Daily Archives : Page 69 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

No lines, no ride. My body is a closed down amusement park.

I love that several of you read yesterday’s post and questioned whether I should continue running.

No one suggested that I turn myself in for a potential black-out killing. (A special tip of the hat to Sir, who eased my mind a bit with the whole “you can’t be convicted” comment.)

Here’s the thing. Yes. Running is difficult for me. It’s the first thing I’ve done in quite some time that REALLY challenges me both mentally and physically. (This is where I would insert a Fifty Shades of Grey joke, but I have no idea what you are talking about.) Nine months ago I couldn’t run for more than two minutes without wanting to die. (Because my leg was broken. Because I was heel striking. Because I don’t read history books, so I’m destined to make the same mistakes as Napoleon.) Now I can run for about five minutes without wanting to die, and then I can KEEP running for 21 more minutes! I’m not quitting now.

Actually, after I reach the point where running comes easy, I’m going to start Kobe Bryanting myself over moving cars.

This morning was not a good one at our house. The girls were crabby and we’re out of Aleve and the dress I’m wearing to this weekend’s wedding is NOT looking good.

Harper: Are you sick?

Me: No, but my arm is acting like it wants to be somewhere else.

Harper: Are you angry?

Me: No. Here’s the deal. I don’t like referring to myself as Mommy, but I’m about to make an exception. I’m going to say this one time only, and I’m not going to offer any sort of explanation. Are you ready?

Harper: I’m ready.

Me: Mommy needs Spanx.

Harper: What?

Me: Grab your backpack. Let’s go.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself in a dressing room trying to sausage myself into at least 11 different styles of shape wear. (This is what you’re missing on Instagram.) It was absolutely terrible. I couldn’t even pull one of the styles up past my knees, so I challenged myself to find the size that I COULD actually pull up. XXL. I almost bought the XXL (it was black and shiny), but then it occurred to me that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. (Side story: I currently have my running application set to believe that I weigh 380 pounds, because it feels good when my display says that I’ve worked off over 500 calories. The reality isn’t nearly as rewarding.)

I went with this. (Do NOT watch the video on that page. If you’re anything like me, it will make you want to put your fist through a wall—which is something I’ve never actually done. I definitely disagree with the woman who announces that the model has a slight muffin top. Don’t even get me started on this.)

After putting my pants back on and paying for my goods, I stopped by the drugstore to pick up some Nutter Butters. (They are vegan.) Don’t look at me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I get by with a little help from Henry David Thoreau

So, yesterday morning I dropped the kids off at school and drove straight out to my favorite running spot to embark on my very first outdoor 26 minute (without stopping) run. With a water bottle strapped to my hand and Mumford & Sons singing in my ears, I took off into the woods. (“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.”)

Just so you’re with me, this is what I saw:

This is what I heard:

I walked for five minutes, and then I ran. Sluggardly. (I averaged about 7:44 per kilometer.) When I thought I had been running for more than ten minutes, I looked at my phone and saw that I still had 23 minutes to go. In other words, three minutes was feeling like 10 minutes. This 26 minute adventure was going to FEEL like an 85 minute adventure. (Quick side note: While I’m running, I can’t do simple math. Similarly, I sometimes see a herron and call it a herring. My brains liquify and run out of my nose and I have no idea how to breathe. Running is physically and cerebrally taxing. I have no idea why I do it.)

Anyway, I ran and I ran (and I ran) and I looked at my phone more than 30 times during the run to see when the hell it was going to end. When the little man told me that I had five minutes to go, I noticed that my left eye wasn’t seeing correctly. I wondered how I would handle having a stroke in the woods, and I considered stopping. (“I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary.”) I continued to run. When I had less than a minute to go, I noticed a svelte running lady about 25 yards ahead of me. I decided to run like a cheetah (but on two legs) to pass her before my little man gave me permission to cool down with a five minute walk. (Less than five seconds after I stopped running, Svelte Lady flew by me as I snorted and panted and tried to squirt water into my face.)

Here’s the weird part. When my cool-down walk was over, I made my way back to the car. I climbed into the car, I chugged a bunch of water, I turned on the radio, started the car, put my hands onto the steering wheel, AND NOTICED THAT I HAD BLOOD ALL OVER MY HANDS. (Clarification: They weren’t COVERED in blood, but there was more than just a trace amount, and it was dried and on both palms.)

Apparently, after having my stroke in the woods, I blacked out and killed a fellow runner with my bare hands before regaining consciousness and continuing with my run. (“I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.”) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m in the mood for this October!

If you care to know what I’m doing today, it can easily be summed up by what’s written on the calendar. GOTR! Deposit! Call Pumpkin Run! Post Cards for New Families! Library! Harper piano 4:30! CSIP 6:00 Heights! MC piano 6:30! Target Cards x 3! Queen’s Birthday (Australia – WA)! (I’m also going to squeeze in a run and a shower.)

So, my Fight Club thing has found me at a two and a half pound standstill. I wanted to be down ten by Halloween. I don’t believe I have time for the final 7.5, so I’m going to call on my mean buddy Jillian Michaels to smack me around for a bit. What does this mean? I have removed the shrink wrap from my 30 Day Shred DVD.

I’ve been working on some tulip mittens.

The school’s fall festival is over, September is gone, Amy Winehouse is still dead, and here we go!

(November is looking a little rough, so I might try to give NaBloPoMo a whirl one month early. We’ll see what happens.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Year of the Consulship of Tubero and Maximus

I just realized that last week marked the eleventh anniversary of Fluid Pudding. Eleven years. According to this article, eleven years is the average lifespan of an online empire.

Sound the trumpets! And, farewell.

(I considered hitting the Publish button just now, but come on. We all know I’m not going anywhere. (I paid for two years of hosting in May. You don’t buy a year long gym membership and then go only once. (Unless you’re me. In 1996. Really.)) Honestly, I hope I don’t throw a big whiny parade for myself when I decide to leave Fluid Pudding for good. I’m just a tiny tiny room in a house that’s entirely too large, and I have no idea where I’m going with this paragraph. I’ve had a migraine off and on for 14 days now. 14 days! It’s hardly debilitating, but I’m finding that I’m spending more time than I would like rubbing my temples and throwing my head from right to left and saying Powder when I mean Dishwasher and pressing metal balls into my neck. Lots of heat on the pillow and cold on the forehead. One of my very favorite people has recommended acupuncture, and I’m about three days away from making a few calls. Are we still inside a parenthetical thought? Yes. Here. Let’s close it.)

The only time I get a little itchy about The State of Fluid Pudding is when I take note of the people who are talking about their brand and their audience and their advertisers. Don’t get me wrong—I love the idea of creating an actual empire by sitting at the dining room table while writing about fingernail polish, but it’s something I’ve never been able to Get. I’m constantly receiving e-mails that say things like, “Are you a food blogger? Then we may have an opportunity for you!” Are you a crafty blogger? Are you a fashion blogger? Are you an educational blogger? Are you a political blogger? Are you a mommy blogger whose kids are between the ages of 4 and 7? Are you a baby mommy blogger? Do you eat hamburgers? Do you drink wine?

I’m none of those things and less. I’ve done some decent things here and I’ve messed up some things here. (Remind me to tell you the story of May 2011 and how I screwed up a relationship that was very important to me. I’m still kicking myself, and I bruise easily.) Full Disclosure: The ads over to your right throw me enough cash to cover my host fees and my domain renewal. I have no idea what that means, other than I’m coming out even.

I’m a little disappointed in the latest Ben Folds Five album, and I’ve been listening to a LOT of Jellyfish.

This morning during my run, I was stopped by two deer, I was entertained by a guy playing bagpipes, and I was yelled at by a goose. Here’s to eleven more. (Years. Not angry geese.)

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Let’s pretend you’re coming over to my house.

A few days ago, I attended my very first Pampered Chef party. On the morning of the party, I asked Facebook what I should purchase. The response was overwhelming. Batter bowls! Mini-Whipper! Pastry cutter! Coated tongs! Stoneware bar pans! Garlic crusher! Spatula! Chopper! Peanut butter measuring thingy!

Right before I left the house, I told Jeff that I had three goals: 1. I will not spend a silly amount of money on stuff we don’t need, 2. I will not sign up to host a party at our house, 3. I will return home with no new stains on my clothes.

1. I cannot remember the exact amount of money I spent at the party, but I *do* know that I purchased an apple wedger (It’s SweeTango season!!!), a potato masher, and two batter bowls.

3. (There are no rules about order over here.) I did spill a tiny bit of chocolate sauce on my jeans at the party. It washed out. No stains!

2. You know me. I don’t invite anyone over to our house. I don’t have parties. I don’t maintain eye contact for more than three seconds at a time. Ah, but listen! When I mentioned the fact that I consulted Facebook before making my order, the Pampered Chef consultant mentioned that she was going to receive training the very next day on how to host a Pampered Chef Facebook Party!

So, yep. I signed on to be her very first Pampered Chef Facebook Party Hostess! (I’m a hostess, yet no one is coming over! It’s an introverted dream come true!!!)

All of this to say, if you want to place a Pampered Chef order, I can hook you up with my hostess site. (If you don’t live in St. Louis, anything you order can be shipped to you if you’re a US resident. I would now like to apologize to those of you who don’t live in the US.) ((I would now like to high five those of you who don’t live in the US. Have you heard about our presidential candidates?! Welcome to Crazy Town!)) If you order $60 in Pampered Chef product, we’ll throw in an apple wedger for free. (Did I mention how much I love SweeTango apples?! They arrived at our grocery store 48 hours ago, and I’ve eaten six so far. I deserve an apple wedger. And so do you. And you.)

Anyway, shoot me a comment or an e-mail if you need anything! (I need a potato chip maker. Imagine potato chips with chocolate drizzled over the top. Imagine sweet potato chips with cinnamon and sugar. Imagine the big goofy smile that’s currently on my face just thinking about the chip options. I know.)

(Disclaimer: This entry is not intended to make you feel pressure to buy anything. I hate pressure even more than YOU hate pressure. I’m just providing an opportunity. But only if you’re interested. We will always be friends no matter what happens. I’m pretend hugging you right now. (Not really.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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’>