Daily Archives : Page 84 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

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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I’m giving away some more energy-conserving light bulbs, and I would love for you to win. People have been leaving some great tips on how they conserve energy around the house! Come on over for your chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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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I’m giving away some more energy-conserving light bulbs, and I would love for you to win. People have been leaving some great tips on how they conserve energy around the house! Come on over for your chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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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Before you leave you brush your teeth with a bottle of What?!

Meredith had a friend over on Friday night, and this was a Big Deal, because it was the first time we’ve ever had one of her friends over for the night. I picked the kids up from school, I took them straight to the theater to see Gnomeo and Juliet (which they loved and I sort of hated), and then we came back to the house for pizza. At about 8:00, the friend busted out Just Dance for the Wii, and the girls started dancing. I noticed that they spent a lot of time dancing to one song in particular, but I didn’t pay much attention to what the song was.

On Saturday night, Jeff told me that Meredith had purchased the song on iTunes and that I should listen to it, because when they listened to it in the car, it became clear pretty quickly that it’s not a song for a seven year old. Apparently, Ke$ha, who spells her name with a dollar sign because she’s awe$ome and has dirty feet, brushes her teeth with a bottle of Jack because when she leaves for the night she ain’t comin’ back. (She’s says she’s trying to get a little bit tipsy, and later boasts that boys are trying to touch her junk, but she’ll kick them to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger. Apparently, she doesn’t have a care in the world, because she has plenty of beer (along with the aforementioned bottle of Jack), and as long as the police don’t shut them down, the party don’t stop. Also, she’s going to fight until she sees the sunlight.)

My gut reaction was to immediately delete the song from Meredith’s iPod and replace it with the stupid Kidz Bop version. Hhhhhhhh. Deep down, I knew that was a crappy solution. Yesterday afternoon when Meredith wanted to listen to her iPod, I told her that I needed to talk to her for a bit.

Me: We need to talk about Tik Tok.

Meredith: What about it?

Me: Well, do you know how you talk at school about drugs and alcohol and how they’re not good and that it’s important to stay away from them if you want to stay smart and creative and healthy?

Meredith: Yes.

Me: I know you like the music behind Tik Tok, but the words are all about a girl who’s not so bright and she drinks a lot of alcohol and gets herself into trouble at a party and just sort of hopes that the police don’t show up.

Meredith: I didn’t get that, but I did hear her say that she was going to fight.

Me: Yep. She also wants to fight.

Harper: And she wants to brush her teeth with a bottle of Jack.

Me: Yes.

Meredith: That’s a dollar wasted.

We’ve deleted Ke$ha and replaced her with the Spanish version of a Selena Gomez song that we like. Selena may be kissing Justin Bieber, but at least she’s not singing songs about pouring vodka directly into her eyeballs. And if she IS, we won’t know, because my Spanish is a little rusty, and Meredith’s Spanish is limited to numbers and a few common phrases. Once again: Parenting is hard/easy.

It’s the final day for Round One of my lightbulb giveaway, and I would love for you to win. People have been leaving some great tips on how they conserve energy around the house! Come on over for your chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

From Thursday to Today.

It has been a busy few days at the Pudding Ranch. Last Thursday we had Parent/Teacher Conferences at school, and those went pretty well. It appears that Meredith takes after me in the Disorganization department, but what she lacks in order she makes up for in creative writing. Harper rarely eats her lunch (as evidenced by the nearly full box she returns home with each afternoon), but she’s rocking the math problems. All is well.

On Friday, I took Harper to have her hearing checked. I’ve reached a point where I no longer think it’s cute when she misinterprets what I’m saying. (Roast = Toast. Miss Debbie = Miss Daddy. Haircut = Bear Cub. (Why in the hell would I ever say that I’m in desperate need of a bear cub?)) According to the audiologist, her hearing is phenomenal, although she does have quite a bit of negative pressure in her eustachian tubes. (Airhead jokes are not welcome here.) Eventually, this might lead to the removal of tonsils/adenoids, but until she begins to complain about pain or starts experiencing chronic sinus infections, we’re just going to pretend that everything is A-ok!

On Saturday, Meredith woke up with an explosive cough. We took her to the doctor, where she was diagnosed with parainfluenza, or The Croup. She was given a cough suppressant, a pain killer, and a steroid. The steroid, which makes her act nuts, has been classified as one of the top five worst tasting medicines of all time, but our pediatrician has learned that if you chase the medicine with a green lollipop, the taste immediately goes away. Red lollipops will not work. For reasons completely unknown to everyone, the lollipop has to be green. I learned Saturday afternoon that when one is looking for green lollipops, the most difficult thing in the world to find is green lollipops. BUT, find them I did, and yes. Crappy medicine + green lollipop = Tolerable. Excellent. (She took her last dose today, and we have one lollipop to spare.)

Sunday. After church we worked on the house and Jeff’s parents came over for dinner. I made rice bowls with tomatoes and corn and beans and WHEE! EVERYONE LOVES THAT I’M A VEGETARIAN!!! NO ONE IS STRESSED ABOUT IT AT ALL!!! (Eight months and going strong. Did I mention that we now have Baby Back Rib Chips in the house? Crazy.)

Yesterday morning found Meredith and Jeff at the orthodontist at 8:00. At 10:00, my mom came up and she and the girls and I went to see Never Say Never. And then I went home and got all crabby on my Facebook page because: In a world of Justin Bieber haters, I do NOT hate Justin Bieber. I know! (I’m forty, meaning I’m old enough to be his mother’s older sister.) You know, I’m tired of people hating someone just because it’s fun/popular/whatever. (It would be easy for me to hate Glenn Beck. VERY easy. But I don’t! Life? Short!)

Today? Today I’ve been volunteering at the school and working on the house. It seems that Meredith is having a friend over this weekend, and we haven’t really done that in a few years, so it’s time to clean bathroom floors and put away laundry and all of the other crap that I tend to hate doing.

Did you know that I’m giving away light bulbs? Because I am. And I would love for you to win one. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh my Goth!

I throw in my sponge! (My make-up sponge.) My inconsolable soul able to weep these tears no more. No more!

I hereby draw the line. (Around my eye!) ((With a felt-tipped applicator that gives me ultimate control.))

Oh! My mumpish existence. If you blur your perception, a fish appears to be consuming my bulbus oculi. Eye? Ideally, I’ll be able to recreate his brother on my other side.

(I’m now ready for tomorrow’s Parent Teacher Conferences.)

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The Puddings are saving energy and giving away two $50 GE energy smart LED light bulbs! Come on over for a chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Psst! I’m ready for skirt season!

Do you guys know Isabella Golightly? She lives in Australia and despite the fact that she has never had a proper fish taco, she’s absolutely delightful. A few weeks back, I visited her Etsy shop and ordered a flatpack for schlepping around my keys and phone and cash card when I go to the gym. (HA HA HA HA!!! I don’t go to the gym! When I say Gym, I mean grocery store, school, or Gokul.) ((By the way, Gokul is opening their Loop location on Thursday if any of my lunch people want to hook up for lunch in the coming weeks!))

Anyway. My flatpack arrived in the mail yesterday, and I didn’t even realize it was there because I’m afraid to get my mail. (Not because of this. Currently, our driveway is a solid sheet of ice. In fact, if my milkman is reading this right now, he’s yelling, “Yeah! And I almost cracked my butt on that ice yesterday morning carrying your half gallons up to the house! I rock a mic like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle!”) This morning the lovely Isabella asked if I had received the pouch, so Jeff risked his life by sliding down the hill to the mailbox, and yes.

I’m in love with this flatpack, and I’m not quite sure how I got by without it. (I’m looking at you, Yesterday!) ((This month, all proceeds will benefit Queensland Flood Relief!)) (((I’m afraid this photo makes the pouch look HUGE. It’s actually quite small—the perfect size to hold my phone, my cash and insurance cards, my lip stuff, license, and iPod. Everything I Need.)))

On a semi-related note, on the way home from my book club meeting on Sunday, I had ten minutes to stop by a fabric sale before the store closed. It took about three minutes to get over the feeling of being completely overwhelmed, an additional two minutes to remember how much fabric I need to make the skirt that I tend to make, and five more minutes to find two fabrics that I love. When the sun comes out and the corduroy pants are thrown back into the top of the closet, I will be sporting a daisy skirt.

Unless, of course, I’m sporting a green pepper skirt.

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Be prepared.

According to the local meteorologists, St. Louis is about to experience a crippling snow/ice storm. It just occurred to me that we lost power during the ice storm of 2006, and if this ice storm is going to be anything like THAT ice storm (and, according to everyone on the news, IT WILL BE), we will be unable to cook the food that I put on this week’s meal plan. SO, as I type this note to you, I’m making curried cauliflower with chick peas and tomatoes. When the girls go to bed, I’ll be making the thing where I put chili in the bottom of a 13 x 9 pan, and then bake corn bread on top of it! Genius! (For my Facebook friends, you can find the recipe in my photos section in the It Goes In My Face folder.) ((I make it with Boca crumbles, and you really can’t tell that it’s not a ground up cow under the corn bread!))

Jeff, our resident hero, spent the afternoon securing fire wood, shopping for groceries, and making sure we have the proper batteries for our flashlights. PLUS, he brought home pizza from the new Little Caesar’s location down the road, AND he assures me that he can get us to the Sheraton if all hell breaks loose. (I know. I’m the luckiest.)

The girls have been preparing for the storm in their own way. The DSi charger has been at work all afternoon, and all stuffed animals are lined up around the outer edges of the mattresses.

Harper: I have an idea.

Me: What is it?

Harper: Let’s charge the television. That way, if we lose power, we can still watch a movie. Oh. Let’s charge the DVD player, too.

Me: It’s a great idea, but I’m afraid you can’t charge the television or the DVD player.

Harper: That’s fine. BUT, we should probably charge the refrigerator.

Me: Again. Great idea. BUT, you can’t charge a refrigerator, either.

Harper: Okay. Is the car charged?

The car is charged. What I didn’t tell Harper is that I have no idea how to open the garage door during a power outage. Imagine how excited she’ll be when we, under the influence of cold cauliflower curry, rev up the engine and back through the garage door on our way to the Sheraton! The neighbors already adore us for keeping the rotten railroad ties in our front yard. Imagine how their hearts will swell as we become the Dukes of Hazzard.

Oh! Oh! Good News!!! After telling you my sad chicken broth story, I pulled up the Melting Pot menu. Although the server across the aisle told her customers that our chosen cooking style contains chicken broth, I noticed that the menu doesn’t mention it! In a fit of excitement, I called two different locations, and both assured me that unless we specifically ordered chicken broth, the coq au vin style consists of wine and herbs only. SO: I didn’t eat dead bird juice after all!!! (No offense to the swillers of dead bird juice. I still love you. In fact, I live with three of you. (Five, if you count the cats.)) Anyway, I am completely pleased to report this to you as I close down my seventh month with no meat. With that said, who knows what Wednesday will bring? We all remember what happened in the Andes. (By the way, what an awesome cabled sweater Josh Hamilton wears as he contemplates eating his friends!) Anyway, desperate times, desperate measures—and the Puddings with a drawer full of bacon… ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Harper’s not a chicken, but I am. Because you are what you eat. (Insert sobs here.)

This post has nothing to do with feminine protection! With that said, I feel the need to thank all of you who commented or sent e-mails regarding my tampon post. I have some very funny people stopping by Fluid Pudding. We should all have lunch sometime. Actually, let’s do it in Australia so I can kill all sorts of (figurative) birds with one stone. (Here’s a bird: My life list now holds the following item: Prepare fish tacos for Isabella Golightly in Australia, as they do not have chipotles in adobo sauce in Australia. Are you doing the life list thing? I want to learn how to make paper dolls, too.)

Three days ago, Harper told me that she wanted to get her ears pierced. I asked if she wanted a few weeks to think about it, or if she wanted to go after school on Monday. With Jeff in New Orleans and the girls and I constantly on the lookout for diversions (we almost bought a baby monkey over the weekend!), we went after school on Monday.

Long story short: She sat in the piercing chair and chose her starter earrings, they pierced the first ear, she cried and cried, I fought back the urge to vomit and gave her the option of doing the second ear later, she put on her Stalwart hat and decided to go through with the entire process in one sitting, and there you go. I now have a very brave five year old with blue daisy earrings.

There’s simply no way to tie this to that, so I’ll just tell you this: I went back to Weight Watchers last week. I first joined back in 2003 when I had something like 35 pounds to lose after giving birth to my ten pound Meredith. (I believe it took about six months to lose those 35 pounds.) I’ve joined and quit more times than I care to admit, but Jennifer Hudson! Singing Nina Simone! It’s a new dawn! A new day! A new life! Argh! I couldn’t NOT go back! Anyway, I went to an actual meeting this afternoon and I had lost 2.6 pounds, meaning I’m within two pounds of my goal weight, meaning my lifetime membership is back on track, meaning I don’t have to pay.

All of this to say: I’m liking the new program. I’m a vegetarian who tries to eat as many unprocessed foods as possible, and this plan seems to be very well-suited to that lifestyle. Yes, I can’t go to Gokul every day, but I *can* go once or twice a week if I feel a hankering. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them. If you have major criticism, please make sure you know what you’re talking about before you start talking. (I have a lot of pet peeves. One of them is the tiny splotch of yogurt that always seems to pop out onto my hand when I’m peeling off the foil lid. Another is when someone spins their uninformed head around and pukes out things like, “That damned Weight Watchers diet is cuhrazy bad for you!” without really knowing the first thing about it. First off? It’s not a diet. Secondly? I’m eating fruit and soup and oatmeal and Indian food and bean burritos and sushi. I’m very happy and not at all hungry.)

Last week I told Jeff that I believe it’s time for us to install a punching bag in the basement. I’m the most non-confrontational person you’ll ever meet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch a bag.

I believe I’m still feeling a bit of anxiety over my inability to draw a proper picture of a chicken. Here. Let me just tell you: After being a strict vegetarian for seven months, I unknowingly cooked my vegetables and tofu in chicken broth last weekend at The Melting Pot, and I’m STILL bothered by it. I feel like I’ve gone backward—like I have to take my two hundred twenty something days of being meat free back to zero. Ugh. AND, I would blame our server who knew I was vegetarian and didn’t tell us that our chosen cooking method had a chicken broth base, but really. It’s not her responsibility to babysit my lifestyle. I should have asked more questions. So disappointing. AND, I was physically ill for nearly three days after eating, and I have no way of knowing if it was the chicken broth that made me sick, or if the whole episode was psychosomatic. I don’t want to talk about it. I miss Keith Olbermann.

Seriously. Let’s go to Australia together. I promise to not yammer. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Can I talk about feminine protection over here?

Let’s just get all of the nasty stuff out of the way, shall we? (Warning: This post contains paragraphs that might make boys uncomfortable. And perhaps some girls. And because I used the word Warning, I cannot guarantee where we’re going to end up when all of this is over, but at least I know I’m covered. Buckle up, Sporty.)

By the way, I’ve been meaning to put something up at Fluid Pudding for the past several days, but it seems that I’m unable to draw a suitable picture of me with chickens flying out of my stomach. Please know that I have a story to tell you, but it will have to wait until I can draw the chickens flying out of my stomach. I’ll accept submissions. (Please know that the face of a girl with chickens flying out of her stomach does not carry a smile. It’s a face that showcases the bowels of despair. And that pun really was sort of intended, but I’m not going to slap something up here that will cause BlogHer to be all, “Hello! No more pictures of bowels on your face. This is your first and final warning.”)

This morning I took a tampon out of the box (Whoa! Hey! I warned you!), and the side of the package said “Practice makes perfect.” You’re right. It does! With that said, I’ve been at this game since the summer after seventh grade. Lots of practice. Out of curiosity, I grabbed another out of the box. “Go for the goal.” (The goal seems obvious. No leakage?) The next one said, “Explore new forms of fearlessness.” (I can assure you that I do NOT want to explore new forms of fearlessness within the realm of tampon insertion. Good night.)

I remember a few months back when everyone was up in arms because Always was printing things like “Have a nice period.” on the inside of their sanitary napkin wrappers. Personally, I prefer that over “Go for the goal.” This particular box of tampons was on sale a few months back, and I purchased them despite the fact that they are marketed for active sporty girls. (I am most definitely NOT an active sporty girl, although I *did* attempt to do yoga a few nights back. When the instructor (on the DVD, because I rarely leave my home) said, “Nice work! Now we’re all warmed up and ready to begin!” I turned off the television and began to weep.) Are there active sporty girls out there who are exiting the bathroom feeling encouraged and all ready to play volleyball after reading the side of their tampon wrapper? I want to meet those active sporty girls! (Sort of.) ((Not really.))

I’ve come up with a few phrases I wouldn’t mind seeing on my future tampons.

“Let’s get this thing over with.”

“Please don’t forget me up there like you almost did that one time.”

“My job is worse than your job. Nothing you can say will make me feel differently.”

“Are you hungry? Because it’s okay if you want to eat an entire pan of brownies.”

I could go on and on, but I’m keeping the best ones to myself just in case the tampon people want to call me. (Call me, tampon people!)

It’s a snow day over here, so I’ll spare you the story of how I’m still (figuratively!) paying for the pedicures that I received over the summer, and how I will NEVER go to that particular nail salon again.

Have I made you wince? I think you’re so pretty. Let’s explore new levels of fearlessness. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>