Daily Archives : Page 86 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

Elves and and teachers don’t get paid enough.

Because of our brief blip in believing, The Puddings are now the proud owners of an Elf on the Shelf. (I suppose OWNER is not the best choice of words. One does not really OWN a little helping man. At the same time, we haven’t really gone through the proper channels to say that we’ve adopted him. We have a visitor! A new roommate!) Our elf’s name is Charlie, and every night he flies north to tell Santa what’s going down in our house. If the girls are being good citizens, Santa hears about it from Charlie. If the girls are going ape, you better believe that Santa’s going to hear about it.

Last night the girls were having a particularly terrible, dreadful, not-so-good, slightly abhorrent night. Lots of doors were slammed. Lots of tears were shed. Lots of drama, and no stage or playbill—and that’s unacceptable.

Me: You know, Charlie is not going to want to come back from the North Pole tonight.

Meredith: What?!

Me: Would you want to come back? He’s been sitting in that candle holder all evening thinking, “I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve this cruddy situation, but I’m outta heyah.”

(All elves and babies speak with a Jersey accent.)

Just as I predicted, this morning the girls got up and ran around the house looking for Charlie, and he wasn’t there. Oddly enough, they got ready for school with zero fighting. I didn’t have to tell them twice to brush their teeth, get dressed, use the bathroom, etc. Perfect morning.

I just went into my bedroom and found this in the closet.

Apparently, Charlie did NOT stay at the North Pole last night. He returned to our house, slipped a Xanax out of my drawer, and took shelter on top of Jeff’s summer clothes. (I sort of wish I weighed less than two pounds so I could do the same thing.) Anyway, if all goes well this evening, Charlie’s activity will return to normal after tonight’s North Pole visit.

This morning I helped out in Meredith’s classroom. While I was collating book order forms, a student came over and sat next to me to work on a report. Another student sat next to the first student and said, “I don’t mean to say this in a mean or teasing way, but I think it’s really funny that you can’t hit a ball.” She then did a mocky little nyah-nyah laughing thing that really shouldn’t be done if one is over the age of three. The first student was hurt by her words.

What I WANTED to say: What the hell was that?! You don’t mean to say that in a mean or teasing way?! What way did you MEAN for that to sound? Respectful?! Responsible?!

What I DID say: That wasn’t a very nice thing to say. Ooh! You have only twenty minutes to finish your report before recess! You better focus on that if you want to go outside and play!

What I continued to say in my head: If you have an Elf on the Shelf, don’t be surprised if he’s filling out Change of Residency forms when you get home from school this afternoon…
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Really. It’s December.

I have no idea who these women are. What I do know is this: They enjoyed the heck out of the Main Street Electrical Parade, and in my mind, after the last float rolled, they took off their ears and taxied out for Phase Two—an hour spent eating sashimi and bad-mouthing Barry Manilow. Good for them. Good for everyone.

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you know that I’m once again suffering from a stupid STUPID headache. Anyway, I saw my migraine doctor yesterday, and although I’m still, well, suffering (I don’t have my thesaurus handy, and my adjectives relating to pain lack variety!), I feel like we’ll someday get this all under control. This is more for me than for you: We have discontinued my Maxalt, we’re giving Relpax a whirl, we’re doubling the diclofenac in my cocktail pill, and we’re doubling my anti-seizure medication (Zonisamide). The only reason I’m putting this out there is this: If someone named Judy in Baltimore is going through what I’m going through, and this info could help her, well, you’re welcome, Judy. Similarly, if someone named Padma in Paducah HAS gone through something similar and wants to shout out some encouraging words, here’s your platform, Padma! Anyway. Once again, today I’m feeling really stoned. BUT, this will pass. And if it doesn’t? I own Freedom Rock. (Yes. I do.)

As I was typing that paragraph, Pillsbury sent a birthday e-mail to me. Three Sweet Surprises in celebration of your birthday month! (I was born in May.) Oh, Pillsbury. I’ll let it slide this time. French Silk Pie!

This morning I volunteered in Harper’s classroom. Hanging on the wall outside the classroom were construction paper turkeys made by the kindergarten kids. Each turkey had four tail feathers, and each feather listed something for which the child was thankful. Harper’s four feathers listed Family, God, Jesus, and Literacy.

I haven’t yet found the advent calendar I like to share every year in December. Until I do, I’ll share The Coffee Lady with you.

Edited to Add: Wait. I found it. And I love it as much now as I did five years ago.

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I’m thankful for Ira Glass and Regina Spektor.

So, missing yesterday really wasn’t that bad, was it? It occurred to me this morning that I want to leave something truly delightful on the top of my page since I’ll be away for the next few days. The following video, although made over three and a half years ago, includes Ira Glass discussing vegetarianism and Regina Spektor. (Ira doesn’t discuss Regina. Regina is actually there—at the 5:30 mark! Sometimes sentences can be misleading!)

Anyway, I hope you have a great holiday, if you’re in a place that’s celebrating a holiday. If not, enjoy your day. Carry on.
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I haven’t used the word Desultory in a long time.

A few days ago, my friend and neighbor came over with this.

(Actually, the jar was full when she gave it to me.) Anyway, she told me that she had seen my post about Mihow’s amazing schizophrenic lollipops, and she was inspired to make some of her own hard candy. Using herbs from her garden, she put together lemon-ginger, pepper-clove, and lemon balm-rosemary candy. Absolutely amazing. I stirred one of the lemon-gingers into my hot tea last night. (Sometimes I have really good ideas.) Oh! Because I need to share all of my good ideas: Last week I was sitting at the computer when it occurred to me that a grilled cheese and horseradish sandwich sounded very good, so I made one, and it was. Feel free to take that bit of information and put it into your pretend knapsack as you continue onward through your Saturday journey. (It seems that everyone is talking about their journey lately. I hate that my eyes are starting to roll a bit at Journey. Nothing to hide, believe what I say, Steve Perry.)

One more thing. You guys know that I’m trying to do the whole National Blog Posting Month thing. I think I did it last year. Maybe I did it the year before. I really have no memory. But here. I just put my fork down and made eye contact with you. If we were in a movie you would know that I’m about to say something serious. After today, I’m giving up on my NaBloPoMo JOURNEY. (I added all-caps for emphasis. Eat. Pray. Love.) Disney World is coming up in three days, and I need to make lists and pack. Also, I don’t have a laptop. When we get to Florida, I like to think that the last thing on my mind is going to be updating Fluid Pudding. I did consider writing five posts and scheduling them to go up while we’re gone, but come on. If I did that, who have I become?!

SO, look at us. We made it last for 20 days! AND, it just might stretch out to 22 because of habitual behaviors coupled with the fact that Tempe and I split an 8-pack of lip gloss last night, and if my colors stir me to sing, the internet won’t be able to stop me. By the way, have I thanked you for stopping by lately? I adored all of your answers to my previous post. Elf on the Shelf! Seriously! We could honestly change the world with all of our schemes. (I would like to nominate Grilled Cheese Horseradish Sandwich for my World Changing submission. I would like to nominate Christy for the lemon balm-rosemary candy! Feel free to add your own nomination. You know, if it doesn’t screw up your journey.)
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It’s a marshmallow world with jelly bears and wheeee!!! Let’s change the subject!

Harper came out to the car yesterday with a worried look on her face. When I asked her what was up, she hesitated for a bit—which isn’t her normal style.

Harper: Well, on the way out to the car, a first grader told me that Santa Claus isn’t real.

Me: What?!

Harper: Yeah. First she told me to pet her bear because it was filled with jelly and then she started talking fast about God and Jesus and how God hates Santa Claus.

Me: She was clearly high.

Harper: What?

Me: Harper, do you remember when you thought that marshmallows grew on trees, and we looked it up and discovered that what you had was bad information?

Harper: Yeah. Marshmallows can’t grow on trees.

Me (wishing I could stop time and formulate a coherent thought): Yep. I wish they did, but they don’t. I think sometimes people share what they think they know, even if it’s bad information. That whole bear with the jelly thing sounds sort of crazy.

Harper: What about God and Jesus?

Me: I’m good with God and Jesus.

Harper: Does God hate Santa Claus?

Me: I think God has better things to do than hate Santa Claus.

Harper: She really did have a bear, but it wasn’t filled with jelly.

Me: See what I mean? It was like she was playing Truth and Lies with you!

Harper: I don’t know what you’re saying.

Me: Me neither.

Last week Meredith asked if it’s physically possible for a reindeer to fly. When I stuttered around and said something about magic, she told me that she doesn’t really believe in magic. Argh. I’m not quite ready for my kids to not believe in Santa Claus. With that said, I’m not sure how much longer I can do my marshmallow tree dance.

Any tips/words of wisdom? (AND, although I know I just asked for tips and words of wisdom, I also know that at least three of you firmly believe that FANTASY KILLS and it’s Terrible Parenting 101 to allow your children to believe in things like fairies and old men who deliver gifts from the North Pole. If you’re one of those three, please feel free to sit this one out. (I still think you’re pretty.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I just saved Harper from spending her elementary career in prison.

The girls are getting super SUPER excited about the Disney World trip next week. Although I’ve talked to them about the dangers of tooting horns and I constantly perform my Bragging is Ugly song (sung to the tune of The Reflex by Duran Duran!), I have a funny feeling they’ve been spending a lot of time talking about the trip at school.

Harper: My teacher said she wants us to pack her in my suitcase so she can go to Disney World!

Meredith: Mrs. O said that she wants to go, too!

Me: It would be pretty awesome if we could take the teachers, wouldn’t it? Hrm. I don’t think our suitcases are big enough!

Meredith: We would need a suitcase the same size as the hall closet. And the teachers would have to stay silent until we got to the hotel.

Me: What?

Harper: I have an idea. Mombo told me that we can put anything that doesn’t fit in our suitcases into the trunk of her car. We can surprise Miss B by picking her up at her house, putting her in the trunk of Mombo’s car, and driving her to Disney World!

Me: Okay. I’m not completely up on crime classification, but I’m pretty sure kidnapping your teacher and transporting her to Florida in the trunk of a car would be a federal offense—even if we would be taking her to The Happiest Place on Earth. We would have to skip Disney World and go to jail instead!

Harper: Maybe we’ll just buy her a postcard.

Me: I think that’s a much wiser choice.
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Add “Big Fat Pillow Hat” to my List of Needs.

As you know, I picked my glasses up last Tuesday. Everything was fine until last Friday when I noticed that the frames were embedding themselves into the back of the left side of my skull. I went back to the glasses shop, where the woman who originally helped me choose the frames adjusted them for me. Excellent.

Over the weekend, I noticed that I was spending a lot of time sticking my middle finger up to push the glasses to the top of my nose. Also, the At Rest position for the frames was super crooked. I told myself that everything requires adjustment, and because the glasses had already taken their turn, perhaps it was my level of What I Can Accept that needed a bit of tweaking.

I lived with the crooked slippy glasses for four days before I couldn’t stand it anymore. This morning I went back to the store, where the same woman was working.

Me: You know, I don’t want you to think that I’m going to be The Lady Who Needs Constant Adjustments.

Nice Glasses Shop Lady (NGSL): No! You’re fine. I just adjusted mine this morning. Plastic frames move around!

Me: Pretty soon you’ll make a drinking game out of me showing up here. Ah! Here she is AGAIN! For the third time today! I’m so wasted!!!

NGSL: Really. Don’t hesitate to come in.

She adjusted the glasses, placed them onto my head, made sure they weren’t loose or crooked, and sent me on my way.

With a bounce in my step (you know how I am!), I walked out to the car, pressed the unlock button on my key thing, reached for the handle, and—not realizing just how robust I can be on Wednesdays—yanked the door right into the side of my head.

Me (alone on the parking lot, wearing tan corduroy pants and feeling red-faced): Oh! Ha! Okay then! That hurt!

Because I had scored a prime parking spot outside of the glasses shop, and because I had been the only customer in the store, there is a 28% chance that the NGSL had seen the entire parking lot mishap. (The good news? I am not built, nor do I move in a manner that stirs up that whole “Watch me as I walk away” sort of action. This fact mostly works to my advantage.) Anyway, I will be purchasing an eyeglass repair kit later this afternoon. (I’ve already watched three YouTube videos showing me how to adjust my frames, meaning I’m now 100% qualified to perform this task. (I also watched a video on appendectomy! This may come in handy if I need to score extra cash during the holiday season. My bathtub is very clean.) Similarly, I watched a video telling me how important it is to not skimp on makeup when you are a wearer of glasses. Eyes? Lined. You can thank me later.)
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They sleep and eat under one roof. They cannot get away from each other.

Jeff and the girls drove to the library last night and picked up Cake Pops. This afternoon after school, the girls decided to go through the book and flag each of the recipes they would like to try sometime soon.

When they were finished with the flags, they decided that flagging wasn’t good enough. What if the flags failed? What if I secretly removed one of the flags without telling them? (They really do believe that I spend time plotting against them.) As a back-up to their system, they decided to sit on the floor and make a list of every flagged recipe.

Meredith: Now Harper, what should we do with this list?

Harper: What do you mean?

Meredith: I think we need to put it in a secret place so Mommy doesn’t throw it in the trash.

Harper: Let’s have a secret meeting in our room to figure out where to put the list so Mommy doesn’t destroy it.

So, here I sit. I have no idea where the list is. But I know one thing: I’ve removed all of the flags from the book, and if I find that list I’m going to RIP IT TO SHREDS!

Yep. Kidding.

I just received word that one of my book clubs has chosen Agatha Christie’s “Murder on the Orient Express” for our next meeting. I couldn’t be more excited about this, because I firmly believe that these glasses make me look like someone who sits on the couch with hot tea and a mystery, and I’m ready to make it happen. The only thing needed to complete the scene is snow. Bring it.
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Doors, Balls, and the Illusion of Depth Perception

I am pleased to report that the door man arrived at 10:00 this morning. Five hours later? New door. And, because it’s a small world after all, I learned that he also vacationed in Jackson Hole over the summer. (He did it the hardcore way—with camping supplies. We went the route of delicate flowers. We all put our pants on one leg at a time.)

The library just called. My copy of Cake Pops is ready to be picked up. I reserved this book nearly six months ago, and it’s arriving just in time for me to leave on our trip. Here’s hoping I have time to put together at least one batch of balls before the weekend. (That link doesn’t sound like it’s totally safe, but it is. Gutterhead.)

Harper is intrigued with the process of creating three dimensional art. And I need to make dinner. So that’s all I’ve got for today. Cake balls!

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In which I casually slip in REM and Michael Jackson lyrics…

I just broke a vase by accidentally slamming another vase into it. Survival of the Fittest Vase is playing out in my kitchen sink, all because I still haven’t adjusted completely to my glasses. Watch out! I might be driving to the grocery store tonight! We’re out of milk, you see, and the Oberweis guy won’t be here until 10:00 tomorrow morning. If you follow that link, you’ll notice that Oberweis is trying to make me (and you) buy some of their egg nog. I’ve had egg nog once in my life, and that was back in college at a dean’s Christmas party. I don’t handle alcohol very well. Also, I’m intolerant of lactose. I do remember wearing a very cute skirt to that party, but that’s pretty much where the good memories end.

If you know me at all, you know that I’m pretty relaxed. I occasionally get ruffled, but it’s nothing that a five minute goofy typed rant won’t solve. AND, best of all, 89.73% of my rants end without confrontation or consequence, and then I’m back to baking a potato or folding laundry or whatever. Okay.

Last winter, it snowed. You might be wondering where that sentence came from, so let me elaborate. It snowed, which means the temperature was sort of cold, which means our front door wouldn’t open without a significant amount of force. One particularly cold morning, Jeff left to go to work and he closed the door behind him. Twenty minutes later, when the girls and I tried to leave so we could drive Meredith to school, I couldn’t open the front door. I pulled and tugged and kicked it (you know, to loosen it up) for nearly ten minutes with no luck. The only way we could get out of the house involved walking through nearly eight inches of unshoveled snow from the back door around the side of the house to the garage. (We don’t have a door that leads from the house directly to the garage. We’ll talk about that charming feature some other time. Actually, let’s get it out there right now. The people who built the house forgot to put the garage on until after the house was built. Because of this, our kitchen has a big lovely window that looks directly out into the garage. (Our neighbors love that story.))

Anyway, after picking both kids up and carrying them to the garage so they wouldn’t get all wet (I am Superman, and I know what’s happening), I locked the back door and we drove to school. During the drive home, it occurred to me that I don’t have a key to get into the house through the back door. (I didn’t then. I do now.) My mind EXPLODED and I called my dad.

Me: So, yeah. I can’t get into my house through the front door even though that door is UNLOCKED, and I can’t get in through the back door because I DON’T HAVE A KEY FOR THE BACK DOOR and Jeff is in a meeting so now Harper and I HAVE TO SIT IN THE GARAGE ALL DAY!

Dad: If you can wait thirty minutes, I’ll come up and get the front door open.

Me: I can’t wait thirty minutes. I’m kicking the door down.

Dad: Do NOT kick the door down. I’m on my way.

I parked the car in the driveway, stomped up to the front door like Henry Rollins would, and kicked it down. And I didn’t just kick the door down, I became a prime candidate for one of those trashy late-night cop shows by going all Van Damme 360 Spinning Kick Compilation! on it. (I kept my shirt on.)

Five minutes later, Harper and I were drinking hot chocolate and baking muffins or something similarly hypotensive. The only consequence of my rant? I sort of screwed up the door and ruined the door frame. This resulted in over one thousand dollars worth of damage because our door is not a standard sized door (who knew?!), and that’s so crazy because Paul, I think I told you, I’m a lover—not a fighter! My dad came over, fed me a big spoonful of I Wish You Wouldn’t Have Done This, and repaired the door as best as he could.

Tomorrow we get a new front door. It’s infused with the calming scents of lavender and jasmine, and if I approach it at a speed that exceeds three miles per hour, it will belt out this beautiful song, which will either reduce me to tears or put me to sleep. Everything’s under control. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>