I wasn’t sure how to respond this morning when my feminine protection suggested I go play.
“I’ve got your back,” said the tampon, “Really. Go play.”
“Well, okay then!” I replied as I pumped my fist into the air, which I often do during That Time of The Month. (I normally follow that exuberant fist pump with a melodramatic cry on the bathroom floor, a maniacal laugh as I shove too many Doritos into my mouth, and a silent scream as my migraine hits. I enjoy being a girl!)
So, yeah. I did what the tampon told me! After taking the kids to catch their ride to College for Kids, I played fourteen rounds of tennis (rounds? sets? I really have no idea!), I mastered The Cartwheel in my front yard, I marched around a football field with a tuba, and I cross-country skied across some country!
Tampon totally had my back. I returned to the house to find that all of my laundry was finished and put away, the floors were sparkling, the dog had been trained, and my shower problem had been solved! The only thing Tampon didn’t do was pick my kids up and bring them back home to me, and that’s the only reason why I decided to remove and dispose of it.
And thank God I did!
It might sound silly, but if you substitute “Grandma” for “tampon” the way I just did, it becomes a bit easier to heed the advice! So, I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind. I’m grabbing my keys and hitting the road. You see, somewhere out there is a carnival with my name written all over it, and I’m going to have fun. I *do* trust you, Tampon! I do! (Why am I suddenly crying? Do you have any Funyons I can borrow?!)
Because school starts up in less than two weeks, we’re currently spending a lot of time trying to tie up loose ends and do some of the things we’ve been talking about doing since the summer began. (We STILL haven’t gone out for a Pancake Breakfast! Unacceptable!)
Tomorrow evening is our last chance to cash in the free River City Rascals baseball tickets the girls earned at school last year. I’m a HUGE baseball fan. (I’m not a huge baseball fan.) The only thing that will possibly keep us away from the stadium tomorrow (other than my complete lack of enthusiasm) is the fact that the temperature is supposed to hit 98 degrees, which along with being a terrible band, is about 38 degrees too hot for me to plop down in a stadium seat. Meredith has decided that if we cannot deal with the heat of the game, we should go with Plan B, which involves a Chinese buffet. All I Can Eat Crab Rangoon, or feeling sweat run down my back while eating peanuts or Skittles or some other crap because I tend to not think ahead and the concession stands at these places typically offer nothing but fried up dead animals that are all too often served on sticks. Hrm. This is a tough one. (This is not a tough one.)
Do you remember back in May when I bought my juicer? I’ve used it exactly three times, and I haven’t been terribly smiley about any of my concoctions. (The promise of apple season is the only thing preventing me from trying to sell the blasted thing.) Luckily, unlike the juicer, my spinning wheel purchase has officially stuck. This is my latest bobbin.
It has some thick and thin and slubby bits, and although I wish my bobbins were even and beautiful when full, I haven’t yet mastered the hook adjustments. Anyway, for the spinners out there, I have one more bobbin to fill with this fiber before I attempt to Navajo ply it. I’m not so great at the spinning thing, but it’s all about the practice, right? Right! Any advice would be appreciated.
Hey! Do you remember when Harper took a hole puncher to Sidney’s ear? Although we haven’t seen much of Sid since Scout became part of the family, I wanted to assure you that she does still exist. (AND, so does the dent in her ear.)
She’ll be hiding in the basement (with that amazing pillow globe that I bought when I was pregnant with Meredith) until the dog is no longer a threat, which should occur sometime around the 12th. The 12th of Never. Also, do you remember learning how to put your shoulders back and stick out your neck and tilt your head and suck in your stomach and push your tongue against your front teeth all in an effort to make yourself appear a bit more photogenic?
Yesterday afternoon we went to the animal adoption event where we met the little Dachsund I had shown you earlier in the week. We hemmed. We hawed. In the end, our family works like this: It takes Four Yesses, but it only takes One No. We had a No. Meredith was pretty much destroyed at the thought of leaving that building without the puppy. (Meredith is VERY sensitive when it comes to animals who need homes. In the past few months, I’ve been keeping up with a rescue group’s activity online, and I have to be very careful to not have the page up when Meredith walks by.)
When your kid is tearful, you do what needs to be done: You take her to 7-11 for a cherry slurpee, and if that doesn’t help, you throw a local cheese pizza on top of the slurpee. And then you throw a Dairy Queen Blizzard on top of that. (Please note that six hours passed between Slurpee and Blizzard. Nevertheless, now that I’m typing it all out, it really does look like we feed our sorrows. By the way, these are wonderful. Hi there, Weight Watchers! Long time no see! Catch me if you can!)
Last night after Harper had fallen asleep, Meredith called me into their room.
Meredith: Mom, do you think I’m a nerd?
Me: Hrm. What exactly do you mean by nerd?
Meredith: I know there are smart nerds and I know there are dorky nerds who are weird, and sometimes I think I’m one of the weird ones.
Me: If you’re weird at all, it’s a really good type of weird. Plus, yes. You’re really smart. You read smart books. You hit all of the notes when you’re singing Selena Gomez songs. If Nerd is a good thing, I would wear it proudly. If you see Nerd as a bad thing? You’re no nerd.
College for Kids starts up tomorrow, where both girls will be taking Xtreme 3-D Studio Art, plus a few other classes. School starts up on August 15th, and I’m terribly excited. Not because I want the girls away from the house, but because it’s at school where they get to see their friends. Once again, I’ve been pretty terrible at keeping them social this summer. (I hate that I’m one of those weird nerds Meredith is so afraid of becoming. I keep hearing myself say, “If you don’t like it, change it.” BUT, it’s not really that easy, is it?)
All of the nerd talk last night stirred me into revisiting my past while wondering when I started falling onto The Nerd Spectrum.
Answer: It had to have happened sometime between elementary and high school.
Have I ever shown you my senior picture from high school?
I dressed like I was fifty, I rarely smiled, yet I tried my hardest to rock asymmetrical hair. When I had this particular photo taken, the photographer said something like, “Well, we typically use that chair for our church directory or career shots.” It didn’t matter. I begged for the blue chair.
Sure, I had this one, too:
I sort of look like an athlete who occasionally kneels down and punches herself in the face. What you cannot see in this photo was my golden brooch—carefully chosen to add a touch of our school colors, which were brown and gold. (By the way, it STILL bothers me that the photographer used white type on a white background.)
I’m now changing the subject: Does anyone REALLY need help knowing how to wear a denim skirt or a pair of striped shoes? I’ve been wincing lately when I run across websites that try to teach me how to have fun with my kids at the grocery store or how to wear a strapless bra without drawing attention to back fat. (Hi. I’ve been cranky.)
And once more: I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are crazy good! Apparently, not many people want gloves or a hat!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Back in 2006, my friend Tempe shared her idea of embroidered shirts to commemorate her kids’ first day of school. Because I loved the idea, we jumped on the wagon. Meredith’s first day of preschool was on August 16, 2006. She didn’t yet wear glasses, she could barely write her name, and she had no idea how to read.
On August 15, 2007, she attended her first day of pre-K. She could then write her name, she could see (!!!), and she was starting to turn down the tantrums and make friends.
On August 18, 2008, Harper went to preschool for the first time. She had been waiting for this day for YEARS. (I have never seen cuter cheeks, by the way.)
That same day, Meredith started kindergarten—minus some teeth, plus an awesome pair of glasses.
AND, here is my big mistake. Meredith started the first grade on August 13, 2009. I hadn’t yet picked up the shirts, so she decided to dress as “a rock and roll girl” for her first day. (Her shirt that year was navy blue with yellow embroidery. I’m kicking myself for not having a photo. Get past it. Get past it. Get past it. Repeat and fade.)
On August 17, 2009, Harper showed her freshly cut layers at pre-K. (She’s still mad about that haircut. She STILL says bad things about Salon Vicki.)
Harper’s first day of kindergarten and Meredith’s first day of second grade was on August 16, 2010. This was the day that I dropped them off at school, and suddenly found myself faced with nearly seven hours of free time. Seven hours that I spent mourning my marketability and counting down the hours until I could nab a spot in the pick up line.
Yesterday morning we went and ordered the shirts for this year. It’s Meredith’s sixth shirt and Harper’s fourth. I have a dream of someday making a quilt out of all of these t-shirts, but deep down I know that will never happen. Because I have no idea how to quilt. Also, I tend to lack tenacity. But it sounds good, right?
Not long ago, someone asked what I do for a living. My response to this is nearly always “I’m a stay at home mom.” (It’s really difficult to explain freelance editing and monkey publishing side jobs.) Can you call yourself a stay at home mom if the kids are at school while you are at home? I suppose I need to start redefining myself yet again.
(Weird side story: Every time we go to the embroidery store, we order The Same Exact Thing. We’ve been going to the same place for SIX years, yet every single time the lady acts like she has to do the math and asks something like, “So this year we’re at Class of 2022 and 2023?” Every year I laugh at the thought of her inadvertently implying that my kids weren’t bumped up to the next grade. And then she doesn’t understand why I’m laughing and I don’t understand why we have to go through this every single year. And then she gives the girls red suckers, and all is well.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
It seems that we’re now in the home stretch of our summer vacation. This week we finalized our backpack and school supply decisions, delivered our blank t-shirts to the embroiderers, and tentatively decided to add another dog to our family.
Next week the girls have College for Kids, and the week after that we’ll find out who their teachers are.
School starts on August 15, and my tubes will be tied on the 19th.
I’ll be finishing The Namesake before the weekend is up and giving Room a shot.
I’ve been working on my Christmas knitting list.
Also, I’m now taking a magnesium supplement every night before bed.
Did I mention that we’re thinking about adding another dog to the family?
Do you have a dog? Two dogs? Three dogs? Two dogs are better than one, right? Can you imagine how smiley our house would be if Scout had a brother? A Dachsund mix brother?!
After the 19th, I’ll no longer be able to have human babies. BUT, nobody said anything about canine babies!!!
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Wait. I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are really good!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
On Saturday morning, I ran to the store and found that the kid pools were on sale for $12. Knowing how much Scout was digging pool time at Puppy Camp, I couldn’t resist buying one for her (and the girls, obviously) to enjoy in the back yard. Because Scout’s legs are less than six inches long, we folded one of the pool sides down and added about two inches of water. Dog Heaven.
As I watched the girls playing with Scout in the pool, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’m hating this hot weather. You already know this about me, so I won’t dwell on the hate. I also won’t dwell on how much I LOVE the fall. LOVE it! Cardigans! Clogs with handknit socks! Fingerless gloves! The promise of hats and snow! I’m dwelling!
Anyway. I had an idea over the weekend. It seems that I have this yarn. It’s Manos Maxima Worsted Weight Merino, and the colorway is Fire.
My photo doesn’t really show just how amazing the colors are. The yarn is a beautiful kettle-dyed red with golden highlights and hints of pink and orange, and it reminds me of autumn leaves and sunsets and apple butter and it’s soft and perfect for fingerless gloves or a hat. And that’s what I want to make for you.
As you know, one of my big things right now is for Aaron to get his bike. The bike costs $3800 and right now we have about $2200. In other words, we’re getting there! Many of you have already donated to the cause, making you eligible for this particular giveaway. Here’s the deal. If you’ve donated $10 to help Aaron get his bike, please leave a comment below. Similarly, if you send a $10 donation (via PayPal) to mousejunkie@att.net, please leave a comment below. (If you donate more than $10, feel free to send an e-mail to me if you wish (angela at fluid pudding dot com), and I’ll give you additional chances to win!) On August 15th, which is our first day of school, I am going to randomly choose someone who has made a donation. I will contact the winner and give him/her several pattern selections that would work with the yarn. I will then knit up the project and mail the finished product out before November rolls around. Imagine how smart you’ll look wearing a pair of striking autumnal fingerless mitts or a lovely fiery hat. (Like this hat!) Similarly, you could think of this as my way of helping you get started with your holiday gifts! Teachers love fingerless gloves! (I know this to be true.)
I feel strongly about a lot of things in life. Right now Aaron and his bike are very important to me. Thanks in advance for making this giveaway work! (Aaron’s Facebook group page is here.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I’m coming to you from Kansas City, where our hotel shower feels like machine gun fire, and the pool is often filled with young boys who are here to participate in a baseball tournament. Last night I actually ventured out in my swimsuit (for the first time in years) to enjoy some pool time with the girls. When I noticed that the pool was filled with over a dozen boys hurling baseballs at each other, I joined the girls in the hot tub for a few moments, and then I headed back to the room to knit while the girls swam in the pool with Jeff.
This morning we walked over to the breakfast area, where the girls (with their new American Girl dolls) chose a table that faced a table full of baseball boy parents. When the waiter brought special high chairs to our table for the dolls (I know! It’s part of the package!), one of the moms at the next table rolled her eyes, sighed, and LOUDLY said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have girls. I can’t deal with all of that trouble. I can’t do dolls.” (She said this after traveling over 300 miles for her kid to play baseball in stupid hot temperatures! I suppose everyone has their own definition of trouble!)
Me: Shut up.
(Not really.)
Me: I’m just wondering how you’re able to teach your son manners if you don’t have any manners of your own!
(Not really.)
Me: Mmmm! Smell those pancakes! AND, know that girls tend to outperform boys in olfactory sensitivity tests! So, it’s actually EASIER to have girls than boys! You know, when it comes to smelling things and taking tests on what you’ve just smelled!
To me, kids are kids. Girls don’t have to “do” dolls just like boys don’t have to “do” baseball. You do what you do. Also, some parents are assholes. I try my best not to be.
Whoosh! I’m now coming to you from Columbia! Time keeps on slipping, and we’re off to fill my need for broccoli pizza and orange soda. Have I mentioned that we’re just a little over $1,500 away from Aaron getting his bike? This is such a good thing. (Donations are still being accepted! Feel free to join us as we reach our goal!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
About six months ago, my doctor and I had a conversation about exercise.
Doctor: So, other than the thing on your hip, how are you feeling?
Me: I’m a little rough around the edges, but I think I’m just getting old.
Doctor: You’re 41. That’s not old.
Me: Are you flirting with me?
Doctor: If you’re having joint pain or muscle aches, you might want to ease into a workout routine. Yoga is a great place to start.
Me: Yeah. I know. I once stopped seeing a gynecologist because he looked too much like Jeff and he had his photograph on his business card! Isn’t that funny?!
Doctor: Are you trying to change the subject? Come see me again for your physical in August, and we’ll talk about how yoga is going for you.
Me: This is our last goodbye. I will see you on the 12th. Of Never.
I looked up a yoga class schedule. I did! And the bad news is that school was ending in a few weeks (My excuses smell like fresh lemonade! Delicious!) and I didn’t have a backup plan for where the kids could go while I was downward dogging, so instead of making a few calls, I decided to ride out the summer in the style of a sloth.
Last night it occurred to me that my physical is less than four weeks away. As I sat at the computer researching local frozen yogurt dumps and looking at cutephotos of my dog, it hit me: Maybe it’s time for me to do a Couch to 5K program! THAT will impress my doctor! I quickly Googled Couch to 5K and honest to God, my computer crashed. Seriously. This could be a sign. (Confession: I’ve always been slightly afraid that my heart would explode someday due to overexertion. This is why a comfortable couch and a good knitting bag are so important to me.)
This morning, while standing in the shower thinking, I ironed out my Couch to 5K reality. Here’s the thing: I hate to run, and I hate being outside in the heat. Similarly, I hate to sweat, and I hate feeling that parts of me are being jostled. With that said, it’s a nine week program. Nine weeks! That’s the life expectancy of a honey bee in the summertime! If I start “running” during the first week of September, I will be done before Thanksgiving! And forever after!
Me: Will I ever run outside if it’s hot or raining or there’s a chance that someone will see me?
Me: No. BUT, we belong to the J, so I can do this whole thing inside if I want to. And I can keep my eyes closed and PRETEND that no one sees me.
Me: But what’s the fun in that? Shouldn’t I be signing up for a REAL 5K to celebrate being ABLE to run? Shouldn’t there be slow motion finish lines and crying with people you’ve never met but can’t seem to stop hugging because of joy and pain and epinephrine?!
Me: Better yet, maybe I’ll celebrate by getting up at 5:45 in the morning, driving to the J, running five kilometers on the inside track before anyone else shows up, and then driving back home where Jeff will congratulate me with a plate of pancakes. After breakfast, maybe I’ll attempt to do a cartwheel and the girls will hang one of their Little Gym medals around my neck.
Me: Yes. And then I’ll take a nap and give myself the rest of the day off to knit, spin, or whine about how much it all hurts.
Question: Have you done the Couch to 5K thing? If I do it at all, I’m going to do it on my own. I don’t want anyone else to have to depend on me, because I get all flaky when it comes to sweating. (I went to a garage sale this weekend, and as soon as I felt sweat dripping down my back, I flipped out and went home. I suppose I need to work through this “Sweat? GO HOME NOW!” response if I’m going to experience success on the track.) All caps IF I do it, you’ll be the first to know. Because I’ll need someone to give me some music recommendations. And I’ll need someone to step up and say, “It’s okay to quit if you want to.” And then I’ll need someone ELSE to say, “Hey. Let’s go grab coffee and not work out. Because we’re pretty.” It takes a village. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
A few days back, we had lunch with one of Meredith’s friends and the friend’s mom. It was delightful. As expected, the girls decided to plan a play date. (I still hate that term.) Because Friend wanted to meet Scout, we planned the get together for yesterday afternoon at 12:30. (I’ve gone on and on about how bad I am at inviting the girls’ friends over, so I won’t do the broken record thing with you. You know me.)
Less than an hour into the play date, I noticed that I was sweating. So hot. Crazy hot. 84 degrees in the house. It didn’t help that I had been baking cakes and boiling chickens, but still. Shouldn’t an 18-month-old air conditioner be working better than this?!
I immediately did what anyone would do.
I stuck popsicles down my shirt and sent the kids downstairs to play. (It’s at least 15 degrees cooler downstairs.) ((By the way, do you see the look on my face? My kids know that look as the “We better turn this ship around and start puking random compliments at Mommy!” look.)) I’m sure seeing me with popsicles in my shirt made Friend downgrade my status from Okay to Junk. (Junk was her insult for Miley Cyrus, as in, “I think Miley Cyrus is junk.” I sort of like it, but toward things rather than people. “This fig dip is junk! Diet soda is junk!”)
Side story: At one point during the play date, I offered Friend some gluten-free cookies. She tried them, hated them, and then asked for one of my cucumbers.
Me: Really?
Friend: Yes.
Me: Okay. Do you need me to cut it or peel it or anything?
Friend: No, I’ll just take it.
Me: Do you need something to dip it in?
Friend: Ew. No.
I washed a cucumber, sliced off both ends, and handed it to her. She eats cucumbers like apples. She ate the entire thing. I’m 41 years old, and I’ve never seen anyone do this. Excellent. Anti-junk.
After Friend went home, I went downstairs and noticed that the air conditioner was all iced up. I called our trusty air conditioner guy and he told me to clean the filter and TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER OFF for two hours to let the ice melt. Jeff cleaned the filter and quickly took the girls to VBS—leaving me and the dog sitting in the heat. Scout, sensing how ruffled I was, quickly crawled under the table and took a nap. Me? I raged and cursed and stuck a few popsicles down my pants.
At ten o’clock in the evening, the air had cooled the house to 78 degrees, and this is nothing but good, because I had canceled all plans for today in order to sew a pair of popsicle underpants. Have I mentioned that I’m counting down the days until autumn? Only 72 more days! (My opinion: Summer is junk.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Last summer my lovely neighbor presented me with a hummingbird feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and the hummingbirds flocked.
A few weeks ago I pulled out the feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and nothing.
This morning I watched a hummingbird approach the feeder, hover for a bit, and then flit away without imbibing. I could swear I heard a very high pitched, “That place SUCKED!” as his shadow grew longer. Everyone has 24 hours in their day. I tend to sleep for about eight and a half of those, meaning I have about fifteen and a half active hours with which to work. (I use the word Active and Work pretty loosely.) I absolutely hate that I’m going to have to use some of that time to try and figure out why my hummingbirds are so angry and/or anorexic.
Hey, look! I made a skein of yarn!
The wool was dyed by Tempe and sloppily spun by me. (Lots of thick and thin spots, yet I’m pretty happy with the final result.) After finishing it up and thwacking it against the wall a few times, I became overly confident. I pulled out some merino fiber and decided to spin four ounces of lace weight. Last night found me cutting the first ounce off of my bobbin with scissors after it repeatedly broke and unwound. I’ve now ordered a used copy of The Intentional Spinner and am hoping to not lose heart too quickly.
Let’s see. What else? Scout has lost her four bottom front teeth, and it’s so adorable I could cry.
I’m getting my tubes tied the good old fashioned way on August 19th. I finally grew tired of researching all of these new-fangled permanent birth control methods and their side effects and just said, “Forget it! Let’s tie them!” The Catholic hospital where I was originally scheduled to have the Adiana procedure performed told me that they don’t want no stinkin’ tube tying going on in their operating room. The Baptist hospital said, “Us! Come to us! We’ll happily tie your tubes!” And there you go. This paragraph has absolutely nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way. Believe it or not, I love them both equally. We’re more alike than we are different.
Cake Ball Update: I’ve baked two cakes and balled 63 cake balls. So far so good. (It was sort of a fishes and loaves moment in that one cake normally yields about 50 tablespoon-sized balls. For whatever reason, my first cake gave me 63 instead of 50. I used the same mix/icing combination and I used the same scoop. Clearly, I’ve just experienced a miracle. If any of the wedding guests bite into a cake ball and see the profile of Jesus, I really won’t be surprised.) This paragraph has nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way.
The girls have been loving Vacation Bible School this week. (This paragraph has nothing to do with, oh, nevermind.) Next week is our trip to the American Girl Store. (Yes. That’s what I said.) A few weeks later is College for Kids, and then it’s time to think about school. (We’ve already purchased our school supplies. The summer, it flies. And we haven’t even gone for snow cones yet!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
