asked what I’m writing about. I answered with, “I’m not really sure. I just feel like I need to get some stuff off of my chest, so I’m giving myself 30 minutes to puke words.” Her answer? “Well, then you should probably name it Hippopotamus pencil pouches and two packages of disappearing purple glue for a dollar. That’s how we roll.” I probably should, and I probably did. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

No hug for you.

To celebrate the first day of school, I always make graham cracker sandwiches with chocolate icing for the girls.

To celebrate the final day of school, we tend to go out for frozen yogurt.

On Christmas morning, I get up at 5:00, make coffee, and watch the yule log on television until everyone else wakes up.

(Confession: I just watched that video for ten minutes or so, and my blood pressure went from 120/80 to 80/60.)

I’m one of those people who needs rituals and celebrations and plans (and a spinning wheel). I don’t like having things sprung on me. (Oh, have I got a story for you that I really can’t go into right now, but please know that something has happened that led me to slam my hand (in disgust!) onto a table and then drown my sorrows in church potluck brownies! Oceans of obscurity! (As Fluid Pudding, I share only 17% of my life.)) As much as I think I want someone to throw a surprise birthday party for me at some point, deep down I know that it will probably make me more angry than smiley.

Here’s the scoop. For the first time in 42 years, according to my Ease into 5K application, I was supposed to run for 20 minutes (in a row!) this morning. (Up to this point, my longest run has been nine minutes.) I decided to prepare for the 20 minutes by purchasing the soundtrack to Moonrise Kingdom and setting it to begin playing as I start running. I decided to dress up for this monumental run by wearing my black running skirt, my gray wicking t-shirt, my new sports bra, and my favorite running socks. (Get a load of me, will you?) Finally, I planned to celebrate my success (burning with optimism’s flames!) by walking however many laps it takes to finish out the soundtrack. My twenty minute run (plus ten minute warm up/cool down) plus laps for Moonrise Kingdom was going to take about 75 minutes. Add that to the time it takes to drive to and from the track, and we come up with a 90-minute plan. I normally leave the house at 5:30. This puts me back home at 7:00. Jeff leaves for work between 7:30 and 8:00. Excellent.

And then Henry started having butt problems, and the only open vet appointment required us to leave the house right at 7:30. I cannot shower, eat breakfast, and get ready in thirty minutes. (One of many tragic flaws. Even with no hair (we’ll talk about that later), my showers go for about 15 minutes, it takes seven minutes to choose clothes and pull them on, and then we arrive at my face, which is really suffering right now due to stress/not enough water/church potluck brownies/hormones/et cetera. I don’t wear much makeup, but it takes me some time to strategize and execute a semi-natural looking finish. And then I have to choose earrings.) Hhhhhhhh. I had to cancel this morning’s twenty minute run.

Tomorrow is another day, my friend. A day that will NOT find me spending $125 at the vet on steroids, new fish-based food and treats, and anal gland expression. (Teaching Moment: Facial expressions are signals of specific emotions that are recognized universally. I don’t know anything about my OWN anal glands, but I do know that smelling HENRY’S anal gland expression motivates MY face to showcase the universal signs for Fear and Disgust. Enjoy your lunch!) Do you remember when Henry was an itchy puppy? (I dare you to follow that link and not melt at the sight of Henry as a puppy. I can barely look at that photo without pushing my lips way out and saying, “Oh, sweet puppy.” Oh, sweet puppy.) Anyway, Henry is itchy again and the allergy is all up in his butt and I just stepped away from the computer to give him a hug. (I would also hug you if someone you don’t know very well stuck his fingers into your butt this morning. If you were a dog. Which you are not. So, really, no hug for you.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tomorrow I will conquer the world. Today? Cookies. Napping.

I tend to wince when I hear people puking out garbage about needing to take a vacation after their vacation. Similarly, if you ever tell me that you don’t do Mondays, we can still be friends, but we will never be Friends. Don’t ever say anything to me about a fish needing a bicycle. We’re done with that. I could go on. I won’t go on.

This photo was taken on Thursday morning, less than five minutes after we left our cabin for the long drive home. Our original plan was to get back into St. Louis on Friday night, but we tweaked the plan a bit for many reasons. (We missed Scout and Henry. We were done spending money. I had plans to spend the weekend with a group of friends.)

After driving forever (eight hours is not actually forever, but sometimes it smells like it), we got home at around 8:00 on Thursday night. I unpacked, went to bed, picked up the dogs on Friday morning, went for a quick run, started getting things ready for my second adventure, fell asleep, woke up with a hormonal headache if you know what I’m saying, ate a bunch of cherries and bananas (I don’t know), fell asleep again, and morphed into one of those people who needs a vacation after their vacation. Like a fish who needs a bicycle on a Monday that isn’t done.

All of this to say: I used to be able to begin an adventure immediately after ending an adventure. (I used to be able to wear black eyeliner without looking completely ridiculous.) I now have wrinkly skin under my eyes, and many of my friends from high school are enjoying themselves four hours away from where I’m sitting right now. (I’ve taken two naps today.)

If Rebecca Cable had been born 100 years later, I think she and I could hang out.

Pigeon Forge is filled with neon signs and weird shops and miniature golf and water rides and tattoo parlors and upside down funhouses and huge rafts for sale and airbrushed t-shirts and tacky hotels and pancake dumps and cigarette smoke and beef jerky outlets. After spending three days making our way through the craziness, we spent our final day exploring old churches and cabins and mills at Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Perfect ending. Perfect week. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>