Daily Archives : Page 85 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

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’>

Patch, Schmatch! It’s the end of a chapter!

If you’ve been with me for awhile, you know that Meredith was diagnosed with amblyopia when she was three. She was super-farsighted in her right eye, and her brain had pretty much turned off the switch in her left eye. To get her left eye working again, she started wearing a patch over her right eye.

This is Meredith when we first started patching. What a cute three year old! Argh!

A week or so after we started patching, her glasses came in, and she started doing this thing where she would close her eyes because she thought if she couldn’t see us, we couldn’t see her.

She was a total good sport about the patching. I think she even wore the patch to school a few times, even though I promised her that I would never make her do that if it made her uncomfortable.

(I found this sort of interesting. If a child approached her while she was wearing her patch, more often than not, the child would ask, “Why are you wearing a patch?” If an adult approached her, the adult would look right over her head and ask me “What’s wrong with her?” This normally took place at the grocery store by our house—the store where the ill-mannered elderly often shop. Also, they don’t sell chipotle chiles in adobo sauce there, and it drives me crazy! Anyway.)

(Side story: We always let Meredith choose her own frames, because we want her to be happy to wear her glasses. The frames in the above photo (better seen here) were more expensive than any other pair we’ve purchased. When I asked why, I was told that the tiny ladybugs on the nose and sides were handpainted by elderly German artisans. True story. My shoes were probably sewn by a four year old in China, and Meredith’s glasses were painted by an 80 year old in Munich. We Are The World.) There were months when we patched for six to eight hours per day. Sometimes two to four hours per day. For the past six months, we were asked to patch “for a few hours two or three times each week or so.”

This morning, Meredith had an appointment with her pediatric ophthalmologist. Her quality of vision showed no change with the sporadic patching during the past six months. Because of this, I’m pleased to report that we will no longer be patching. (Obviously, if her vision had improved, we would be happy to continue with the patching to see if the improvements would continue. However, the articles I’ve read state that improvements are seen less often after a child reaches the age of seven. We Are Average, and with 20/40 vision with her glasses on, we’ll accept Average.)

We’ve come a long way. High fives to MC’s doctor, high fives to the kind folks at Patch Pals, and high fives to Meredith for being a Super Trooper and never converting the patch into an albatross. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is when I straighten out our soups! Soup straightening at 2:07!

Jeff is home from Palm Springs, and has been home sick for the past two days. I hate that he’s sick and I wish he felt better and insert all of those other sympathetic things that I’m supposed to say here, but really: I need him to go back to work so I can stop spending the day jumping up and spraying Swiffers with Pledge for no real reason other than to look busy.

Me: Oh! Um, it’s 10:27! This is the time when I normally dust the DVD player and all of the Wii games! See? Like this! I keep very busy when you’re at work.

Time passes.

Me: Um, oh! It’s 11:49! Now is the time when I do something like wipe out the bathroom sink! You might THINK I sit on the couch when I’m between freelance jobs. BUT, I do not. I wipe out the sink! At 11:49, usually! Give or take a minute or two! Idle hands are the devil’s workshop!!! Who is this, this Dr. Oz on the television?!

I just left the house for nearly an hour. Thank God I had a video due at the library. Thank God Bath & Body Works is having a sale on the stuff I use, meaning it’s silly to NOT go stock up on my shower gel. (Have I told you that my signature scent involves jasmine and vanilla? Well, it does!)

Jeff is currently downstairs on a conference call, which gives me a few minutes to sit here and drink coffee. As soon as I hear him saying his goodbyes, I’ll probably feel the urge to throw some laundry into a basket or spray some Lysol into a toilet or vacuum the cats or chew the skin off of my knuckles or something. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Pudding on the Rocks. Shaken.

I’ve had three dreams in my life that tend to take place over and over again.

(Some call them Recurring Dreams. I call them dreams in my life that tend to take place over and over again.)

The first involves me missing an elementary school choir concert that I was supposed to accompany on the piano. In the dream, I realize that the concert is taking place right as it finishes, and the guilt I feel for not being there to play the piano is completely overwhelming. I cry. I make countless apologetic phone calls to the choir director. I swear this will never EVER happen again. Interestingly enough, thanks to Facebook, I actually reconnected with the choir director involved in the dream last year, and I met up with her for dinner. I explained the dream to her, and she has assured me that this event never took place, nor does she believe that it ever WOULD take place. I haven’t had the dream since we had that conversation. Cured.

The second dream? I get lost in the city and take a wrong turn onto a bridge without railings that is only slightly wider than my car, and I’m forced to drive something like ninety miles per hour. I freak out, drive off the edge of the bridge, and wake myself up by jolting in bed. I’m not quite sure what I’ll have to do to get rid of this dream, other than drive into a tree to shift focus from the bridge. I’m not quite ready to explore my options on this one.

In the third dream, I put on ice skates for the first time ever, reluctantly step over to the ice rink, and suddenly transform into the most elegant of skaters this world has ever seen. I leap. I spin. I do this sort of thing! And suddenly, Madeleine begins to play, and I get all jaunty and the world falls in love with my moves, and I’m just as surprised as everyone, because This Is My Very First Time Skating! Who knew I was The Reticent Conqueror?!?!

A few days back, Meredith was invited to a birthday party that will take place at an ice rink, and family members have been encouraged to attend.

This is it, my friends. For the first time in forty years, I’ll be lacing up the skates and will either crystallize or kill my dream of becoming a graceful senior level ice princess.

Keep your fingers crossed. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Do you really want to play that way?

As you know, Jeff is in Palm Springs for the next few days. His original flight was canceled yesterday morning, so he had to fly into Los Angeles and then drive into Palm Springs, and this unfortunate fliparoo of scheduling actually caused him to make it to his hotel before he would have had he been on the original flight, because: No Layover in Houston. Oh, the humanity!

Meanwhile, Meredith’s teacher pulled me aside on Wednesday and told me that Meredith wasn’t really acting like herself at school—she was throwing her feet up on her desk and acting sort of nuts, which isn’t really her typical At School demeanor. Later that evening, Meredith Baroque DaHown and I ended up keeping her home again yesterday. (I reluctantly sent her back to school today, and when I volunteered in her classroom this morning, I handed her teacher a piece of paper with my phone number on it and asked her to call me if things got crazy. I hate that I’m such a weirdo with that sort of thing.)

A few hours ago, I received the following photo from Jeff. It came in a message titled The View From My Doorstep.

Meanwhile, it’s sort of cold and snowy/rainy here. Oh! Wait! Here’s The View From My Doorstep.

Ah, but before you start grabbing your handkerchiefs and violins in my honor, please know that the UPS man has provided me with a silver lining!

(They’re my first ever pair of boots (really!), and they’re making me want to wear skirts and maybe even tie scarves around my neck and do cutesy twirls when I walk!)

((I fall down all of the time. I won’t really be doing the cutesy twirl thing. BUT, skirts! Maybe!))

(((Someday I might tell you about how the tissue paper surrounding the boots was smeared with what appeared to be some sort of animal feces. It sort of killed the buzz of the whole “Hey! Boot deliveries are awesome!” thing. Luckily, I was able to put on a pair of my disposable latex gloves (I wear them often), peel the paper away from the boots, verify that none of the mess was actually touching the shoes, and Hooray! Boot deliveries ARE awesome!)))

((((Yes. The tree is still up. I’m working on it. (I’m not really working on it.))))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Talk to me so you can see what’s going on.

About a month ago, I finally got a laptop. With the freelance picking up, it felt like a good time. So, I brought the laptop home, I named him Ira, I got to know him, and a few days into our relationship I discovered that he had a camera. SO, I fired up the software and immediately found that I appeared upside down on the monitor. I spent about twenty minutes adjusting settings, but I never found anything that flipped the image over. Because I don’t believe that I’m supposed to be holding the laptop upside down (or standing on my head) to capture images, Jeff and I took the laptop back to the store to take advantage of our Geek Squad free subscription. (The subscription came with the laptop. Everything’s coming up roses!)

After doing EXACTLY WHAT I HAD DONE with the adjustment of the settings for about fifteen seconds, the Geek Squad guy said these words: “It’s a faulty computer. I’m just going to give you a new one.” He then folded up my laptop, walked away, and returned carrying a new laptop in a box.

Me (sputtering): Wait. What about the stuff on my laptop?

Geek Squad Guy: Don’t worry. We’ll clear it out.

Me: But the stuff! The stuff I put on it that I might need! I need a few minutes to look at my stuff!

I then spent about three minutes writing down these exact words in one of my little notebooks:

Old freelance files
Two photos
Photoshop?

And then we left (and went to Cracker Barrel!), leaving Ira behind. The old freelance files? I have the current files on the Mac, so they’re good to go. The two photos? I don’t know what they are, other than upside down photos of a very bewildered me. Photoshop? Yeah. That felt like a tiny punch in the gut, but it’s all cleared up now. The New Ira, who I simply call Ira, is working like a charm, and everything is right side up and lovely.

Let’s see. What else? Meredith has a slight case of pneumonia, which I always thought was a serious thing, being that my grandmother died from it and all. BUT, she was cleared to return to school today (I’m once again talking about Meredith), and will be on antibiotics for the next three days. Dead birds are falling from the sky, and pneumonia no longer walks uphill both ways. Something wicked this way comes.

I used to be one of the most easy going people I know, but now it seems that I cannot deal with salt and pepper unless I grind them myself. I’m writing it off as One of Those Quirks That Appear When A Girl Turns Forty, along with my new fascination with the Clarisonic Mia, which I’ll tell you all about if you want to hear it. (I don’t need any hateration on the Mia, by the way. I know it’s expensive. I know it’s a face washing system. I know. I know! I got one for Christmas, and I now spend my entire day looking forward to my nighttime Washing o’ the Face. The next time you see me, I’ll probably look no different than the last time you saw me. HOWEVER, I’ll be glowing from within. Because of sonic skin cleansing. I know.)

Jeff is leaving tomorrow for Palm Springs. Last year during his trip, our furnace went out and I became one of those ladies who sleeps with a fire starter under her pillow and listens to furnace guys tell sob stories about bloody urine. This year we have a different furnace, a new way to wash our face, and a sea salt grinder. Bring the noise, Public Enemy! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

John Slattery has a cute little nose. And so does Jeff.

Harper approached me last night with a very serious look on her face.

Harper: Mom, if Justin Bieber marries Selena Gomez, will I still have dreams about him?

Me: Well, first of all, I doubt that Bieber and Selena Gomez get married. BUT, to answer your question, yes! You can still have dreams about him. I mean, I guess you can still dream about him.

Harper: It’s just that *I* want to marry him.

Me: I know. BUT, you’re five. You have a lot of living to do before it’s time to get married.

Harper: Actually, I can get married when I’m eighteen, but I might want to be a rock star first.

Me: Yes. I would love for you to be a rock star first. OR, maybe you can go to college!

Harper: It’s just that Bieber has such a cute little nose.

Oh, Harper. I get it. When I was a kid, Andy Gibb had a cute little nose. And then Les McKeown had a cute little nose. And how many photos of myself did I tape over Nancy McKeon’s face just so I could get next to Michael J. Fox’s cute little nose?

This one’s for you, Harper. Admittedly, it’s Creepiness Deluxe. BUT, I think you’ll like it. Suddenly, your big face is covering Selena’s—right next to Bieber’s cute little nose.

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Jeff’s phone is making me feel uncomfortable.

Jeff has a work phone. And it’s not just a work phone, it’s a jazzed up crazy iPhone with a bunch of doodads and geegaws.

One of his recent doodad/geegaw acquisitions is titled Price Check by Amazon. With this particular app, you can say a product name into the phone, and it will do an Amazon price check for you. He was showing it to me this afternoon, and it was really pretty amazing. Until it wasn’t.

Jeff: Watch this. RITZ CRACKERS.

Phone Display: Ritz Crackers. Pack of twelve 4 oz. convenience pack? $16.98.

Me: AUGH! That’s nuts! Try one of my knitting books!

Jeff: Which one?

Me: This one!

Jeff: KNITTED LACE OF ESTONIA!

Phone Display: I have no results for Naked Ladies with Dystonia.

Me: Wow. That was a close one. Here. Try this cookbook.

Jeff: MAKE IT FAST, COOK IT SLOW!

Phone Display: I have no results for Naked Brats Cook it Slow.

Me: You’re going to be fired on Monday.

The Pudding Family would like to wish you a Happy New Year!

Naked a Good One! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

AND, welcome back.

As I sit at the computer this morning (making good on my promise to tout my final Laughing Cow post), the girls are in the front room eating Honey Nut Cheerios and watching as Jeff plays Super Mario Bros. on the Wii. This is what Christmas is all about. (This is not really what Christmas is all about.)

Meredith: Are you SURE we don’t have school today?

Me: Yes.

Meredith: Positive?

Me: Positive.

Meredith: Should we drive by just in case?

Me: Yes. Go get dressed and check your backpack for notes and stale cupcakes. Do you have some lunch money?

Meredith: Really?

Me: No.

Christmas was good to the Puddings, and I have new long underwear (shirts, not bottoms—I’ll handle my own bottoms) to prove it. I also received the yarn to make this sweater, so let’s hope that happens sometime before 2015, because what a cute sweater! It will go great with my long underwear shirts! Also, Jeff surprised me with this, which means I can now do my goofy drawings for Fluid Pudding without actually having to: 1. grab a Sharpie and a piece of paper, 2. hope for no huge goofs, 3. fire up the scanner, 4. adjust the white levels, 5. are you getting the idea that it’s all so exhausting to be crappy-stick-figure-drawing me sometimes?! (It’s okay. I make my hot tea in the microwave to make up for it. Also, I rarely touch the Scrubbing Bubbles.)

I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves out there in the heat and the snow and the whatever you’re having. (Supposedly, we just had our first white Christmas in 17 years. Personally, I remember snow eight years ago, because I was pregnant with Meredith and I remember everyone feeling the need to grab my arm and help me up and down hills and sidewalks. Am I the only one who remembers the snowy Christmas of 2002? Help me out here.) There are only 24 hours or so left in the final Laughing Cow giveaway, and I would love it if one of you would walk away with the $150 Visa gift card! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I could go on and on.

To the lady at the store who bought the final avocado roll . . . to the young man at the gas station who wore his daughter’s pink scarf and his own mismatched gloves . . . to the guy I see running to the bus stop every day with an umbrella—even when there’s zero chance of precipitation . . . to the child at school who wore the same clothes two days in a row last week . . . to my five year old who sings “Wise up, Shepherd, and follow!” . . . to my other daughter who changes every occurrence of Mistletoe to Missing Toe and then declares the song to be about her father . . . to the employee at school who humiliated a girl in the hallway to the extent that she was almost in tears yesterday morning . . . to the older gentleman at the grocery store who told me that my hair is nice (it’s actually quite mean!) . . . to the families who are needing something . . . to the families who are taking something for granted . . . to the teachers who light fires of inspiration in our kids’ heads . . . to the people who are just trying to get warm . . . to the woman at the doctor’s office who quietly tapped her leg to the beat of Jingle Bells and then raised both legs into the air for the final horse whinny . . . to the kindergarten student who called me over yesterday morning and then performed the sign of the cross . . . to the man at Walgreens who was shopping for infant Tylenol . . . to the other man who was shopping for Junior Mints . . . to each and every one of you for whatever reason you come by here . . . Merry Christmas.

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