The oven is my beetbox and I just ordered a pizza. Good Friday, indeed.

It feels like Saturday, doesn’t it? It does.

This morning I hung out at the hospital while my mom had surgery on her ankle. (Necrotic tissue, bone spurs, ice machine and elevation for a week, you get the picture. All is now well, although she got really sick to her stomach right after I left. I tend to have that effect on people.) While at the hospital, my dad and I strolled over to the cafeteria where I ate the worst hummus in the history of chick peas. I really should have known that hospital hummus wouldn’t be good. Lesson? Learned.

This afternoon? We picked up one of Meredith’s friends and then quickly dropped Harper off at a friend’s house. Do you remember that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Harrison Ford replaces the golden idol with a bag of sand? We’re doing that with kids this weekend. Drop off a kid, pick a kid up. Pick a kid up, drop off a kid. Harper weighs about 43 pounds. I’m guessing Meredith’s friend comes in at around 58 pounds. (Harper’s packed suitcase weighed around 15 pounds.) Equilibrium has been achieved.

Earlier this week, I attended my second-to-last PTO meeting as Treasurer.

The Things I Love The Most In Life On Friday, April Sixth
1. My family, my friends, my church, and all of the other stuff I’m supposed to list first.

2. Beets that have been wrapped in foil and baked at 400 degrees for an hour, then sprinkled with sea salt and olive oil. Seriously. Try it.

3. This song, which is full of bad words and 100% better than the original, which is sung by a woman who is known at The Pudding House for having dirty feet. (Last week Harper went out to get the mail with no shoes on. Meredith yelled, “No! You’re going to get Ke$ha feet!” My job here is done.)

4. Knowing that after May 1st, I will never have to sit at a big PTO table in front of a group of 20 (or so) people ever again. My voice has shaken and my eyes have rolled into the back of my head many times this year. (Incidentally, I’ve been reading a lot about introversion over the past several months, and I’ve learned that it’s okay to be me (la la laaaah!) and it’s okay to absolutely hate being at the front of the room and it’s okay to not attend events that make me feel awkward and it’s okay to be known as the person who always cancels. Similarly, it’s okay that not everyone wants to be my friend and although I’m still struggling with that one a bit, I *do* know that I have a few friends with whom I’m tight, and I just finished a 32 ounce cup of Diet Dr. Pepper, and the caffeine is sort of manifesting itself in this parenthetical aside. My whole self-awareness thing is so boring for you, isn’t it? I should warn you before I go off like this! Anyway!) Last Tuesday we held the election for next year’s officers, and it was announced that I wasn’t adding my name to the ballot because I want to increase my volunteer time at school. That’s not necessarily true. My volunteer time completely depends on the girls’ teachers and if they would like me to give spelling tests or grade papers or do anything else I can to save them some time. The reason I didn’t run again is because I would rather sit in the back of the room than in the front of the room. When the May meeting is over I plan on driving straight to Houlihan’s and treating myself to a chocolate martini with a Ding Dong sidecar, and it will look a little something like this.

Something Completely Different: I’ve been on a kick to finish a few knitting projects.

A few weeks ago, I finished my Damask. I really should have placed a quarter or a squirrel or something on the shawl so you could get some perspective. It’s really more of a shawlette, I suppose.

Metallic Damask

Last week I finished my Guernsey Wrap. It’s huge and cozy and I’m finally figuring out ways to wear it that don’t inspire Meredith to accuse me of trying to look like Jesus.

Sweet Potato Guernsey Wrap

Last night I finished my cotton Liesl. It’s red and blocking and maybe I’ll show it to you next week. I’m currently working on a Seraphim for Jeff’s author who sends us towers of gifts each Christmas, along with handspun fingerless mitts for Gina. AND, I’m feeling the urge to try to spin a pound of fiber and make a sweater out of it. (It’s the Knitmore Girls Spin Along, Knit Along (aka SPAKAL)!)

Also, I’m seriously thinking about planting a salsa garden in my front yard.

Enjoy your Easter.

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I probably think this song is about me…

Do you remember back in December when Harper had that weird fever thing that ended up being an unusual strep strain?

She had the weird fever thing again last week. No other symptoms, just a fever that went as high as 103.6. Sadly, the only time the doctor could get us in was thirty minutes after Harper performed a fashion show for me—complete with a black velvet dress and black eyeshadow. (I let her keep the dress on for the appointment, but made her spend the entire twenty minute drive scrubbing her eyelids with makeup remover pads.) The verdict? “I think it’s a sinus infection.”

By the way, stay away from the internet when you’re searching out information on high fevers with no other symptoms.

Today I’m at a bit of a standstill with my latest freelance project, so I’m meeting my mom for lunch, getting a haircut, and thinking about cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen for Meredith’s sleepover on Friday. (Harp is attending her very first sleepover that evening, so we’re letting Meredith have a friend over for the night. Sadly, because of the weird timing, we’ll be missing one of my favorite church services of the year. It’s a quiet service. A powerful service. It’s the service that killed me dead two years ago when the flaming wick from the candle lighter’s big golden candle lighting tool thinger dinger broke off and fell onto the aisle carpeting—forcing the candle lighter to do a hilarious little dance to extinguish the flame. I could barely hold myself together, and then I started thinking about the time I watched a fly die in church and the time my thumb busted open and started squirting blood in church, and I can barely type right now because the tears are starting to roll.)

Sunday is Easter. Last Easter was my very worst Easter ever.

I just realized that I’m spending this entire post linking to myself. (Please know that right before I begin each new paragraph, I smile at myself in a mirror for twenty seconds. Well, hello there, Lady! Hi, Lady! Lady! You’re my night in shining armor, and I love you.)

Four years ago I wrote backwards on my face with eyeliner for Easter, and then I almost got sued. To keep with my me! Me! ME! theme, here you go.

Yes. The paper towels are off of the holder. Please know that we replaced that ridiculous paper towel holder after finally admitting that unscrewing the top to replace the roll was just too much of an ordeal for us. What a living hell that thing was.

Incidentally, the very eyeliner I used to write on my face fell into the toilet yesterday morning. Gone forever. (As much as I love my eye doctor, I don’t want to risk needing to see him because I’ve been blinded by makeup that may or may not have been contaminated by human waste.) ((And, yes. I don’t use eyeliner very often. After having it for more than four years, it was probably time for that thing to go. I know makeup tends to last longer than raw chicken, but I can’t really keep any of it straight.))

Hey! I finished two knitting projects. Let’s talk about them next time.

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I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand.

The phone rings. I pick it up.

Me: Hello?

Guy: Angela?

Me: Yes.

Guy: Hello there! It’s Ben from The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time!

Me: Oh! Hi there!

Ben: I’m just calling to wish you a happy two year anniversary with the Sonata!

Me: Has it really been two years?

Ben: It has! Are you still liking the car?

Me: We’re loving the car!

Ben: Great! Well, this might sound silly, but I’m calling to give you my phone number in case you ever want to send one of your friends or family members over to The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time. If they actually buy a car from me, I’ll send you fifty dollars!

Me: That doesn’t sound silly. I spent fifty dollars filling up my tank this morning!

Ben: I hear you. (He continues talking and Henry decides that he needs to go outside and my potato finishes baking in the oven and everything is happening all at once, so my brain hiccups and all I hear is…) …so Happy Anniversary!

(Suddenly, Henry is knocking on the back door and I’m balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin and I have my hands in the oven and I have completely forgotten why I’m on the telephone, so I do what you do when a pleasant-sounding man wishes you a happy anniversary.)

Me: Happy anniversary. I love you.

(Suddenly, I realize what I have done, and I quickly hang up. You see, I do not love Ben, but I also don’t want to hurt his feelings so soon after using the L word.)

((If you’re interested in a Hyundai, let me know if you need a guy. I’m curious to see if he’d really send fifty bucks to a married lady who just confessed that she’s interested in a tasty side dish that she hasn’t heard from in over two years.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

We shall surely reproduce!

(I suppose I should say re-produce. My oven? It is bunless. My countertop? It is full. Of produce.)

Because I’m trying my best to be one of those stinky hippies who eat only from the ground (also trees and bushes!), I decided to sign The Puddings up at our community produce co-op. $21.50 for a big basket/box/bag of fruits and vegetables that will feed a family of four for two weeks? Count me in! (Please know that I know that my kids will probably refuse to touch roughly 73.4% of the score. This means that every two weeks I’ll be picking up enough fruits and vegetables to feed MY family for three point two weeks! If I had the patience to do the math and I could somehow figure in the fact that both kids will probably move away for college, it means this: If I buy in to the co-op every two weeks for approximately seven point eight years, I think Jeff and I will have enough fruits and vegetables to feed us until we’re ready for assisted living! I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO CAN AND/OR DEHYDRATE!!!)

When I paid for the first installment last week, I was sent an e-mail that held a short list of what may or may not be included in the next delivery, along with the address of the home where the truck drops everything off (or: …along with the address of the home off which the truck drops! Everything!).

“Please pick up your produce between 5:30 and 6:00.”

Because the girls and I are nothing if not punctual, we left our house at 5:10 and arrived at the delivery location at around 5:20. We were told that this week was a bit weird because the truck normally arrives at 5:00, which gives everyone time to unload and sort before people start arriving at 5:30. Personally, I was thrilled with the delay, because helping unload the truck and divide the gazillions of zucchinis and cabbages was possibly the most thrilling thing I’ve done in months! (Someday I’ll attach a cord to my torso and jump off of a bridge. In the meantime, I shall sort produce!)

At the end of the day, we ended up with a huge pile of food.

Community Helpings Produce Co-Op, 3/13/12

6 bananas
5 apples
1 bag green beans
2 eggplants
1 pineapple
1 container of strawberries
1 container of baby bella mushrooms
1 bunch of green onions
1 puppy forehead
4 zucchini
1 cabbage
1 Bibb lettuce
1 head of broccoli
2 bunches of cilantro
6 kiwi
1 puppy nose

The girls will enjoy the bananas, the strawberries, the apples (they’re already gone), and the pineapple. The green beans are questionable because they don’t come in a can. I’ll be “forcing” five bites of the eggplant. This evening for dinner I’ll be grilling zucchini. Tomorrow for lunch I’ll be roasting broccoli. The kiwi will all go to Jeff, as kiwi makes my tongue go numb, and Meredith and Harper have complained that they suffer the same effects.

I’ll be making baby bella lettuce wraps with the mushrooms and Bibb lettuce.

I’ll be removing my Birkenstocks from their box in just a few hours.

Harper owns a broom skirt.

I haven’t shaved my left leg in nearly two months.

It’s happening.
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Sunday!

The chocolate chip banana bread did not last long in our house.

Banana Bread

I haven’t shared a Henry photo in quite some time.

MC and Henry

My pewter Damask is folded in half and is currently blocking on my bed. (I tried to stretch it out, but trying to even out the scalloped edges was driving me insane. You know how it is with those scalloped edges.)

Damask! Blocking!

I’ve been spending a lot of time with this thing lately. The perfect cup of hot tea every single time.

ingenuiTEA

Do you remember when Harper went to that dance with Justin Bieber?

Twelve years down the road, if Bieber doesn't age, and Harper remains interested.

I finished this sock four years ago, and it STILL doesn’t have a partner. Unacceptable.

Anniversary Sock

Speaking of socks, I finished my very first pair five years ago today.

F to the MFO

We went to an engagement party today, and it was lovely. Very happy for that couple, we are.

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Doors and Windows with Handles for Handling

How many times do I have to hear/think the old line about God never giving you more than you can handle?

In the past week, I’ve had lengthy conversations with two people, and both conversations have led me to sit in my car afterwards and think, “I have no idea how I would handle that. How would I handle that? Could I handle that?”

(I was once able to handle Haydn. I hid from Handel. Five minutes ago those two sentences were VERY funny to me.)

Last night I asked Jeff if he believes that you are never given more than you can handle. He replied, “Anne Frank was given more than she could handle.”

I can handle quite a few things. I can handle cooking meat for my family and I can handle the dry skin on my hands that results from washing them at least fourteen times after handling said meat. What I can’t handle is knowing that whatever I’m cooking won’t be enjoyed by the girls unless it is named Toasted Ravioli or Crazy Bowls or Sloppy Joe or Homemade Pizza Roll. (As a result, I now call EVERYTHING Sloppy Joe. I currently have a pork tenderloin in the oven for tonight’s dinner. When the girls come home from school and ask what’s for dinner, I will say, “Sloppy Joe.” They will cheer and high five one another. Later, when it’s time for them to eat, I will be at the PTO meeting—where I won’t be able to hear their cries of disappointment.) I can handle being the treasurer of PTO and I can handle writing checks and depositing money and keeping track of the checks and the money. What I can’t handle is sitting at a table in front of people every month at the meeting and trying my best to smile, keep my mouth closed, and not fall down. (As a result, I am not “running” for a second term. (I am not running for anything. My life is all about the stroll these days.) Oddly enough, shortly after I announced that I’m going to Jimmy Carter the treasurer position, I was recruited to be on a committee at church. Door. Window. Bonus: I will not be asked to sit at a table in front of people. I will be asked to eat pizza, and I’ve already made it very clear that if anyone tries to sneak a slice of pepperoni onto my lunch, there will be hell to pay. Big crazy table-flipping hell.) I can (normally) handle my freelance stuff along with volunteering at the school and keeping up (mostly) with laundry and playing with the dogs and grocery shopping and (sometimes) wearing eyeliner and baking the occasional chocolate chip banana cake. Ah, but last week I *couldn’t* handle two of my freelance projects and I had to admit that they were beyond my level of experience and I actually cried my eyeliner away about the whole thing and I didn’t do laundry and I made toasted ravioli TWICE just to avoid the whole, “Do I HAVE to eat this?!” gig. (As a result, I’ve eaten way too much of that chocolate chip banana cake. Get this. Last week I hit my “goal” weight at Weight Watchers. I know. This week I’m no longer there. Oh, Chocolate Chip Banana Cake. You were 117 points of hard to handle craziness. The good news? I’ve accepted a new freelance project. Please know that I know how lucky I am.) This paragraph keeps on going and going, doesn’t it?

For Jeff, Bruce Springsteen released his new album today. For me, Andrew Bird released his new album today. For the girls, Big Time Rush released their new EP today. Television off. Music on. The towels are in the washer.

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Special Pudding Moments

I went to the pool yesterday.

I went to the POOL yesterday.

When I walked out of my bedroom wearing my swimsuit, Harper said, “Mommy! You look so PRETTY!”

She then busted out laughing and said, “I’m just kidding.”

Last night, after I had washed my face and pajamafied myself, she looked at me and said, “Oh! I like those purple circles under your eyes!”

Nice.

This morning on the way home from church we tuned in to Radio Disney.

Jeff: Oh! Harper! It’s the song!

Me: What?

Jeff: Harper and I disagree about this song.

Me: Why?

Jeff: Because I’m not too crazy about her listening to a song about a stumble bum. Listen. “TONIGHT I’M A STUMBLE BUM!!!”

Harper: No! She’s UNSTOPPABLE.

Meredith: No! She’s a SOCCER BALL.

Jeff: TONIGHT I’M A STUMBLE BUM!!!

Me: I remember the night *I* was a stumble bum. I had no IDEA how strong Southern Comfort is! Thank God for my friend Caryn. She took me home that night.

Meredith: What?

Me: I was feeling unstoppable.

Harper: Yes. See? UNSTOPPABLE.

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I used to have the Demi Moore “Ghost” haircut.

And I’m all, “Whadya MEAN you don’t carry Fresh Take? The store ad says it’s on sale and I have a COUPON!!!”

Yes. That’s where I am right now. The good news? I was able to score the very last Katie’s Pencil Box dress while Jeff was seeing Radiohead in Tampa earlier this week. (He was there on business and sort of fell into the Radiohead show. (Oh, the good life. Full of fun. Seems to be the ideal…))

This week has flown, and I have fig marmalade to thank. Before last Friday, my “List of Experience with Figs” both started and ended with “1. Ate Fig Newtons with Grandpa once.” Ah, but then I received word that my church’s Adventurous Women Out Late (AWOL!) group was gathering at a tapas bar! I put on my glad rags, drove ten miles south, and enjoyed an evening full of flatbread covered in fig marmalade and Gorgonzola cheese. I returned to the restaurant on Tuesday and discovered that fig marmalade and I are capable of much more than a tipsy one night stand. Fig marmalade and I are in this love together, Al Jarreau.

A few weeks back, I listened to The Moth’s Chicago Grand Slam. My favorite story didn’t win. In fact, and I hesitate to admit this, I felt like the Chicago Grand Slam was mostly a waste of my time. (I know! Look at me trying to be all highfalutin while wearing pilled leggings and mismatched socks! If I knew any French phrases, I would type them right now! Poorly!) ((I’m still wearing the boot on my left leg. No one knows that my socks don’t match. Until now.)) (((Speaking of the boot, I saw the ortho guy a few days back. I’m in the boot for another month, AND he wants me to go swimming. (Not with him.) It’s almost like the guy can see into my soul. He knows exactly what to say to piss me off. And I KNOW that “You should go swimming.” wouldn’t piss off the average person, but here I am. Unable to swim, highly self-conscious about being seen in a swimsuit, and pissed off.)))

Back to the Chicago Grand Slam. Peter Sagal, who was the host of the show, shared a quote from Dr. Stephen Weeks at Lewis and Clark College. Dr. Weeks once said, “The best way to live your life is to choose the experience that will have the most anecdotal value.” I love that. Given the fact that in one month I have to return to the ortho guy and tell him about my swimming adventures, you would think that swimming lessons would be the obvious choice for a high anecdotal value life experience.

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The Good, The Bad, and The Adorable

The Good News: I’ve been working on a new wrap.

Sweet Potato Guernsey Wrap

It will eventually look like this. My goal is to make it look like that before October, because the color seems to lend itself well to pumpkin patches and marching band competitions. (I really miss the faded out Levi’s that somehow ended up in my suitcase after a 1990 drum corps show. They were perfectly frayed and worn out into a lovely shade of sky blue, and they’re exactly what I want to wear with this wrap. Wrap. To me, a wrap is a sandwich. This morning I used the term heavy-handed incorrectly. I need to knit less and read more. I fear that I’m no longer getting smarter.)

The Bad News: Argh. There seems to be a lot of bad news lately. My kids have decided that they no longer want to ride the bus. (I realize that doesn’t necessarily qualify as bad news. Stick with me.) The way they approached this new transportation plan with me was really quite mature and admirable (they’re not feeling very safe on the bus lately), so there was no way I could turn them down. Because I’ll now be dropping them off and picking them up, I’ll be losing a little over an hour of my day. And speaking of time, I’m finding that I’m already a bit over-extended these days. I realize that sounds so silly because I’m a freelancer! I (mostly) set my own schedule! BUT, it appears that I’ve bitten off a bit more than I can chew (Those damned cliches. Rattlesnakes, indeed.) and two of my current projects are proving to be more than I can handle, and I absolutely despise admitting defeat, but isn’t admitting defeat early on better than doing a crappy job and then running out of time? Last week I got all confused and I embarrassed myself by asking ridiculous questions when presented with the final chapter of an ongoing freelance project, and because of that I’ve been doing some hardcore evaluating of Everything That Currently Eats At My Time as well as Everything That Currently Eats At My Brain. This morning we received some horrible news about a friend’s family, and that news picked us up by the necks and slapped our faces and all we could really do was go buy some sponges (I had a coupon) and stare off into the distance and not say anything.

I’m afraid I’m not doing very well at a number of things, and it’s a bit of a concern and I believe I need to step back and think about this and figure out where my mind is. (I went to college with the wife of Black Francis.) One of my biggest fears is that I’ll become mundane and unmarketable. I’m starting to smell both of those things, and it’s bumming me out. Normally when I put on my self-doubting hat (every few years), I start singing songs about quitting Fluid Pudding. I now know better than that. (I also know that avocados all smooshed up and mixed with diced apples equals a delicious lunch. The only thing that makes it MORE delicious is making a wrap out of it. Wrap! Look what I’ve done! Full circle. Closure. And, scene.)

Scout’s birthday was last week. We celebrated by buying her a sweater and allowing the groomer to remove all of the matted fur.

I know.

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Taking it to the mattresses… with wood! (It’s not what you think, Gutterhead.)

After four and a half days of NOT being in school, the kids are now back in school. Like Jeff, the girls allow their bodies to shut down on holiday weekends. It’s almost as if they store up the germs and release them the second they step off of the bus onto the edge of a long weekend. I checked the calendar, and Meredith was sick all through the Presidents’ Day weekend last year. This year she and Harper were both sick. Every time Jeff takes a mini-vacation from work, he ends up sprawled out on the bed listening to me yell things like, “You should call work and TELL THEM TO SWITCH THIS FROM VACATION TO SICK BECAUSE THIS IS *NO* VACATION!!!” (I’m a joy to be around when people are ailing.)

Here I sit with a looming deadline, a butter toffee coffee (that’s what I said) in my hand, and an ear bent toward the door so I can listen for the mattress man. About a week ago, Jeff and I spent an hour walking around a large room filled with beds. We lied down. We stood up and walked to the next bed. We suddenly felt the need to lie down again. The other customers in the store were also lying down and standing up and walking a few steps only to become exhausted once more. I started laughing The Laugh of No Sound and singing the opening theme from Koyaanisqatsi as we all napped, arose, took a few steps, and napped again.

(Meredith eventually killed the joy by asking, “What if someone in this room has lice?” With that, our bed hopping came to a screeching halt.)

In the mattress store, I learned that I enjoy sleeping on a firm bed. A VERY firm bed. Jeff learned to appreciate the adage from that old cross-stitch sampler that states, “If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” We put in our order for an Honorable Firm, and here I sit. Waiting for the delivery. I have a three hour window and a sweet potato in the oven.

Wait a second. I have huge news! Do you remember when we moved into this house (nine years ago) and I said something like, “The house is good, except for the pink carpeting in the family room and hallway. The pink carpeting has to go.” Every six months or so (for the past NINE YEARS) I have harumphed onto the couch and complained that the pink carpeting is so disgusting and I really wish we could DO something about it. (It’s easy for me to sit on the couch and complain about how things need to be done. Don’t get me started.) The pink carpeting has prevented me from inviting people over. The pink carpeting tells me I’m a terrible mother. The pink carpeting does not allow me to lose weight at the rate I desire. The pink carpeting steals socks. The pink carpeting sucks joy. The pink carpeting does not share my political beliefs. The pink carpeting listens to Celine Dion.

For the past nine years (!!!) we have lived not knowing what was under the pink carpeting. We suspected wood, but we also suspected urine or blood stains. (Why else would someone cover wood with pink carpeting?!) On Saturday morning, Jeff went to the hardware store and purchased a few utility knives.

A few minutes later, we saw this:

Beneath the Pink

Wood! AND, it’s not ugly! In fact, it’s lovely! Jeff spent the entire day cutting and ripping and waiting to unveil a huge blood/urine stain, but there was no blood or urine to be found! (If you start your day anticipating an unpleasant discovery of blood/urine and no blood/urine is to be discovered? THAT is a good day. A *crazy* good day! I’m now planning on beginning ALL of my days with the anticipation of unpleasant blood/urine. If it happens, it’s no surprise. If it doesn’t? Hallelujah chorus!)

Wood!

You might look at this floor and think that it needs refinishing or resomethinging. I look at this floor and suddenly the Ugh! of the past nine years has been lifted! No more Celine Dion! The pounds are rolling off! I’m a good mother who provides complete pairs of socks! I’m a bleeding heart liberal with a wooden floor! (Gasp!)

Nothing but happy songs today at The Pudding House.

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