Daily Archives : Page 82 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

Death and Shawls to the Age 16, Spalding Gray!

Last night, as I tucked her into bed, Harper said, “I don’t want you to die before I’m 16.”

Me: I’m with you. The good news? I probably won’t!

Harper: Will you die before I’m 40?

Me: I certainly hope not!

Harper: I don’t want you to die.

She then began to cry. And cry. And my heart broke, and so on. When Harper is 16, I’ll be 51. When she’s 40, I’ll be 75.

Yeesh.

Meredith still cries about our cat that died three years ago, and I really have no idea where I’m going with this. (I’m working on very little sleep, and to keep up with my One Raw Meal Each Day! plan, I just ate 30 almonds. Because that’s all I’ve got over here. Nuts. Where is the Asparagus and Tomato Delivery Truck when I need it?!)

Let’s change the subject! I have less than two weeks to finish my Taygete shawl, and I think it’s going to happen! This is a huge deal! (It’s not really a huge deal.)

When it’s washed and blocked and gifted, I’m going to work on some things that have been in the works for entirely too long (Asparagus and Tomato Delivery Truck!), and then I may just make one of these. With this!

Oh! Just so you know, we pulled Scout out of Eileen’s obedience class, and have enrolled her in a different class that begins in June. Here’s hoping the crazies stay home on Wednesday evenings!
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There’s one (or more) in every crowd.

A few days back, we took the puppy to her first session of obedience school.

We were instructed to bring three things to class: immunization records, a leash, and treats.

One puppy owner didn’t bring any of those items.

That particular owner (Shall we call her Eileen? Let’s do!) sat on a stool and watched her dog run up and hump every other dog in the class. As the rest of us were scrambling a bit to get the humper away from our dogs, Eileen simply laughed and yelled, “She’s been doing that to my Rottweiler all week!”

Note: Scout is not yet spayed. Her siblings are scheduled for their surgery on Friday, and her surgery will most likely take place in the next two weeks. Please know that we cannot officially adopt her until she has been fixed. Back to the story.

As our instructor talked to the class about basic disciplinary tools and how to use treats as incentives, Eileen approached me and said, “My grandkids are nine and they’re unschooled, and they’re reading a series of books that I can’t remember the name of, but they’re really great readers, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, et cetera!”

What I wanted to say: Unschooled like your dog? The dog who is unleashed because you cannot follow instructions and is trying to get my puppy pregnant as we stand around and discuss something you can’t remember?! I paid money for this class!

What I did say: That’s great! I’m sorry, I just missed what the instructor said!

During the entire class, Eileen paid little to no attention to her own dog. Instead, she asked Jeff to help her figure out how to e-mail a photo of Scout to her son. Also, she yelled out to random store employees to bring her a pet gate, a jogging vest, and a leash with neon paws on it for her dog. (They didn’t have the leash with the decorative paws, so her puppy remained leashless. Leashless and Humping.)

All of this to say: I have zero patience for flaky folks who don’t pay attention.

Also, I will never appreciate unschooling after hearing about it from Eileen.

Meanwhile, Scout is learning how to drive a car. Because she’s brilliant, and I’m becoming one of Those Puppy People who say things like, “Coot Widdle Pahpee.”

(I promise to not sing more songs about the puppy in my next post. You’re welcome.)

The End.

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Destroying Rottweiler-Scented Memories

Do you remember when I told you that I was holding on to a pair of socks because they smelled like Beezus?

Scout managed to find those socks a few days back and she killed them.

(She is forgiven.)

Question: Why did three attorneys who specialize in divorce decide to follow my Twitter feed on the morning of my birthday?

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I believe I’m sprouting a finger, Mr. Darwin!

Hey! Do you remember nearly a year ago when I showed my hip to you, and it really looked like I was showing my butt?! And then, two months later, I talked about my hip weirdness once again?

When I saw my doctor in June, I was given antibiotics to kill the family of spiders that were nesting under my skin. Two months later, when the spiders were still bubbling, my doctor said, “Our choices are to wait it out to see if the cyst goes down, or have it removed by a surgeon.” I told him I wanted to wait it out, and he gave me three months in which to wait.

Nine months have passed. (Nine months in which I could have had a baby! But I didn’t!) The cyst is still there, and it’s big and hard and it sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night to say, “Hey! I’m ITCHY! Poke! Poke!”

Long story short: I saw my doctor last week. He referred me to one of the only plastic surgeons covered by my insurance.

Receptionist at the Plastic Surgeon Office (RatPSO): I’m sorry. He operates only from the neck up.

Me: I can stand on my head for twenty minutes.

RatPSO: I’m sorry?

Me: I make jokes when I’m nervous. It’s one of my best and worst traits.

This morning I met with a general surgeon. She walked into the room, asked me to pull my pants down, touched the cyst, and said, “Yep. Let’s slice that thing off.” On May 25th, I will drop the kids off at school, drive myself to the hospital, get a bunch of shots to numb my hip, lie very still so they can “slice that thing off” and stitch it up, and drive myself home just in time to pick the kids up from school and then volunteer at a fifth grade recognition ceremony. It’s called being STALWART, people. If the doctor allows me to bring the cyst home, I’m going to stick it in the dehydrator and make a special treat for the puppy. (It’s all about sharing DNA and wearing Birkenstocks. Am I right? Yes. I’m right.) (I made stew out of my placenta and my family LOVED it.) (I make jokes when I’m nervous! Remember?!)

Speaking of the puppy, this is what’s happening right now:

She’ll be starting school on Sunday afternoon.

(They grow up so fast, don’t they?) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

She’s even cuter than Mary Badham.

When I was seven years old, my family went to the Humane Society where we adopted a puppy named Thumper. We presented it to my mom as a Mother’s Day present, and she really couldn’t have been less thrilled. (Mom is not a fan of dogs. I’m not sure she ever touched Thumper.) For the past thirty three years, my mom has joked that 1978 goes down as The Worst Mother’s Day Ever.

As you know, two weeks ago we adopted Beezus, but then had to return her to the Humane Society. I’m still not over it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be over it. (Confession: There’s a pair of socks under my bed that Beezus slept on while she was here. Because the socks still smell like her, I haven’t had the heart to wash them. Is that weird? I’m not planning on hanging them in a shadow box or anything. I just want to occasionally smell them. Okay. Let’s change the subject.)

Last week I spent some time searching through the Stray Rescue of St. Louis website. So many dogs in need of homes. So many dogs with heartbreaking stories who need to be nursed back to health before they can find a forever home. After talking with Jeff and the girls, I left a message to ask some questions about this puppy, who is currently in foster care. I then went to the Event calendar and noticed that an Adoption Event was scheduled at a PetSmart near our house yesterday afternoon. We decided to go.

After spending nearly fifteen minutes admiring all of the dogs that Stray Rescue had brought to PetSmart, we decided to spend a little time with a black lab who didn’t really want to spend much time with us. One of the women who brought a few of her foster dogs in asked, “Do you know what you’re looking for in a dog?” I told her that I need to be 100% sure that the dog we adopt will be good with kids and cats, and although we were hoping for a puppy, we are also pretty flexible.

She then told me that she had something she was keeping hidden for Just The Right Family. She led us over to a small crate underneath a table, and when she reached in, she pulled this out:

It’s a ten week old female Shih Tzu/Yorkie mix who has been in foster care since the day she was born. Because she hasn’t yet been spayed, she cannot be adopted. HOWEVER, she can be fostered until after her surgery and can THEN be adopted by her foster family.

Foster Mom: Do you think you might be interested in fostering her?

The Pudding Family gushed and melted, and a PetSmart employee had to come over and scrape us off of the floor.

Me: Yes. I think we might be interested.

Internet Friends, please meet Scout.

We’ll be fostering her until she is spayed, and then she’ll become an official member of The Pudding Family. Best Mother’s Day Ever.
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Our tooth fairy brings Swedish Fish and a dollar.

Jeff has been in San Francisco this week, which means I’m currently parenting at a level of eight point five. (I normally hover at around five or six.) Eight point five means I often come down on the girls for not clearing their breakfast dishes, I clean the litter box every other day, and I’m prone to say things like “White Castle? Well, OKAY then!”

These Are The Things Jeff Missed This Week:

I melted down at the beginning of the week with that whole Mistake I Made and the aftershock stupidity waves and inadequacy quakes. (Jeff is not sorry that he missed this event.)

Harper took an important test and did really well, and she’s SUPER proud of herself. (We celebrated with White Castle, because I tend to reward achievement with POISON!)

Meredith performed in a reader’s theater production, and it was amazing to see how Capable and Talented seven and eight year olds can be. Afterward, she tried egg drop soup for the first time and loved it! (I have stuffed myself with crab rangoon twice in the past week. Jennifer Hudson is NOT happy with me right now.)

I received the most awesome early birthday present ever from my friend Lisa M. Look at what I’m wearing on my finger.

It’s a Shy Siren ring and it’s my favorite color, and it looks like a pumpkin, and although I’m not one who squeals, I actually squealed when I opened the box. Thanks again, Lisa. I do believe this is the happiest piece of jewelry I’ve ever worn.

Harper’s been walking around with a knee-buckling loose tooth for the past several days. Unlike Meredith, who was always able to simply reach into her mouth and yank out her teeth, Harper, like me, would much rather someone remove the tooth for her as she sleeps. I gave it a try a few nights back, but honestly? My shuddering and dancing and vomiting prevented me from getting a good grip. When she told me that the school nurse occasionally pulls teeth, I joked around that she may not return to my home until she visits Nurse Carol. Let me just say this: Thank God for Teachers. Yesterday afternoon, Harper’s kindergarten teacher sent her down to the nurse’s office, where the nurse reached in, removed the tooth, and placed it in a tiny treasure box, thereby eliminating my perceived need for Xanax and/or Select 55. When I asked Harper if I could take a photo of her to commemorate the loss of her first tooth, she opted for a video so she could reenact The Moment and the happiness that followed.

Jeff will be back in approximately six hours. I have chosen to celebrate his return with falafel.
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Tonight I gave a cake ball to someone who has never had one. (I’d like to buy the world a Coke.)

My mom and I had lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings this afternoon, and I ordered what I always order: Grilled Chicken Buffalitos without the chicken. (I hit the nine month mark of being meat-free last week! The Buffalitos don’t need the chicken if they have the sauce!) Anyway, when our order arrived, my Buffalitos had chicken. I sent them back. About ten minutes later, my lunch arrived again. With chicken. By that time, my mom had already eaten over half of her meal, so I told the server to simply forget it. All of this to say: My MOM had lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings this afternoon. I ended up going through the Taco Bell drive thru for a bean burrito. I had a beef with the chicken, but no chicken OR beef with the burrito. All is well.

This evening I went to a meeting, and when I returned to my car, I found that at least three geese (or one especially productive goose) had emptied their bowels onto my car. (I know!) I had planned to wash my car this afternoon, but never got around to it. I’ll do it tomorrow. Again, all is well.

After the meeting, I went to Walgreens to stock up on snacks, and when I stepped out of my car, I stepped into a puddle of vomit. Luckily, there was a wet rug outside of Walgreens (I have no idea why), and I was able to thoroughly clean my shoe before stepping back into my car. All? Well!

Harper has an exciting day planned for tomorrow. I have plans for lunch with a friend and a haircut. Meredith has an exciting day planned for Thursday. I have plans to attend her play as well as her field trip. Also, this evening I was elected PTO Treasurer for the 2011-2012 school year, and I have enough cocoa dusted almonds to stuff a swollen starling! (Thanks to all who checked in with me yesterday. I do appreciate it!)

Oh! Wait! EDITED TO ADD the fact that I also got a new pair of shoes on the cheap! (No WONDER the gray skies are starting to clear up!)

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I need a shirt that says, “Case of the Mondays.” Actually, no I don’t.

Do you ever do that thing where you think you’ve made a good decision, and then it becomes clear that what you REALLY did was screw things up? Suddenly, your stomach begins to clench up and your head feels hot and as much as I hate the word Stupid, well, you just feel so stupid? That has happened twice in my life. The first time was after my family had said their goodbyes and driven back to St. Louis, leaving me in Nashville where I knew no one and couldn’t even find my way to the grocery store without referring to my infamous index cards on which I had written directions to and from anything I might possibly need. (Including the nearest Bar-B-Cutie.)

The second time was today. I’ve spent the past eight or so hours feeling incredibly sorry and guilty and, well, stupid. And although I had my Xanax prescription refilled over the weekend (for the first time since 2009! I am not a junkie!), I can’t find that bottle of pills anywhere! AND, I refuse to call Walgreens or my doctor because I ALREADY feel Stupid, and I really don’t want to keep rolling that feeling around in the snow.

Also, my cat is sick. Because she has herpes (really, I’m not making this up), she tends to respond to stress by having really intense sneezing fits. Every time she goes to the vet for an annual exam, she spends the next four to seven days sneezing. On Saturday morning, she got her head stuck in a bag handle, and when she took a step and the bag hit her in the butt, she took off running 392 miles per hour. When I finally tracked her down and cut the bag off of her, she stayed under the bed for three hours, and has been sneezing ever since.

I want to thank each and every one of you for the backpack suggestions. I’ve taken so many notes in the past few days regarding different websites and organizations, and it makes me feel good to know that I was right: Fluid Pudding Readers Know What’s Up. I’m going to take this information back to the school and see what they would like me to do. Thanks for being so amazing.

Because the second of May continues to jab me with rusty forks, please know that my glasses fell off of my face and into the litter box earlier this evening. I have since washed the heck out of them, but as I sit here at the computer, I can’t help but feel like my eyes are smelling sort of flowery. Littery. Luckily, the glasses fell as I was making one of those zen stone garden designs in the clean litter with the shovel. (I believe it helps the cats to achieve enlightenment each and every time they do their business.)

The kids are in bed, and I have no idea if it’s safe to turn the television back on. I think it’s a good night for knitting on my migraine doc’s shawl and listening to a knitting podcast or two. (By the way, Ellen rolled her eyes a bit at knitting earlier today. I almost felt like she was rolling her eyes at me. Really. It has been that kind of day, Annie.)
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Anything that you might need, I’ve got inside for you!

A few months ago, I found myself standing in line with a woman whose daughter is currently a first year kindergarten teacher in Texas. About a week into the school year, the daughter called home to talk about a boy in her class who always claimed to have forgotten his backpack. Every afternoon, the teacher would ask the kids to put their papers into their backpacks, and every afternoon the boy would say, “I forgot my backpack!” When the teacher finally asked how she could help him to remember his backpack, the boy looked at his feet and admitted that he didn’t have a backpack at all, because his mom didn’t have the money.

The teacher went out that night and bought the boy a backpack. (The woman standing behind me in line said that the teacher should NOT have done this, which I thought was interesting. I would have bought the backpack.)

Anyway. It recently came to my attention that there are some kids in the girls’ school who are without backpacks for the same reason. AND, a few of us want to fix that.

I’ve been searching the internet for inexpensive backpacks (not the drawstring kind) that can be purchased in bulk, and although there are quite a few sites that offer such a thing, I hesitate before ordering because of bad site reviews posted elsewhere on the internet. My sister told me to go to a place like WalMart, tell them the situation and how I want to keep the purchase local, and see what they could offer.

Before I do that, I want to throw it out to you, because you tend to have the exact information that I need. Do you know where I could get something like twenty backpacks for a decent price? Any advice would be appreciated.

AND, now I’m going to take your hand and drag you to the other side of the room to show you the bracelet I received in the mail today. When I turned 30, Jeff sent flowers to me at work. Inside the card, he had written, “I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl.” (It’s the opening line from my very favorite Elliott Smith tune.) Now that we have two daughters, that line carries even more meaning than it did when Jeff and I were dating. Anyway, I found an Etsy store that sells customized bracelets. A little more than a week later, here I sit with the greatest bracelet I’ve ever owned—a bracelet so great that it prompted me to make an eighteen second video to celebrate its existence.

From here to there to here: We’re currently two birthday parties down, with only one to go. May Day.

Any advice on the backpack thing? I thank you in advance!
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If you skate, you would be great if you could make a figure eight.

When Meredith was less than 24 hours old, she had already figured out how to kick her feet up to get comfortable.

The new parents in the surrounding rooms loved to poke their heads into my room to ask if they could see “the ten pound baby.”

One mom even brought her tiny six pound baby in, placed her next to Meredith on my bed, and took a bunch of photos. (I’m *still* not completely sure how I feel about that.)

Eight years have passed, and Meredith is still larger than life. She dances every day, sometimes taking breaks to sit down with a notebook to design clothing or coffee cups, she has a knack for writing great stories, and her love of King’s Hawaiian Sweet Rolls is unmatched.

Happy Birthday, Meredith Claire. (And happy birthday to you, Jerry Seinfeld, Eve Plumb, and Uma Thurman.)
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