Don't look at my feet. Archives : Page 3 of 3 : Fluid Pudding

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’>

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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It must have been the soy.

Observation: Yesterday I made a pot of pasta fagioli, but I added soy crumbles instead of ground beef. Within thirty minutes of eating it, I found myself at the school’s Curriculum Night actually socializing with people I had never met. Stranger yet: I wasn’t even wearing my Cocksure Shoes.

Hypothesis: Soy somehow numbs my amygdala, thereby reducing my normal level of social anxiety. (Luckily, my numbed amygdala did NOT stir up any symptoms of hyperorality, which I just learned is a condition in which inappropriate objects are placed in the mouth. That could have been a bit awkward at Curriculum Night! “No, Mrs. Pudding. I don’t need my stapler back. You sort of claimed ownership by sucking on it during my presentation.”)

Alert the scientific journals! Soy inspires charm and eliminates sweaty palms! PLUS, it’s loaded with calcium, iron, and fiber!

I really do love the girls’ school. I love that every kid gets a free breakfast. I love that during their unit on Economics, each second grader will apply for a job, go through training and “work” at their job during a field trip, receive a paycheck, discover the joys of banking, and prioritize their earnings. I love that all kindergarteners are split up into focus groups during the day to work on the things where they might be struggling a bit. I love that Harper now knows the importance of Respect, Responsibility, and Peace—all because it’s part of the school’s creed.

I learned a lot about my kids last night. Specifically, Meredith wants to be a high school cheerleader (or tennis player) who spends her adult life sheltering dogs, and the three wishes she has for her future have nothing to do with ending hunger, eliminating cancer, or striving for peace. It’s all about scoring a dog, a computer, and an iPod.

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If that billy goat won’t play, Mama’s gonna keep it anyway.

School started three weeks ago, and because I’m scared to death of having nothing to do, I’ve somehow managed to fill my calendar with arrows and freelance assignments and out-of-character plans like “September 7 – PTO meeting”. While I have your attention, let’s get something straight. Although I live in the United States, where periods tend to fall INSIDE the quotation marks, I actually prefer putting them OUTSIDE the marks—as is supposedly preferred in the United Kingdom. I’m living on the edge over here! Someone send me some cherry bakewells!

Let’s see. I was folding laundry on Friday, and I came across a pair of Jeff’s underpants that were ripped a bit between the elastic and the fabric. SO, Harper and I did what anyone would do. We designed a bunny sling.

The only person in the house who isn’t completely crazy about our brilliant Fruit of the Loom repurposing scheme is Jeff. However, I do believe he’ll come around when he sees that We’re Going to Be Millionaires.

On Saturday, we drove to Springfield to visit my sister and her family. While there, I fell in love with this guy.

Oh, this goat. He was above begging for food. He didn’t try to chew on my shirt. He just wanted to chill out and have his nose scratched. (Confession: While Jeff and the girls created a ruckus, I ran out of the zoo with the goat. He’s currently sitting on the stool next to me doing what goats tend to do—throwing back wheat grass shots and asking questions about html and the embedding of photos. I have no idea what I’m talking about, but I know more than the goat. (He can’t read, and his attention span barely exists. But he’s really cute, and I’ve heard rumors that he can play the tenor saxophone.))

Meanwhile, the girls have decided that we need a dog.

My sister’s dog is crazy and fun and loves to jump around and play ball, and we don’t have anything like that in our house.

(Except for the goat. But that’s our little secret. Ixnay on the Oatgay.)

((Wait. Speaking of Billy Goat (which we really weren’t, right?), I once went to one of their shows. Ah, to be twenty again.))

(((On a semi-related note: Am I too old for Doc Martens? Because just look at these. I’d almost trade the goat for them.)))

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