It seems that Meredith is the only one around here who really embraces the “It’s the New Year, So Party Like You Mean It” attitude.
(Please know that I’m not requiring her to balance her glasses like that. Ten minutes after this photo was taken, the drops of Super Glue had set.)
((Yes. I glued the glasses right to her face.))
(((Not really, but the thought of it makes me smile. I used to joke about having glasses tattooed onto my face. Luckily, I’ve never had a night in which I drank myself into a really bad decision involving needles and ink. Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands on my left ankle is more than enough for me.)))
As I type this First Post of the Year for you, please know that I’m digesting a warm salad (one of my favorite things! it’s a salad, and it’s warm! bonus: apples mixed in. WARM apples.) and am getting ready to bolt off for a George Clooney movie.
Before I tell you this story, please know: Fluid Pudding has absolutely nothing to do with bodily functions. In fact, I like to pretend that my body does NOT function, if you know what I’m saying. Over the summer when I was diagnosed with a condition that has the word Bowel in the name? Um, yeah. I don’t want to talk about it.
Yesterday I cleaned the girls’ room for the first time ever. It took over eight hours, and the final result is this: Three tons of toys have been donated to charity, another ton of (mostly broken) toys have been thrown away. Now? Every Toy has a place. That’s a huge deal for us.
As I cleaned and tossed (and grew more irritable than I care to admit), I came across a little plastic gem-like thing. As I threw it in the trash, Harper screamed.
“THAT’S MY DIAMOND! YOU CAN’T THROW AWAY MY DIAMOND!”
So, I pulled the gem out of the trash, handed it to her, and said, “I better not ever see that diamond on the floor again.”
Two hours passed, and I took a break from cleaning to fix dinner.
Harper entered the kitchen.
Harper: I think I swallowed my diamond.
Me: What do you mean you THINK you swallowed your diamond? DID you swallow your diamond?
Harper: Naybe.
(Both of my kids say Naybe instead of Maybe. I’ll never correct them. Also, Meredith says Renember instead of Remember. I love that.)
I called the doctor, told her that Harper swallowed a plastic object roughly the size of a nickel, and learned that an 18-month-old baby can swallow a quarter and pass it with minimal difficulty. (Interesting!) She told me the signs to watch for (difficulty breathing, unbearable pain, blood in the stool, etc.) and then said, “If Harper wore diapers, I would suggest you check her output for the gem. Since she’s not in diapers, I’ll just tell you to do whatever gives you peace of mind.”
This afternoon after lunch, the following cry echoed throughout the house:
“I THINK I JUST POOPED A DIAMOND!”
I ran to the bathroom and looked. I didn’t see a diamond.
Harper: I think it’s in there. Look! That one is shaped like a diamond!
Jeff: What are we supposed to do?
Me: I don’t see a diamond. I’m not sure how to proceed! Should we examine it more closely? I DON’T KNOW!
Meredith: You’re going to touch poop with your hands?!?!
Jeff slowly walked outside, retrieved a stick, and poked each of Harper’s creations to check for diamonds. No luck.
Jeff: I’m really glad I took vacation time this week.
Me: When your team asks what you did, be sure to include Poking Poop with a Stick.
Enjoy your holiday. Here at the Pudding house, we’ll be poking poop and crossing our fingers for diamonds. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Yesterday afternoon I was sort of feeling a headache coming on, so I decided to take a Tylenol before dropping Harper off at school. I reached into the cabinet, and because I tend to not think straight when I’m dealing with medication, I quickly took a Tylenol PM. Immediately after swallowing it, I thought, “Whoops.” Mainly, my Whoops had to do with the fact that my afternoon plan was to drop Harper off, finish up with some last minute Christmas shopping, and then go back to school for Meredith’s holiday party. One Tylenol PM will knock me out for about six hours straight. So, yeah. Whoops.
After dropping Harper off, I drove straight to a coffee dump where I ordered a super silly larger than life iced tea. I then finished my shopping with 45 minutes to spare before the party. Since I’m one of those people who sort of lives for scoring nice parking spots, I decided to go ahead and go to school, score a spot, and sit in the car and knit until the party started.
I’m doing it again. I’m boring you with the details. Please stay with me, because I’m going to be crying at the end of the next paragraph, and that’s always a crowd pleaser.
Anyway, I pulled into my (super great) parking spot at 2:03 (thirty minutes before the parties were to begin), and noticed that a bunch of parents were already hustling toward the school. Since I’m a sheep, I quickly grabbed my party supplies (marshmallows and pretzels!), and followed the crowd. When I entered the elementary school, I found that all of the students had gathered in the gym and were singing holiday songs. I entered the gym, I stood in the very back and leaned against the wall, and I quickly spotted Harper and Meredith, who were both nodding their heads as the fifth grade students sang a song about Santa Lucia. When that song ended, the music for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer started up, and all of the little kids in the gym squealed and started clapping. Before I knew it, all 600 or so students were swaying back and forth and singing Rudolph, and all of those sweet little voices (and some not so sweet) really affected me, and suddenly my lip was quivering and my eyes were watering. (I cry very easily in these situations. VERY easily.) Since Meredith’s teacher was nearby, I decided that I absolutely had to regain composure somehow, so I put my hands in my coat pockets and tried to figure out how to tap out 3/4 time as the kids sang in 4/4. So, yeah. There I stood in the back of the gym beating my hands against my legs with tears rolling out of my eyes and my lips in total palsy mode. I want to volunteer at the school next year. I doubt they’ll take me.
After the holiday party, I met a friend for coffee. Before we knew it, we were planning a writers’ retreat, and I was wearing the earrings I fell in love with several weeks ago at the Rock and Roll Craft Show. I returned home feeling completely inspired, and when I went to bed, Stephen Colbert once again entered my dream world and rescued me from a bad date I was having with a high school classmate. (This is Mr. Colbert’s third dream appearance. We ended up making out in the first two dreams. Last night he simply walked me to his car and drove me to a safe haven.)
As I rode across town in Stephen Colbert’s car, the thugs returned to our house in the real world and stabbed John Green again. Several times.
To add insult to injury, they also threw a pie against our garage.
(I believe it was pecan.)
A police report has been filed, the late night patrol shift will be adding a few extra turns around our subdivision, and my daughters (and I) are pissed. (Funny side story: When I called the police and told them that our eight foot penguin had been stabbed, the woman answering the phone asked if it was a real penguin. I suppose she was assessing my sanity. Nevertheless, it made me smile. I’ve never seen a real eight foot penguin, nor have I seen a real penguin with eight feet.)
John Green was one of our favorite traditions. And now we have to either toss him in the trash, or duct tape him up and reinflate him in the back yard.
(Although I have no official suspects, I’m casting a big stink eye toward the teenager who lives a few doors down. He once threw a bottle of water at me as I was taking a walk around the neighborhood, and I’ve never really forgiven him. The bottle of water was not intended to refresh me.)
(For the full John Green is a Survivor effect, you’ll want to start the music before reading!)
You could never know what it’s like.
Your blood like winter freezes just like ice,
And there’s a cold lonely light that shines from you.
You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use.
And did you think this fool could never win?
Well look at me, I’m coming back again!
I got a taste of love in a simple way,
And if you need to know while I’m still standing you just fade away.
Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did?
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid!
I’m still standing after all this time,
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind!
I’m still standing yeah, yeah, yeah!
I’m still standing yeah, yeah, yeah!
Once I never could hope to win.
You starting down the road leaving me again.
The threats you made were meant to cut me down,
And if our love was just a circus you’d be a clown by now!
Et cetera.
(Okay. It’s almost like that song was WRITTEN for John Green, don’t you think? The threats you made WERE MEANT TO CUT ME DOWN?!)
((I’ve taken a lot of cold medicine. Enjoy your evening.))
(I’m slightly embarrassed that my contribution doesn’t contain any sort of photo montage. Perhaps I’ll someday learn how to edit audio and video. Perhaps I’ll also learn how to change the bass and treble on my car stereo. And I’ll perfect my liquid eyeliner technique. A girl can dream.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
It has been entirely too long since I’ve checked in.
Our modem exploded, you see, and because AT&T doesn’t really give us many options, we had to order The Same Exact Modem, and it won’t arrive until later this week.
As a result of this madness, our internet connection is embarrassingly slow. Uploads time out before they can, well, upload. I’ve actually had to take a flash drive (jump drive? flash dance?) and my pocket PC to the Dairy Queen parking lot to upload videos (Christmahanukwanzaakah is upon us—more on that Thursday) by stealing an eggnog-shake flavored batch of free wifi.
Worst of all, for the first time in what seems like decades, I have stories to share! Stories about snowmen and violence! Stories about how I’m actually working out again! Explanations of the momspotting hashtag you keep seeing on Twitter! I’ve got chicken and dumplings in my crock pot right now!
Oh, Internet friends. I wish my house was super big and omnipotent and that you could just step out of your place and into mine and make yourself comfortable as I prepare pizza or macaroni or something and we can actually create a dialogue instead of doing this thing we do where I punch words out with my fingers and you either do the same, or else you don’t. Jeff always tells the girls that slow and steady wins the race. It will take nearly three minutes for this very paragraph to save. Fly like an eagle, Steve Miller.
Until my modem arrives, please know that my kids are trying to build the perfect tightrope, I’m pouring cookie ingredients into decorative jars, and Jeff is compiling his Best of 2009 CD as well as his Best of the Decade CD. I really should give some of his compilations to you. They’re very good.
I’m listening to this song quite a bit these days:
Don’t forget: I have two giveaways going on right now.
Last year I was typing away on a Fluid Pudding post, and when I went to save it, I received an error message. I hit the back button, cut and pasted my entire entry into my e-mail, and then entered it again paragraph by paragraph at the website. (I’m boring you! Please stick with me!) After nearly an hour of fiddling, I discovered that the word that bummed WordPress out was Nebraska. When I saved that entire entry WITHOUT the word Nebraska, it saved with no problem. When I re-entered Nebraska, all hell broke loose.
(When I was a freshman in college, Marching Mizzou traveled to Nebraska for a game. I had been sold as a slave for that weekend (which sounds so horribly inappropriate now, but back then it was just a part of Homecoming Spirit Week), which means I had to carry a woman named Gennifer’s luggage up to her hotel room. My ankle blew out when I stepped into a pot hole in the parking lot, and was sprained so badly that I couldn’t march at the Holiday Parade a few weeks later. I was in an air cast for six weeks, which allowed me to stir up quite a bit of pity during my freshman piano jury. I now feel like I’m sitting on my couch reminiscing with a group of people who really couldn’t care less. Back to the story, which should certainly get better sometime soon, don’t you think?)
I wrote a product review late last week, and that whole stinkin’ Nebraska thing happened again! (The error thing. Not the ankle thing.) The review contains two links. And those two links are non-negotiable. They HAVE to appear in the review. HOWEVER, when I added either of the links, WordPress was giving me the error message again. I did the paragraph by paragraph thing. No luck. I tried to back door the links, which is a fancy way of saying “I typed them in instead of cutting and pasting them.” (I’m a technological wizard, you know.) No luck. I was at the end of my rope last night when Jeff said, “Why don’t you put the links in FIRST?” The entry worked with nothing but the links. (Maybe JEFF is the wizard.)
I then pasted the review in and removed each sentence one by one until I found the culprit.
Get this. The following sentence (which appeared in parentheses on the review) was not allowed by WordPress to appear on a page with the links:
I come with a pretty hefty supply of Christmas tunes.
Because I have lots of Christmas music and I don’t mind talking about it, I’ve been blackballed by WordPress. And I would approach WordPress with this issue to ask what’s going on, but I lack the energy and the vocabulary. I’m bored, too!
Because you tend to stick with me, here is a video of my kids singing Rudolph during the return trip from Indianapolis to St. Louis.
As you read this, we’re actually on the way to Indianapolis! We all have fresh haircuts, and my mom has given me one of those huge plastic cups from Starbucks. In other words, as these very words travel from your eyes to your brain, I’m most likely sitting in the passenger seat nursing a very large shaken iced tea lemonade and listening to The Squeakquel. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I need to send a very special shout out to someone with the initials AMR. You shocked the heck out of me when I picked up my mail yesterday, and I’m so very grateful. (I don’t have your e-mail address, or I would have done this privately.) I skied for over an hour last night! And you’re the only person out there who has any idea what I’m talking about!
