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A Life in Fifths

It appears that Harper Rose will be embarking on a kindergarten adventure one week from today. I’m not going to be one of those lachrymose moms who puts her hand on her bosom and sings minor-keyed songs about saving time in a bottle and is this the little girl I carried and something about the moon and how I hope you dance. I’m not. However, I *have* been thinking about time and what this whole Starting Kindergarten thing means to me. (Never mind what it means to Harper, right? This is MY personal blog! Introspection!)

For the past eight years, I have devoted my entire life to pregnancy, nursing, (knitting), diapering, and general baby/little people maintenance. Eight years. That’s one fifth of my life.

When it occurred to me that one fifth of my existence has been devoted to the girls, I starting thinking about my other fifths. (I once shared a fifth of Southern Comfort with a friend of mine. That was not a good night, for it also included my very first (and final) fraternity party. No. I do NOT want to dance with you. However, Southern Comfort!)

The first fifth of my life (Years 1-8) was devoted to little things like walking, talking, losing most of my teeth, learning multiplication tables, and figuring out that it’s quite alright to become friends with people who don’t necessarily share your love for Jan and Dean.

The second fifth (Years 9-16) was spent studying the mathematics behind Bach inventions, figuring out where to purchase the “correct” rainbow sweatshirts, learning how to stroll with my head down without running into a wall, and creating a list of excuses involving me, the gymnasium, and why I wouldn’t be able to exercise on that particular day. It was a very socially awkward and physically clumsy existence. Also, for whatever reason, I often wore fake reading glasses, which really did nothing to boost my status.

The third fifth (Years 17-24) included my time spent at the university. It was there where I discovered that I love hanging out with musicians and crappy poets and that it’s alright to spend several months searching for The Perfect Club Sandwich. I read books with Sad Artist margin notes written by a few of my Sad Artist friends. I drank coffee on the roof of my house and in the basement of a local church. (Does The Chez still exist?) I eventually graduated and spent nearly twelve months giving baths to the comatose and putting dead people in bags. It was during the final year of my third fifth that I scored my first (terrible) full-time job which involved me moving back home and sitting in a gray cube where I spent my day fighting for companies so their ex-employees would not receive unemployment benefits. I wore awkward business suits that were too big for me, and I started buying books that asked questions like “What Color is Your Parachute?”

The fourth fifth (Years 25-32) saw me being rescued from my terrible job and delivered to my first publishing gig. (It also included the years spent at my second and third publishing gigs! Desultory?! Yes!) I met Jeff during my fourth fifth, I bought a bunch of skirts, moved to Nashville, spent a few years seeing shows and eating sweet potato pancakes, I wore entirely too much dark lipstick, I got married, moved back to St. Louis, decided I couldn’t handle another office job, went to London, started a family (aka Got Pregnant), moved into a house, and met Meredith.

Fifth fifth? Hanging out with Meredith, pregnancy with Harper, meeting Harper, nursing, hanging out, carting the girls back and forth to doctor appointments and doughnut joints, getting Meredith ready for pre-school, patching, more pre-school, celebrating milestones, getting Harper geared for pre-school as Meredith started kindergarten, running back and forth to school for drop-offs and pick-ups, kicking off first grade for Meredith as Harper started pre-K, drop off, drop off, pick up, and Summer.

And here we are. As of next Monday, both girls will spend more awake time at school than they spend at home. And that will never be reversed, which is a crazy thought. And I know they’re totally ready for second grade and kindergarten, but I must ask myself “What’s Next for Me?” (Me!)

So now I’m faced with my sixth fifth. (I know. You don’t have to call me on it.) And I can’t really think in terms of years at the moment, so I’m focusing more on the next eight months. While Harper is in kindergarten and Meredith is in the second grade, I’m going to be doing the freelance editing thing. (I’ve already scheduled a few projects through the end of September, and that’s nothing but good.) I’m going to try to volunteer at the school. I’m going to get our house in shape so we can try to sell it in 2012.

Most importantly, I’m going to learn how to make cake pops.
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I’m going to have a Laughing Cow in my side bar for six months, and you know what that means. I’m giving money away! Come over here, tell me a funny workout story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Thus it is, and so it goes.

This morning Harper and I dropped Meredith off at her Oil Pastels class and then headed over to Hobby Lobby to buy sketch books, colored pencils, and rubber bands. It seems that the girls are suddenly itching to spend all of their free time drawing fruits and animals, and I’m totally buying into it. (They’re also intrigued with the idea of rubber band balls. We’re going to make one. A big one. Suddenly, the summer break is ending, and we’re coming up with terrific ideas! Rubber band ball!)

This afternoon I went to the headache clinic for my annual follow-up. My migraines are totally under control, but that didn’t stop my doctor from asking me to pull down my skirt and show her my hip (??? !!!). Do you remember that whole cellulitis thing from nearly two stinking months ago? The migraine doc asked if it was gone. (Epic integrated software strikes again!) I answered with, “Mostly.” She answered with, “Mostly?” Blah, blah, blah, she says it’s not as Gone as it should be. (It LOOKS like a CATERPILLAR!) BUT, my blood pressure is 98/64, even with my skirt pulled down to my knees in the headache clinic! In other words, I win. Rubber band ball!

This is what I’m into right now:
1. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest—I’m hooked and completely bummed that the author is dead.

2. Fresh mozzarella with tomatoes from my Dad’s garden, basil from my front porch, and balsamic vinegar and sea salt from Trader Joe’s. “This combination is the only thing I’ll miss about the summer,” said the girl who will actually miss LOTS of things about the summer. Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind and so forth! Sing it!

3. Crocheted food. Dear Lord. I really need to learn how to read a crochet pattern. You see, I have a funny feeling that at least one of you would totally dig a plate of crocheted breakfast food. And if I could be your supplier? Oh, happy day!

4. Smoked almonds. They provide the taste of bacon when I am Without. (I’ve been meat free for a total of 36 days, give or take one terribly cunning pulled pork sandwich.)

5. Meaghan Smith. Who knew scratching could be so lovely?
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I’m going to have a Laughing Cow in my side bar for six months, and you know what that means. I’m giving money away! Come over here, tell me a funny workout story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I want to be a part of it.

I woke up with a sore throat this morning, and honestly? I’ve never been so happy to have a sore throat. Because this is the week of BlogHer, and I’m telling myself that I *can’t* go—what with the sore throat and all. I do hope to go next year, because BlogHer is Good. If you’re going, I’m thrilled for you, because: BlogHer. In New York. If you’re not going, you can join me as I sit in the corner of my house and F5 my Flickr account every few minutes. (You can’t really come to my house.)

Meredith is taking an oil pastel class this week and during the first day she drew a pear that really looks like a pear complete with highlights and texture and it makes me want to pull out all of my old art supplies and take myself back in time to the days during which I painted post cards with acrylic paints and actually mailed them to people I didn’t know very well. I discovered that I was pregnant with Meredith while taking a watercolor class nearly eight years ago, and when the class was over I boxed up all of my supplies for our move into the house, and sadly, those boxes remain taped and stacked in the basement.

And then a seven year old created a pear.

I just drank an Earl Grey latte sweetened with Truvia, and as I type this line, it’s changing my life for the better. (Harper’s karate instructor sang the praises of Truvia/Stevia/Zevia/IKnowVia to me last week, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make our house aspartame free, so: Truvia! Despite appearances, this parenthetical thought has not been brought to you by the makers of Truvia, who, incidentally, do not reside in Latvia! Synovia! Effluvia!)

I want to go to BlogHer next year. I want to go to BlogHer *this* year. Girl, you know it’s Truvia.
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I’m going to have a Laughing Cow in my side bar for six months, and you know what that means. I’m giving money away! Come over here, tell me a funny workout story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Waffles and Lace and Lace and Waffles

So, ten weeks ago (give or take several days), I received a lovely rose bush from my parents, Harper fell in love with karate, and I began knitting my summer project. The Bad News: I’m afraid the rose bush has died (I took it out of the pot and replanted it in our front yard. More sun than shade, good soil, I water it often, what could have happened?! I haven’t yet had the heart to remove and dispose.). The Good News: Harper is now a yellow belt, and as of this morning, my summer shawl is completed, blocked, and sort of lovely. (You obviously cannot tell this from the photo, but the shawl extends below my butt! Vital.)

I firmly believe if you can follow a recipe, you can knit a shawl. Similarly, if you can follow a recipe, you can make OSM waffles.

The waffles are definitely not lovely. In fact, they look sort of spongy and inedible, don’t they? Ah, but I promise you: They are delicious and full of millet and cracked wheat and sunflower seeds and oats, and they speed up the hair growth under your arms and make you want to put on bulky shoes and go on stinky hikes for hours.

One more quick thing! Because I know some of you have absolutely zero interest when it comes to reading my product/event reviews, I tend to throw all of the links under the cute little dotted line that I’ve placed below this paragraph. I just want to mention that I have three very good giveaways going on below, and I absolutely LOVE it when one of my Fluid Pudding friends win. (Don’t get me wrong, I also love the people who simply jump from contest to contest, but they’re not FAMILY, you know?!) Anyway, you are cordially invited to follow the links below. Thanks for your time!
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The kids and I went to The GAP, indulged in a bit of character reflection, and scored some awesome jeans. Come on over for a chance to win a $100 GAP gift card!

I went to the bathroom at Lilith Fair. (Believe me, it’s much better than it sounds!) Follow the link for the chance to win a $100 Visa gift card from BlogHer!

Who could ever love a girl named Beezus? Jesus?

A few years back I watched “Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives” mainly because I like Mark Everett. (If I remember correctly, I posted the link here shortly after I watched it. Didn’t I? Do I tend to repeat myself often? Anyway, if you’re interested, you can catch it over here. It’s worth the time. I promise.) Anyway, long story short: Everett’s dad was the first to propose the Many Worlds Interpretation of quantum physics and no! Don’t start yawning! (Actually, I believe I would be 38% more intelligent if more documentaries somehow included music/musicians that I enjoy. Learn the ins and outs of the metric system with Metric! Let’s study eye anatomy (or manic depression!) with The Weepies! Global warming with Sleigh Bells! I could go on for days. This is my best idea yet, if you don’t count adding green peppers to that pasta salad I made last summer.)

All of this to say: Although many of you swear that this summer has flown by (and I sort of agree with you), I’m here to tell you that last week was one of my longest weeks. Lots of self-imposed deadlines (some related to knitting, some not so much), a crazy amount of reflection on relationships and bitten tongues, looking ahead to creative endeavors, and so forth. I’ll spare you the details, because this isn’t that kind of website. Funny how every single week has 168 hours regardless of how you choose to spend it, no? Morris Day and The Time!

Yesterday afternoon the girls and I saw Ramona and Beezus, and although both girls loved it, they did NOT love the fact that it didn’t really seem to be based on the book. “Ramona was only FOUR in the book! Not NINE! And nothing happened to Picky Picky!” Meredith listed at least twenty differences between the book and the movie, including the fact that the book has pages and the movie was on film. (That was my favorite comparison.) Personally? I couldn’t quite get past how much Ramona looks like Lolita.

This is Ramona, also known as Joey King.

This is Lolita, also known as Sue Lyon.

And when you’re trying to be Beverly Clearyesque, but you can’t help toying with Nabokov, thoughts tend to get more twisted than a soggy kneecap. Thank God for Swedish Fish.

EDITED TO ADD: The bloody guy in the photo of Ramona? I’m assuming he’s an actor from another film that also featured Joey King. I can assure you that no blood was shed in Ramona and Beezus, although there was QUITE an accident involving peanut butter.

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He was indeed a hunk, a hunk of burning love.

So, you know I went to Graceland last week. What I neglected to tell you is that I freaked out with all of the “Do Not Bring Blah, Blah, Blah into the Park” signs and left my camera in the car.

Luckily, my mom had more sense than I did, and she allowed me to use her camera.

I am about to give you a mini-tour of Graceland.

“Hello there! I’m Big Noggin Angela with the nostrils that might eat you! I’m wearing headphones that have been sprayed with Lysol! I’m your purple dressed tour guide who can’t figure out how to get the date to NOT appear on the photos! You look pretty today!”

When you enter the Graceland Mansion and look to the right, you see this room. This is where guests would sit and wait for Elvis to walk down the stairs. I’m thinking about having one of those peacocks tattooed up the entire left side of my body so that it looks as if I’m being pecked on the ear. Welcome to my mid-life crisis!

This is the kitchen, and I loved it because it looks like my parents’ kitchen in the 70s. It also looks like YOUR parents’ kitchen in the 70s. We are the world!

This is the lounge where Elvis played the piano on the morning of his death. According to the Lysol scented voices in my head, he loved to gather friends in this room to sing gospel tunes. It’s 07/10/2010!

This is Lisa Marie’s swing set, and I love knowing that she probably burned her butt going down her slide just like I burned my butt going down my slide. Once again, we’re all more alike than we are different, don’t you think?

This is not a great photograph, but I had to add it, because it’s right around the corner from Elvis’s grave, and when I first saw it I thought it said, “Thank you for not smiling.” and I immediately smiled because it’s sort of like “Don’t picture a pink elephant in your head.” isn’t it?

My mom saw this and wondered why the album at position (2,2) is crooked.

Similarly, Mom wondered why the left side of this vest is a bit shorter than the right. Mom has quite an eye for detail. I have quite an eye for tear duct infections. But, with a few drops of antibiotics, it cleared right up! See how I’m tying this post together with the post from last week? By the way: I need glasses!

I loved this suit so much that I’m now thinking of designing a white knitted shawl with cascading blue and silver beads. And I know I’ll never get to it, but it does seem like a lovely idea.

These are Elvis’s shoes as seen on Elvis’s plane. When I saw these shoes, I just knew that Elvis and I could have been great friends.

Ah, yes. There’s one (or sixteen) in every crowd, no?

Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Don’t go chasing waterfalls.

This afternoon at 1:00, I will be seeing an ophthalmologist for the first time. Oddly enough, despite everything we’ve been through with Meredith’s eyes, the word ophthalmologist is still very difficult for me to spell. Because it’s 194 degrees outside and I’m choosing to live simply this morning, I shall from here on out refer to my o-p-h-t-h-a-l-m-o-l-o-g-i-s-t as an Eye Doctor.

I’ve noticed some twitching in my right eye over the past few weeks, and I’ve decided to not complain about it because 1) Complaining isn’t an attractive verb; and, 2) My sister’s eye has been twitching for a few YEARS, and she may have to see a specialist in a different town from where she lives to investigate her twitching. So, really, why in the hell would I bellyache about an infrequent twitch?! (I’m using twitch entirely too much. Time to pull out a grab bag of synonyms: Tic, Spasm, Vellication, Quiver, Paroxysm, Convulsion! I choose Vellication!)

Yesterday, along with the vellication, I discovered that my right eye was crying. Every time I tipped my head, actual tears poured out and ran down my face. I was a little tea pot, short and stout! This actually came in handy when I took my car to the service station. As the mechanic and I reviewed his invoice, a huge tear jumped out of my eye, rolled down my nose, and dripped onto the paper.

Mechanic: …so, there might be wattage issues, but it’s nothing we’re concerned about.

My eye: (Drip, roll, drop, SPLASH!)

Mechanic: Dude. Is everything okay?

Me: I’m good. I might have wattage issues, but it’s nothing I’m concerned about.

Mechanic: There’s no charge for today’s visit.

My right eye cried all through Harper’s karate class last night. It cried as I made my friend Mitzi’s cucumber salad. It cried as I went deeper into The Girl Who Played with Fire. I have to wonder if perhaps the right side of my body is feeling sort of sad for reasons beyond my understanding. (Perhaps yesterday was a special anniversary for my appendix, and Right Side is mourning her loss. Of course, that doesn’t explain the vellicative behavior. Vellicative! Say it out loud and notice how it gives your tongue a workout! I love that!)

This morning, Old Rightie is no longer weeping and she hasn’t yet vellicated, meaning the Eye Doctor is probably going to stamp my file with the words Wooden Nickel as I leave his office. (Grab Bag: Two-Dollar Bill, Charlatan, Bunyip!)

I miss my appendix. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today’s heat index is 115.

I have returned home from Memphis. Actually, I returned three days ago, and have been spending the past 72 hours in an Elvis haze. I’ll just say this: If Elvis was still around and I wasn’t married with children, I would consider being his girlfriend if he would have me. Even with the 35 year age difference. As long as he stayed away from booze and junk. (I think we can all agree that a narcotized/sauced 75-year-old guy does not earn many kisses.)

Anyway. While in Memphis, we did that thing where you watch ducks walk from an elevator to a fountain.

We ate cupcakes.

(Twice.)

We went to a bad yarn store and a good yarn store.

We ate at a restaurant where the employees throw rolls at the customers.

Best of all, I am now the proud owner of a Graceland spoon rest.

ETA: Psst! CrazyMomTats!
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Blowing through the jasmine in my mind…

For whatever reason, it seems that I’ve been cleaning the house. So far, I’ve washed and organized 94% of the kitchen, I’ve scrubbed bathroom sinks and showers, I’ve organized 17% of the family room, and I’ve purchased a small vapor cleaner thing that will supposedly shoot all of that black gunk out of the shower in the master bathroom.

My goal is to get the house in shape this summer so that when the girls start school in August, I can apply my faux pearl necklace and sing things like, “Oh! It’s Tuesday! Time to vacuum the floors before I hit my freelance.” If I can break the work down into daily manageable tasks, my life will surely be sunnier and my hair will shine, and perhaps I’ll lose the final few pounds that simply must go before my happy pants fit again.

Anyway, later this afternoon I’ll be attacking my bookshelf, and that’s sort of exciting because during Bookshelf Cleaning Day, all books get to line up on the floor and grapple for potential positioning on the top shelf. Current top shelf selections include To Kill a Mockingbird, Letters of E.B. White, The Franchiser, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Remembering Denny. Currently competing for a top shelf position are the Shirley Jackson books recently gifted to me by Tempe, The Importance of Being Earnest, and The Elegance of the Hedgehog. (My book club is meeting over sushi on Thursday to discuss The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and I’m currently within five pages of finishing.)

By the way, yes! I’ve decided to go vegetarian again on July 1. This means I currently have three more days in which to eat meat. Last night I had Trader Joe’s Mandarin Orange Chicken, which is my absolute favorite chicken meal. Tonight we’ll be having a pesto pizza, and that’s insane because Only Three More Days To Go and I’m eating a meatless dinner?! I can’t even begin to think about tomorrow’s dinner because I’m getting my very first facial at 6:45 in the evening, and oddly enough, it will involve removing my shirt. This was a gift for my birthday, and it couldn’t be more perfect because Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Every day do something that frightens you.” SO, not only will this gift exfoliate, moisturize, and fortify my skin—it will also make me a bit more Rooseveltian. (Important Clarification: I will not become a Republican, although I have eaten with many of them, and some are quite delightful.)

In less than two weeks, I’ll be traveling to Memphis for a weekend of debauchery. (Although my definition of that word has relaxed considerably in the past 20 years, current usage does include a trip to Graceland, some yarn store browsing, and a search for vegetarian barbecue. (I will, of course, settle for sweet tea and a baked sweet potato. I will not be one of those vegetarians who ruin it for everyone else.))

I shall now leave the house to buy muffins. Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m making big decisions without internet access!

My phone went dead yesterday afternoon. AND, when the phone goes dead, the DSL goes dead, and suddenly I’m faced with an army of chirping crickets and all I want to do is check my e-mail or read websites or research eyelash growth, and twenty years ago I had no idea what the internet was, and now I’m really wondering what I did with my time back then. (Wait! I remember! I actually hung out with real people and went to real restaurants/bars and read books. Also, because I was in college at the time, I’m assuming I studied a bit. And, oh how I wish I could revisit those years and perhaps try a bit harder in my classes. Have I ever told you that I changed my major seven times in five years? Question: How do you go from Piano Performance to Psychology/Religion in five steps? I’ll tell you how: English, Communications, Elementary Education, Occupational Therapy, Nursing!)

Where was I? Yes. Without the internet. So, I walked out of the house at six in the evening to get the mail, and a red truck came zooming (zooming!) up the hill with the horn honking and the driver waving. He pulled up into our driveway and yelled, “Is Jeff home?!” Jeff was not home. The driver introduced himself as our back yard side neighbor, and told me that he has been cutting the overgrowth of trees that now fall on his and our property from the other back yard side neighbor’s yard. (This is so boring.) Anyway, he asked if he could back his truck up to our yard today and haul away the branches and Oh! He noticed that we have a sassafras tree growing in our side yard, and can he make tea?! (Yes. Yes, he can.)

I told him when I saw him zooming up the hill, I thought he was going to ask if we had a working phone. Because we don’t. He laughed and claimed to not know anything about that.

This morning Jeff walked out into the back yard to check out the overgrowth, and he found that the Back Yard Side Guy had cut our phone wire. And I know it had to have been an accident, because the guy’s super nice but Argh.

An hour ago the girls and I drove thirty miles south so I could check my e-mail and tell you this story. And what a great story it is, no? I’d appreciate a few bucks for gas.

Also, my OB/GYN has been trying to get me off of the birth control pills for three years now, because the hormones mess with me and I’m 40 and I’m a bit irresponsible when it comes to taking them. SO, I’m thinking about letting her insert tiny coils into my fallopian tubes, which will fool the fallopians into forming scar tissue around the coils, thereby making it nearly impossible for me to produce unplanned Pudding Pops. (Please know that I didn’t come up with this coil idea on my own, although I sort of wish I had. Once again, intelligence is power.)

The only thing that sort of makes me stare at the sky and put my index finger to the side of my head is the fact that I sometimes think I have one more kid waiting to be made. If I do the scar tissue thing, that kid will never show his or her face.

I’m not sure why I told you the tree trimming story first, when it’s fairly clear that permanent birth control is the more compelling topic.

Finally, I’m going to go vegetarian again on July 1. SO, if you were going to invite me out for a steak dinner, your best bet would be to send that invitation out in the next few days.

And now I shall return to my house, where I’ll be without the internet for another 24 hours. At least. Inhale. Exhale slowly.
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The Puddings are Camping Out! Come over here to admire our tent and earn a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>