Daily Archives : Page 83 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

I will mangle your microwave and cripple your coffeepot.

I volunteer at the girls’ school at least three days each week, and I totally love being there. I love the teachers, I love the office staff, I love the kids, I love using the word Love, and so on! (I *did* try to employ my reliable thesaurus in order to tune down the Love a bit, and it was recommended that I say something like “I get a bang out of the teachers” or “I lust for the office staff.” I believe I will stick with Love. Thus it is, and so it goes.)

Yesterday afternoon my mom and I volunteered to help 73 first and second graders make paper. About an hour before the kids were to arrive, the teacher showed us how to make pulp in the blender and asked us to fill nine tubs with different colored pulps. Sixty minutes to fill nine tubs with pulp. Duck soup.

After about four or five tubs, we broke the blender. And when I say “we broke the blender” I simply mean that the blender stopped working. I don’t believe we did anything incorrectly—it just overheated or something and died. (It took the microwave down with it, so I can only assume this was an electrical issue. However, when we tried to plug the blender in at a working outlet? It once again did not work. This story is growing entirely too long. May I bring you a blanket?)

The teacher, who is admirably unflappable and kind, handed some cash over and asked if I could go to the store and grab another blender. Yes I can! Mom and I rushed out, grabbed another blender, returned to the school, and made another three tubs of pulp before the second blender broke. At that point, we felt a bit Lucy and Ethel-esque.

My mom (making small talk to distract me from freaking out): Do you still have that weird spot on your hip?

Me: Yep. I think I’m going to have it cut off after knitting camp.

My mom: You know, I’m pretty good at making paper. Maybe I could cut that thing off of your hip!

Both of us: Ha Ha HA HA HA!!!!!

We were able to make due with the pulp we created before Operation Blender Annihilation, and 73 students made some pretty awesome paper before Mom and I headed home for the day. Excellent. (This morning I helped 21 kids plant grass seeds in cups, and at one point I actually said, “I don’t think you want to see me lose my patience.” As my kids know, this is the final thing I tend to say before completely losing my cool. Luckily, I was able to finish the planting and exit the building without showing everyone my ugly Jekyll/Hyde spin kick transformation. (No disrespect intended toward those with actual split personality disorders. (Bases? Covered!)))

I’m getting ready for next week’s knitting camp, and I plan on taking you with me if the WiFi connection is as great as they say. (Dear Coffee Lady, I know. This is NOT real camping, is it?!) I’m taking my current lace weight project (a Pi Shawl made from Noro “Sekku”), a DK weight project (a Seraphim made of Silky Wool), a worsted weight project (a short-sleeved Liesl made of ruby Sierra), and my latest obsession: a Taygete made from Scout’s Swag and Sanguine Gryphon sock yarns. (It’s for my migraine doctor. Because she always admires my knitting and she hasn’t yet given up on the bugs in my head.)

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Meditation and Sweaters

Headache Doctor: So, are you currently taking any medication regularly other than Zonisamide and the multivitamin?

Me: I take a sleep aid at night.

Headache Doctor: How many times per week do you take it?

Me: Well, probably three times per week. Maybe more. Mostly more. Okay then. Seven nights per week.

Headache Doctor: We need to get you off of that. Ideally, you should be able to fall asleep and stay asleep without chemical intervention. What is your caffeine intake?

Me: I drink two or three cups of coffee each day, and I try to finish the final one before ten in the morning. With that said, I’m definitely stretching the truth, because here it is, almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m drinking out of a Starbucks cup! Busted! I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT DECEITFULNESS!

Headache Doctor: Knowing that you SHOULD drink the final one before ten is a good start. Have you ever done yoga or meditation for relaxation?

Me: We joined a gym about three weeks ago, and I really should check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes! AND, now that I’ve said that sentence out loud, I think we both know that the last thing I’m going to do is check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes. I’m scared to death of the gym. There’s a pool there. I have no idea how to swim, I have no desire to learn how to turn on a stair machine, I know what a Kettlebell is, but I sort of feel the urge to cancel friendships with anyone who asks me to swing one around. I hate the smell of sweat. I feel awkward during all time not spent sitting on my couch, and sometimes I feel awkward when I AM on my couch. So, yeah. I take pills to sleep and sometimes I drink coffee all day. You should see my Hanes Her Way underpants. Dear God, I’ve got problems.

From there, it continued to sputter downhill. Eventually, I found my way home from the headache doctor (I see her again in May. I really need to knit that woman a pair of socks for dealing with my Crazy.), and I immediately logged in to Audible where I downloaded Buddhist Meditation for Beginners by Jack Kornfield. I am not Buddhist, nor do I buy into meditation. (The thought of being barefoot makes me a bit jittery, and once I’m on the floor I can’t get back up very well. Perhaps I need to take a class at the gym! Or swimming lessons! I know. Oh, people. Don’t hug me.)

Anyway, I’ve now put the meditation guide onto my iPod, and I’ve started listening to it every night for the past five nights. Get this: I haven’t heard more than four minutes of the silly thing because I keep falling asleep and not waking up until a cello starts playing at around the five and a half hour mark. In other words, I’m in bed taking in more than five hours of God knows what (accompanied by pan flutes!) while I slumber like a stinking baby! Meditation? Yes. It totally works. Passively.

(I really need to find out if hypnopaedia was truly discredited as a method of learning, because if I could be getting my realtor license or something while I slept, I would feel a hell of a lot more marketable. Imagine the possibilities!)

Hey! I finished a sweater. It’s a Liesl made out of Cascade 220, and I sort of want to make a cotton version (not so green, maybe?) with short sleeves to wear during the summer months.

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I just don’t want to be Tessie.

In approximately two weeks, I will be attending a knitting camp, where I believe there will be both knitting and camping. Sadly, I’ve done what I always seem to do, which is: Not keep up with the message board discussions where the camp is discussed. SO, in two weeks, my friend (who is flying in from far far away) and I will be driving to the campground, where I will be The Woman Who Has No Idea What’s Happening.

Me: Oh! A sheep shearing?! How wonderful! I had no idea!

Me: Oh! I have latrine duty?! Fiddlesticks! I probably should have read the message boards!

Me: Oh! We’re doing a real life version of The Lottery?! Hrm! I’m not quite sure this is what I signed up for, but really? I don’t know WHAT I signed up for! PleaseGodDon’tMakeMeBeTessie.

I do know that at one point during the registration process I paid $25 extra to NOT have to sleep on a bunk bed (really! I’m that kind of person!), but then the camp location changed to a place that doesn’t have bunk beds (hooray!) and DOES have a microbrewery on site (what?!). In other words, UPGRADE! I’ve also heard rumors that an outdoor movie will be shown, and that the movie may be Mamma Mia! (Please know that the exclamation point used in that last sentence is not intended to indicate my own excitement about Mamma Mia! being shown. Seriously.) Anyway, since Hell for me involves spontaneous singing and dancing and high-five lady hug crazyville, there’s a good chance that if the movie is a mandatory event, more than one hundred knitters are going to witness this before the end of the night.

Perhaps it’s time for me to start a warning thread on those message boards…
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We’re picking up our needle and moving to another groove.

So, it’s Spring Break at The Pudding Chalet, and your guess is as good as mine as far as what Spring Break should entail. We were going to go see Rango, but one kid called the other kid a Liar, and that’s really all it takes to cancel a movie. (Confession: It doesn’t really take much to cancel a movie. Especially if I have no desire to see that movie. With that said, we don’t do name calling at The Pudding Chalet.)

Jeff’s dad gave us a lava lamp several years ago when we were dating. I’m still not really sure why, but I sort of went with it, as I often do. By the way, the neighbors down the street now have a huge wooden stork in their front yard, and that huge wooden stork is holding a sign that says “Taylor, 6 lbs. 15 oz., March 17th!” This afternoon Meredith came up to me and said, “If the neighbors can’t find a home for Taylor before the end of the week, can we take her?”

Me: Yes. But before we continue with this conversation, can you tell me what you think Taylor is?

Meredith: I think she’s a puppy.

When I broke the news to Meredith that although WE know that storks deliver pickles, there are some people out there who like to pretend that storks deliver babies, and sadly (sadly?!) Taylor is a BABY and NOT a puppy. (Meredith knows that storks do NOT deliver babies. She also knows that she was pulled (quite unnaturally, with the use of a spinal block of all things) from my abdominal region. She also knows that because of this highly unnatural way to enter the world, there’s a 23% chance that she’ll raise some sort of whimsical hell someday. Anyway. Where was I? Storks! Pickles! Puppies!)

Have I told you that we’re probably getting a puppy at the end of April? Sort of like the lava lamp thing, I’m just nodding my head and going with it. When it happens, you’ll be the first to know. By the way, I got a pair of jeans yesterday, and they call themselves Slim Boyfriend, and for whatever reason, that makes me want to hear this song over and over. (Have I ever told you about my bus ride to Atlanta when I *did* hear that song over and over?) Hey. Tell me a gallbladder story. Because I think I’m starting this sort of stuff up again, and I want somebody to sing a song about beet juice to me.
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Great Balls of Cake!

If you’ve been with me for the past few months, you’ve heard me mention cake balls. If you know what cake balls are and you’re not a fan, I’m about to offer you a hall pass, because there’s not much here for you to see. If you don’t know what cake balls are? Well, it’s Christmas in March, people. Gather around.

I bought the Cake Pops book back in December and have probably made at least a dozen batches of cake balls. In fact, I’m sort of shmooing myself into That Lady Who Always Has Cake Balls. If there’s a trivia night? I’m bringing cake balls. Book club? Cake balls. It’s your birthday? Cake balls. Parent/Teacher Conferences? Cake balls, Cake balls, Cake balls. (I’m proud to report that a friend called with a Cake Ball Emergency a few weeks back, and I was able to provide cake balls. This goes down as one of my proudest moments. 1. Raising kids that don’t suck. 2. Playing Chopin on the piano. 3. Being able to stay calm and deliver during a cake ball emergency.)

Let’s make some cake balls, shall we? The first thing you need to do is bake a cake in a 9 x 13 pan. You can do it by scratch, but I have no idea why you would want to. For this particular batch of cake balls, I baked a Duncan Hines lemon cake. When the cake is done and completely cooled, grab a big bowl and crumble the heck out of the cake. For you, this might be the best part of the process. For me? It’s pretty horrible. I HATE TOUCHING FOOD. Anyway, crumble it until all of the big crumbs are gone. When you’re done, it will look something like this.

Next up? Grab a container of icing. If you have the Cake Pops book, Bakerella has provided a really great grid that lists cake and icing flavors that blend well for the best possible cake balls/pops. For this batch, I went with Lemon Supreme.

And this is where I want to tell you that I normally go in and try to make my photos look good, but this is Migraine Week for me. My migraine hit on Tuesday, and it was at its worst late Wednesday night, and then yesterday afternoon I was hit with some sort of stomach thing and this has nothing to do with that! Back to the cake balls!

Stir no more than 3/4 of the icing container into the cake crumbs. (Helpful hint: Stir using the BACK of the spoon.) If you add the whole container, it’s going to get all goopy, and you definitely do NOT want goopy. When you’re all done stirring it in, it’s going to look like this:

Now the really fun/disgusting part begins. (Once again, this all revolves around your ability to touch food without cringing. These cake balls have been sort of therapeutic for me, I suppose.) It’s time to ball! (What?) Grab a hunk (I hate the word hunk), roll it into about the size of a golf ball, and place it onto a waxed paper lined baking sheet. You’ll notice that your hands start to get gross after about six balls. Please wash them frequently during the balling process. (Hello! Due to that last sentence, I just got 23 hits from people searching for something completely unrelated to cake!) Anyway, frequent hand washing will make the whole thing run a lot more smoothly. (Perhaps I’m projecting. Wash your hands. Wash them. Right now. Go.) One more thing. Don’t roll the cake balls too tightly, if that makes sense. You’re going to be refrigerating them for several hours (or putting them in the freezer for several minutes) and if they’re rolled too tightly, they might crack.

At this point, I normally refrigerate the balls overnight. (I like to spread the cake ball process out over two days. That’s just how I do it. I know a few people who put the balls into the freezer for ten minutes before the dipping phase. It all depends on how much time you have.) Anyway. Onward to the dipping!

I went to Michael’s and bought a bunch of the Wilton’s Candy Melts. They come in a bunch of different colors and are really easy to work with. (I find that it takes about 1 1/3 bags per batch.) If you don’t feel like dealing with that, you can also melt chocolate chips or bark or whatever. (I’ve never done that personally, but I know people who have, and their balls turn out beautifully. I’m no longer trying to be careful about the ball thing. Everyone is welcome at Fluid Pudding.) Anyway.

Here you see a bowl of the melted baking chips and three chilled cake balls ready to be dipped.

Toss a cake ball into the melted chips.

Using a spoon, make sure the ball is completely covered with chocolate/bark/melt/whatever.

CAREFULLY pick it up out of the melted chocolate with the spoon and carefully roll it to the edge of the spoon and sort of tap the excess chocolate off of the spoon. (You’ll develop your own technique in no time. I sort of do a lift Lift LIFT taptaptap motion. Whatever works.)

Roll the ball from the spoon onto another waxed paper lined baking sheet. (If some of the chocolate comes off of the cake ball, you can use your spoon to cover the rough spot with more chocolate. You’ll see what I mean. These things are completely user-friendly.)

After you put a few cake balls onto the baking sheet, feel free to dump sprinkles onto the top or maybe hit them with a different colored icing or whatever strikes you as being sort of fabulous. This particular batch (pink lemonade cake balls) were for Meredith’s Girl Scout troop, so I wanted them to be quirky. Whatever works for you works for the cake balls. Zen. (I always get about 32 cake balls per cake.) NOW, go make some. I would tell you to take a photo and leave a link in the comments so we can all admire your creation, but I know at least three of you who are going to mess this up for everyone. I’m on the couch and hardly in a mood for moderation. (You don’t know this, but this is the roughest you’ve seen me in quite some time. I’m wearing a baseball hat and am severely unshowered.) Cake balls!!!
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Unlike her mother, Meredith can cut a rug! Figuratively!

When I was in the seventh grade, I went to a dance. Less than thirty minutes after arriving (and feeling like someone from another land as I watched over 100 people smiling and air-knocking simultaneously to Who Can It Be Now), I knew that dances were not my thing. After a bit of semi-frantic wandering behind the scenes, I quickly learned that the student council members were running the snack booth in shifts, so I wandered over and struck a deal.

Me: I know I’m not part of the student council, but my change-making skills are impeccable.

Popular girl: You have to be on the student council to work here. We each have to work a thirty minute shift.

Me: I understand that, but I also understand that it’s only a matter of time before Centerfold starts playing, and you would probably rather be dancing to THAT than hanging out back here. Me? I would rather be selling Coke and Laffy Taffy than just about anything else right now. I CURRENTLY HAVE AN “A” IN MATH.

Popular girl: Well, if you promise not to steal any of the money…

Me: I’m BAPTIST.

For the rest of the night, whenever a student council member would show up for a shift, I would kindly relieve him or her so I could continue to hide behind the metal box of quarters. I Never Went To Another Dance. Ever. No. Not Even Prom.

The list titled Things I Hope My Daughters Don’t Inherit From Me is longer than you think, and one of the items on that list is “483. My complete inability to let go and dance.”

On Saturday night, Jeff took Meredith to a dance celebrating the 99th anniversary of Girl Scouts. I am pleased (elated, even) to report that Meredith never felt the urge to sit in a tiny room and sell candy bars. (I put together the following video (with a bit of my own editorial commentary, because my opinions are Important when it comes to Ke$ha) as a bit of a souvenir for Meredith. Feel free to watch it if you want.) ((Also, please know that had I been at the dance, I probably would not have allowed Meredith to keep jumping off of those bleachers. Buzzkill, thy name is Pudding.))

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Well, hello there! I believe I’m 80% Tiger Mother!

A few months back I noticed that Amy Chua was making the talk show rounds discussing her book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. After watching a few of the interviews, I sort of knew that I would probably never read the book, and I sort of knew that I would never want to be friends with Ms. Chua. Her kid made a birthday card for her and she gave it back and demanded something better?! What sort of parenting is that?!

My church book club selected Battle Hymn for our summer book, and I quickly signed up for it at the library because I knew that I didn’t want Ms. Chua to receive any royalty cash from me. When I made my library request, I was something like request number 394,492 with four copies in circulation. It was doubtful I would ever see the book. No big deal.

Apparently, some sort of hiccup took place in the system, and I got the call from the library a few days back. Please know that I’m sort of glancing around the room before I type this next sentence for fear that Katie Couric will walk out of my bathroom and roll her eyes at me, but: After reading the first 68 pages, I’m finding that I’m actually agreeing with MANY of the points that Chua makes in her book. MANY of the points! (I don’t really care if Katie Couric rolls her eyes at me. I think we could make up over burritos, and everything would be Just Fine.) ((Do you know that I make my kids correct their homework, because I find it unacceptable for them to make mistakes when they have the convenience of time to complete things accurately? I’ve also been known to make them correct things that they bring home from school. I know we’ll eventually reach a time when I can no longer enforce Correction, and I’m hoping the habit sticks so they eventually do it by choice, or just get things right the first time. We’ll see.)) (((How about that burrito, Katie Couric?!)))

It is now becoming clear to me that most of the people who interviewed Ms. Chua never read the book. Like me, they received the bulleted points that most of the articles puke out—the points that make Chua look absolutely callous and semi-abusive. And, sure. On the surface, it might seem a bit weird that Chua loaded the car with her daughter’s dollhouse and threatened to donate it to the Salvation Army piece by piece if the child didn’t perfect a particular piano composition by the next day. (Do you remember when I, smelling like a freshly showered Cinnamon Bun, went on a rampage and threw all of my kids’ toys away? We all have our moments, no?)

Anyway, peppered throughout the book (at least the first third that I’ve read so far) are things that really hit home (and sometimes sting a bit). For example:

Western parents worry a lot about their children’s self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child’s self-esteem is to let them give up. On the flip side, there’s nothing better for building confidence than learning you can do something you thought you couldn’t.

As Chua has said time and time again, this is NOT a parenting manual. This is a memoir. AND, if you treat it as a memoir and NOT a handbook, it’s not difficult to find the humor in it. (By the way, it’s very refreshing to be reading it simultaneously with Let’s Panic!) I’m actually considering purchasing the book when my library time is up, just so Penguin can shoot a fraction of a cent toward Ms. Chua for me. It bothers me that Joy Behar gave her such a hard time. It bothers me that I did That Thing where I judged another parent before knowing the whole story. (And I don’t even know the whole story! I know only 68 pages worth of the story!) Once again, we’re all doing our best, and my best is different from your best, and our best is different from Joy Behar’s best, but the fact remains: Everyone (probably) Loves Cake Balls. And later this week, I’ll show you exactly how to make them.
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I could never give up pancakes.

Meredith has decided that she is interested in the concept of Lent, but is more excited about what you put into it than what you take out of it. For example, she has decided to give up gum for 40 days (which isn’t really a big thing being that I don’t allow her to chew gum more than once or twice each month), and has set the goal of finishing her current book by the time Lent is over. Harper has decided that she wants to give up her excessive use of the word Like during Lent. I’m behind that choice 100%, and will encourage Meredith to join Harper in her efforts. (Am I a bad mom for accusing my kids of using Lazy Language when they, like, say Like, like three times during each sentence? It drives me insane, and I’ve reached the point where *I* loudly say LIKE every time THEY say like, which drives them nuts. It’s all about reciprocity, no?)

As for me, I’m not really a Lent type of person. I was raised to believe that Lent is for Catholics, but I’ve learned since then that what I was raised to believe isn’t necessarily true. Instead of giving up chocolate or Facebook or mustard (or Indian food or cake balls or grilled cheese horseradish sandwiches), I believe I am going to focus more on keeping my mouth closed and my ears open. (Just last night I found myself regretting about fifty things that I had said earlier in the afternoon, so practicing The Fine Art of Reticence with a Bent Ear couldn’t come at a better time.) This evening our church is having a Pancake Dinner to bid a ritual farewell to certain foods for Lent. As many Christians do, I’m picking and choosing which traditions to stand behind. I Will Always Stand Behind a Pancake Dinner.

Are you giving anything up for Lent? Do you, like Meredith, set a goal to put something back into the next 40 days? I’m curious to hear what Fluid Pudding readers out there are doing from now until Easter.
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Kidneys, Veterans, My Head, and Balls of Cake

The kidney people used to call a few times each month to ask if I would put some sort of donation out on my front porch. Inevitably, I would forget to put the donation out until midnight the night before they were to come by, and then I would get all cranky and run around my house yelling and and throwing things into bags and boxes and cursing about kidneys all the while. More often than not, the kidney people would then NOT come by, and my bags and boxes would sit there until I packed them into the back of my car and drove them to the little yellow house charity thing at my kids’ school. After three instances of no-show kidney people, I asked them to take us off of their call list.

Last week the veterans called. Today I gathered two bags full of clothing and shoes and coats and whatever and will put them on the front porch before eight in the morning. I’m counting on you to be more reliable than the kidney people, Veterans. If this is the beginning of a successful charitable/reliable relationship, I may even donate a KIDNEY to one of you for the sake of irony and goodwill. (You might think I’m joking. I’m not joking.) Let’s make this work.

Thanks to all of you for the fun suggestions on the review site. Like I said, I’m still sort of swimming and throwing balls around at this point, but when it’s time to make a decision (possibly during the week of the 21st?), you’ll be the first to know what I come up with.

Speaking of the review thing, do you remember last month when I was lamenting about the headshot thing? I talked to Julie at Sungazing about setting something up and then I started spinning around and crying about haircuts and eyeliner and feeling uncomfortable with the idea of being within 300 feet of a camera, and suddenly we were scheduled to hook up with a few friends for lunch last Friday, and because my hair was cut (and I was okay with NOT using liquid eyeliner) a headshot appointment seemed like just the thing to do! We met up on Delmar and despite the fact that I’m a big apprehensive baby, Julie Worked Magic. Never before have I actually been happy to see a photo of myself. Julie is so talented and fun and she honestly loves what she does, which made the whole experience breezy.

On Friday night, I went to my second ever trivia night, and I’m convinced that I should go to MORE trivia nights because even though I’m not very good at them, they’re really sort of fun, aren’t they? Our table won the Best Decorated Table award, and that may have been because no other tables were decorated, but it also may have been because someone at our table owns a laminating machine! (It’s becoming really clear to me lately that I’m surrounded by amazing people.)

This week will be spent celebrating Jeff’s (40th) birthday, making more cake balls (have I talked to you about my cake ball thing?), and possibly planning a (very) small getaway. Meanwhile, I’m holding out hope for the Vietnam Veterans of America and their ability to pick up my (gently used) stuff.
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Shorties can give you the whim-whams!

EDITED TO ADD: A winner has been selected! Congratulations, Meg!!!

When I first found out I was pregnant with Meredith, it was early September and I was glowing and doing beautiful things like taking folic acid and pre-natal vitamins and eating lots of fruit to build the most perfect environment for the tiny miracle who was being sculpted in my precious uterine apartment.

At the end of October, when I was starting my second trimester, I had to have an emergency appendectomy. From that point forward, my pregnancy was filled with days spent on the couch and lots of moaning, and suddenly I had gained over sixty pounds with three months left to go, and SCIATICA!!! In other words, there’s a lot to expect when you’re expecting, and despite what you’re led to believe, not all of those forty weeks are spent standing in a meadow wearing a gauzy dress and holding a bouquet of fresh flowers while the wind gently caresses your enlarged (aka swollen and painful) chest and your glowing (often acne-ridden) face.

I had the final appointment with my obstetrician on my actual due date. I was eighty pounds up, and Meredith was measuring in at ten pounds. At the appointment my doctor threw around phrases like “perineal massage” and “pain threshold” and words like “episiotomy” and “ripping” and “stitches” and do you know me? Because if you know me, you know that I’m highly uncomfortable talking about body parts—especially if those body parts are (mostly) contained in my drawers. (People who really know me are furiously nodding their heads right now. Because They Know.)

Anyway, right after the appointment, my mom drove me to Houlihan’s, where I sat and stared at a French dip sandwich for thirty minutes as I pondered the ripping and the stitches. Before we left, I went to the restroom and BLOINK! I felt something fall out and splash. I prayed to God that it wasn’t the baby and at the same time I prayed to God that it WAS the baby, because That Was Easy! and I looked down and it was NOT the baby. It was—are you ready—my MUCOUS PLUG! And really? All I could do was: 1. Try to remember if I was supposed to somehow recover the mucous plug., and 2. Laugh. Maniacally. Because pregnancy can often be absurd. And there was really no way to prepare for the ludicrous side. Until now.

Friends, I’m here to announce that two of my very favorite people in the world have published a book (it was released today!) and that book is titled Let’s Panic About Babies! Alice and Eden have kept me in stitches (non-perineal) for years, and the thought of them writing a satirical pregnancy guide almost makes me want to get pregnant again. (It really does. Almost.) AND, the most excellent news? They’re letting me give a copy away here at Fluid Pudding! Between now and Friday (March 4), leave a comment below and at 11:00pmCST, I’ll fire up the random number generator to choose one of you to win! You don’t have to be pregnant to win! You don’t have to be a mom! You don’t even have to be a woman! You just have to be a Fluid Pudding reader. Because, to quote Charlie Sheen, Fluid Pudding readers are built with Adonis DNA.

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