Will it make me sick? Archives : Page 3 of 8 : Fluid Pudding

Meditation and Sweaters

Headache Doctor: So, are you currently taking any medication regularly other than Zonisamide and the multivitamin?

Me: I take a sleep aid at night.

Headache Doctor: How many times per week do you take it?

Me: Well, probably three times per week. Maybe more. Mostly more. Okay then. Seven nights per week.

Headache Doctor: We need to get you off of that. Ideally, you should be able to fall asleep and stay asleep without chemical intervention. What is your caffeine intake?

Me: I drink two or three cups of coffee each day, and I try to finish the final one before ten in the morning. With that said, I’m definitely stretching the truth, because here it is, almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m drinking out of a Starbucks cup! Busted! I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT DECEITFULNESS!

Headache Doctor: Knowing that you SHOULD drink the final one before ten is a good start. Have you ever done yoga or meditation for relaxation?

Me: We joined a gym about three weeks ago, and I really should check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes! AND, now that I’ve said that sentence out loud, I think we both know that the last thing I’m going to do is check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes. I’m scared to death of the gym. There’s a pool there. I have no idea how to swim, I have no desire to learn how to turn on a stair machine, I know what a Kettlebell is, but I sort of feel the urge to cancel friendships with anyone who asks me to swing one around. I hate the smell of sweat. I feel awkward during all time not spent sitting on my couch, and sometimes I feel awkward when I AM on my couch. So, yeah. I take pills to sleep and sometimes I drink coffee all day. You should see my Hanes Her Way underpants. Dear God, I’ve got problems.

From there, it continued to sputter downhill. Eventually, I found my way home from the headache doctor (I see her again in May. I really need to knit that woman a pair of socks for dealing with my Crazy.), and I immediately logged in to Audible where I downloaded Buddhist Meditation for Beginners by Jack Kornfield. I am not Buddhist, nor do I buy into meditation. (The thought of being barefoot makes me a bit jittery, and once I’m on the floor I can’t get back up very well. Perhaps I need to take a class at the gym! Or swimming lessons! I know. Oh, people. Don’t hug me.)

Anyway, I’ve now put the meditation guide onto my iPod, and I’ve started listening to it every night for the past five nights. Get this: I haven’t heard more than four minutes of the silly thing because I keep falling asleep and not waking up until a cello starts playing at around the five and a half hour mark. In other words, I’m in bed taking in more than five hours of God knows what (accompanied by pan flutes!) while I slumber like a stinking baby! Meditation? Yes. It totally works. Passively.

(I really need to find out if hypnopaedia was truly discredited as a method of learning, because if I could be getting my realtor license or something while I slept, I would feel a hell of a lot more marketable. Imagine the possibilities!)

Hey! I finished a sweater. It’s a Liesl made out of Cascade 220, and I sort of want to make a cotton version (not so green, maybe?) with short sleeves to wear during the summer months.

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I went shopping at Walgreens, and now I’m giving away a $100 Walgreens gift card! Come on over! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Great Balls of Cake!

If you’ve been with me for the past few months, you’ve heard me mention cake balls. If you know what cake balls are and you’re not a fan, I’m about to offer you a hall pass, because there’s not much here for you to see. If you don’t know what cake balls are? Well, it’s Christmas in March, people. Gather around.

I bought the Cake Pops book back in December and have probably made at least a dozen batches of cake balls. In fact, I’m sort of shmooing myself into That Lady Who Always Has Cake Balls. If there’s a trivia night? I’m bringing cake balls. Book club? Cake balls. It’s your birthday? Cake balls. Parent/Teacher Conferences? Cake balls, Cake balls, Cake balls. (I’m proud to report that a friend called with a Cake Ball Emergency a few weeks back, and I was able to provide cake balls. This goes down as one of my proudest moments. 1. Raising kids that don’t suck. 2. Playing Chopin on the piano. 3. Being able to stay calm and deliver during a cake ball emergency.)

Let’s make some cake balls, shall we? The first thing you need to do is bake a cake in a 9 x 13 pan. You can do it by scratch, but I have no idea why you would want to. For this particular batch of cake balls, I baked a Duncan Hines lemon cake. When the cake is done and completely cooled, grab a big bowl and crumble the heck out of the cake. For you, this might be the best part of the process. For me? It’s pretty horrible. I HATE TOUCHING FOOD. Anyway, crumble it until all of the big crumbs are gone. When you’re done, it will look something like this.

Next up? Grab a container of icing. If you have the Cake Pops book, Bakerella has provided a really great grid that lists cake and icing flavors that blend well for the best possible cake balls/pops. For this batch, I went with Lemon Supreme.

And this is where I want to tell you that I normally go in and try to make my photos look good, but this is Migraine Week for me. My migraine hit on Tuesday, and it was at its worst late Wednesday night, and then yesterday afternoon I was hit with some sort of stomach thing and this has nothing to do with that! Back to the cake balls!

Stir no more than 3/4 of the icing container into the cake crumbs. (Helpful hint: Stir using the BACK of the spoon.) If you add the whole container, it’s going to get all goopy, and you definitely do NOT want goopy. When you’re all done stirring it in, it’s going to look like this:

Now the really fun/disgusting part begins. (Once again, this all revolves around your ability to touch food without cringing. These cake balls have been sort of therapeutic for me, I suppose.) It’s time to ball! (What?) Grab a hunk (I hate the word hunk), roll it into about the size of a golf ball, and place it onto a waxed paper lined baking sheet. You’ll notice that your hands start to get gross after about six balls. Please wash them frequently during the balling process. (Hello! Due to that last sentence, I just got 23 hits from people searching for something completely unrelated to cake!) Anyway, frequent hand washing will make the whole thing run a lot more smoothly. (Perhaps I’m projecting. Wash your hands. Wash them. Right now. Go.) One more thing. Don’t roll the cake balls too tightly, if that makes sense. You’re going to be refrigerating them for several hours (or putting them in the freezer for several minutes) and if they’re rolled too tightly, they might crack.

At this point, I normally refrigerate the balls overnight. (I like to spread the cake ball process out over two days. That’s just how I do it. I know a few people who put the balls into the freezer for ten minutes before the dipping phase. It all depends on how much time you have.) Anyway. Onward to the dipping!

I went to Michael’s and bought a bunch of the Wilton’s Candy Melts. They come in a bunch of different colors and are really easy to work with. (I find that it takes about 1 1/3 bags per batch.) If you don’t feel like dealing with that, you can also melt chocolate chips or bark or whatever. (I’ve never done that personally, but I know people who have, and their balls turn out beautifully. I’m no longer trying to be careful about the ball thing. Everyone is welcome at Fluid Pudding.) Anyway.

Here you see a bowl of the melted baking chips and three chilled cake balls ready to be dipped.

Toss a cake ball into the melted chips.

Using a spoon, make sure the ball is completely covered with chocolate/bark/melt/whatever.

CAREFULLY pick it up out of the melted chocolate with the spoon and carefully roll it to the edge of the spoon and sort of tap the excess chocolate off of the spoon. (You’ll develop your own technique in no time. I sort of do a lift Lift LIFT taptaptap motion. Whatever works.)

Roll the ball from the spoon onto another waxed paper lined baking sheet. (If some of the chocolate comes off of the cake ball, you can use your spoon to cover the rough spot with more chocolate. You’ll see what I mean. These things are completely user-friendly.)

After you put a few cake balls onto the baking sheet, feel free to dump sprinkles onto the top or maybe hit them with a different colored icing or whatever strikes you as being sort of fabulous. This particular batch (pink lemonade cake balls) were for Meredith’s Girl Scout troop, so I wanted them to be quirky. Whatever works for you works for the cake balls. Zen. (I always get about 32 cake balls per cake.) NOW, go make some. I would tell you to take a photo and leave a link in the comments so we can all admire your creation, but I know at least three of you who are going to mess this up for everyone. I’m on the couch and hardly in a mood for moderation. (You don’t know this, but this is the roughest you’ve seen me in quite some time. I’m wearing a baseball hat and am severely unshowered.) Cake balls!!!
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I am drinking Tropicana Pure Premium and giving away a $100 Visa Gift Card! Leave a comment for your chance to win!

I went shopping at Walgreens, and now I’m giving away a $100 Walgreens gift card! Come on over! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Be prepared.

According to the local meteorologists, St. Louis is about to experience a crippling snow/ice storm. It just occurred to me that we lost power during the ice storm of 2006, and if this ice storm is going to be anything like THAT ice storm (and, according to everyone on the news, IT WILL BE), we will be unable to cook the food that I put on this week’s meal plan. SO, as I type this note to you, I’m making curried cauliflower with chick peas and tomatoes. When the girls go to bed, I’ll be making the thing where I put chili in the bottom of a 13 x 9 pan, and then bake corn bread on top of it! Genius! (For my Facebook friends, you can find the recipe in my photos section in the It Goes In My Face folder.) ((I make it with Boca crumbles, and you really can’t tell that it’s not a ground up cow under the corn bread!))

Jeff, our resident hero, spent the afternoon securing fire wood, shopping for groceries, and making sure we have the proper batteries for our flashlights. PLUS, he brought home pizza from the new Little Caesar’s location down the road, AND he assures me that he can get us to the Sheraton if all hell breaks loose. (I know. I’m the luckiest.)

The girls have been preparing for the storm in their own way. The DSi charger has been at work all afternoon, and all stuffed animals are lined up around the outer edges of the mattresses.

Harper: I have an idea.

Me: What is it?

Harper: Let’s charge the television. That way, if we lose power, we can still watch a movie. Oh. Let’s charge the DVD player, too.

Me: It’s a great idea, but I’m afraid you can’t charge the television or the DVD player.

Harper: That’s fine. BUT, we should probably charge the refrigerator.

Me: Again. Great idea. BUT, you can’t charge a refrigerator, either.

Harper: Okay. Is the car charged?

The car is charged. What I didn’t tell Harper is that I have no idea how to open the garage door during a power outage. Imagine how excited she’ll be when we, under the influence of cold cauliflower curry, rev up the engine and back through the garage door on our way to the Sheraton! The neighbors already adore us for keeping the rotten railroad ties in our front yard. Imagine how their hearts will swell as we become the Dukes of Hazzard.

Oh! Oh! Good News!!! After telling you my sad chicken broth story, I pulled up the Melting Pot menu. Although the server across the aisle told her customers that our chosen cooking style contains chicken broth, I noticed that the menu doesn’t mention it! In a fit of excitement, I called two different locations, and both assured me that unless we specifically ordered chicken broth, the coq au vin style consists of wine and herbs only. SO: I didn’t eat dead bird juice after all!!! (No offense to the swillers of dead bird juice. I still love you. In fact, I live with three of you. (Five, if you count the cats.)) Anyway, I am completely pleased to report this to you as I close down my seventh month with no meat. With that said, who knows what Wednesday will bring? We all remember what happened in the Andes. (By the way, what an awesome cabled sweater Josh Hamilton wears as he contemplates eating his friends!) Anyway, desperate times, desperate measures—and the Puddings with a drawer full of bacon… ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Harper’s not a chicken, but I am. Because you are what you eat. (Insert sobs here.)

This post has nothing to do with feminine protection! With that said, I feel the need to thank all of you who commented or sent e-mails regarding my tampon post. I have some very funny people stopping by Fluid Pudding. We should all have lunch sometime. Actually, let’s do it in Australia so I can kill all sorts of (figurative) birds with one stone. (Here’s a bird: My life list now holds the following item: Prepare fish tacos for Isabella Golightly in Australia, as they do not have chipotles in adobo sauce in Australia. Are you doing the life list thing? I want to learn how to make paper dolls, too.)

Three days ago, Harper told me that she wanted to get her ears pierced. I asked if she wanted a few weeks to think about it, or if she wanted to go after school on Monday. With Jeff in New Orleans and the girls and I constantly on the lookout for diversions (we almost bought a baby monkey over the weekend!), we went after school on Monday.

Long story short: She sat in the piercing chair and chose her starter earrings, they pierced the first ear, she cried and cried, I fought back the urge to vomit and gave her the option of doing the second ear later, she put on her Stalwart hat and decided to go through with the entire process in one sitting, and there you go. I now have a very brave five year old with blue daisy earrings.

There’s simply no way to tie this to that, so I’ll just tell you this: I went back to Weight Watchers last week. I first joined back in 2003 when I had something like 35 pounds to lose after giving birth to my ten pound Meredith. (I believe it took about six months to lose those 35 pounds.) I’ve joined and quit more times than I care to admit, but Jennifer Hudson! Singing Nina Simone! It’s a new dawn! A new day! A new life! Argh! I couldn’t NOT go back! Anyway, I went to an actual meeting this afternoon and I had lost 2.6 pounds, meaning I’m within two pounds of my goal weight, meaning my lifetime membership is back on track, meaning I don’t have to pay.

All of this to say: I’m liking the new program. I’m a vegetarian who tries to eat as many unprocessed foods as possible, and this plan seems to be very well-suited to that lifestyle. Yes, I can’t go to Gokul every day, but I *can* go once or twice a week if I feel a hankering. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them. If you have major criticism, please make sure you know what you’re talking about before you start talking. (I have a lot of pet peeves. One of them is the tiny splotch of yogurt that always seems to pop out onto my hand when I’m peeling off the foil lid. Another is when someone spins their uninformed head around and pukes out things like, “That damned Weight Watchers diet is cuhrazy bad for you!” without really knowing the first thing about it. First off? It’s not a diet. Secondly? I’m eating fruit and soup and oatmeal and Indian food and bean burritos and sushi. I’m very happy and not at all hungry.)

Last week I told Jeff that I believe it’s time for us to install a punching bag in the basement. I’m the most non-confrontational person you’ll ever meet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch a bag.

I believe I’m still feeling a bit of anxiety over my inability to draw a proper picture of a chicken. Here. Let me just tell you: After being a strict vegetarian for seven months, I unknowingly cooked my vegetables and tofu in chicken broth last weekend at The Melting Pot, and I’m STILL bothered by it. I feel like I’ve gone backward—like I have to take my two hundred twenty something days of being meat free back to zero. Ugh. AND, I would blame our server who knew I was vegetarian and didn’t tell us that our chosen cooking method had a chicken broth base, but really. It’s not her responsibility to babysit my lifestyle. I should have asked more questions. So disappointing. AND, I was physically ill for nearly three days after eating, and I have no way of knowing if it was the chicken broth that made me sick, or if the whole episode was psychosomatic. I don’t want to talk about it. I miss Keith Olbermann.

Seriously. Let’s go to Australia together. I promise to not yammer. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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’>

I’d like to trade my flu for a fluent flutist!

When I was a little kid, my grandma crocheted a blanket for me out of bright acrylic yarn.

When I hit a growth spurt, she would take the blanket back and add on more stripes, and I liked to think that the blanket was sort of like a tree—you could tell just how old I was by how many colored stripes surrounded its center. (There are 40 stripes coming out from the core, plus a border. And that’s sort of perfect. For the next six months.)

I always curled up in this blanket on sick days. Today is one of those days. (Yeah. It’s way too small and will probably serve as more of a lap blanket. I really should learn how to crochet so I can add on to Grandma’s blanket without fear of screwing it up.) ((Also, Grandma would LOVE to know that my kids consider this blanket to be a top priority when they’re home sick from school.))

As you may (or may not) know, I’ve been participating in the Laughing Cow Daily Laugh program since July. (Look in the upper right hand corner under my masthead thinger dinger. See the cow? There it is! It’s laughing!) Anyway, I just put up my final Laughing Cow post, and I would love for the winner of the $150 Visa gift card to be a regular reader of Fluid Pudding. SO, if you’re feeling lucky, or if $150 would help to replenish some of your holiday expenses, please come by and comment on this post. You guys are the greatest. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Weekend Updates are tricky, Tina Fey.

In about ninety minutes, I’ll be attending my new book club, which means I now belong to two book clubs. (If you’re curious about my other book club (and I know you are because you’re still reading), please know that we’re meeting on Thursday to discuss The Corrections, and no. I still haven’t finished The Corrections. But don’t give up on me just yet.) Anyway, I’m standing strong in my belief that one can never have too many book clubs.

Today’s book club will be discussing Still Alice by Lisa Genova. I didn’t read it, either, but I DID listen to the audio book (unabridged!) and it was actually read by the author, which is often such a mistake, but not in this case, because: So Many Medical Terms, and this particular author is a neuroscientist. Spoiler Alert! (Not really.) Alice (who really is Still Alice, hence the title) tries to make white chocolate bread pudding in the book, and that’s EXACTLY what I’m trying to do right now, because I’m nothing if not relevant.

In about fifteen minutes I’ll be melting a bunch of Ghirardelli white chocolate into a pot of simmering whipping cream. That’s what I call sauce. (Incidentally, that’s what Epicurious calls sauce, too. I’m using their recipe.)

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

Get ready to make passes. Or not.

Last week I stopped at a stoplight (as I often do), and for whatever reason, I reached up and rubbed my right eye. Suddenly, with my hand over my right eye, I could no longer read the Imo’s sign across the street and I Freaked Out (as I often do).

This is what it has been like to live with me during the past week: Please picture yourself sitting in our rocking chair and watching television. I’m sitting on the couch. A commercial comes on, and text flashes across the screen. From the corner of your eye, you see my right hand fly up to my right eye.

Me: I CAN’T READ THAT TEXT! IF I DIDN’T KNOW THOSE WERE WORDS I WOULDN’T KNOW THOSE WERE WORDS!!! WHAT DOES IT SAY?!?!

(Jeff has been carving the “Love is patient…” verse from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians into his left forearm with a dirty pocket knife as I sit on the couch screaming like Helen Keller at the running text on CNN. Anderson Cooper!)

I went to see an eye doctor yesterday morning, and I’m now carrying around a prescription for glasses. (If you’re craving details, please know that I’m astigmatic in my left eye, and my right eye vision is actually worse than my left—but neither eye is very bad. The astigmatism is throwing my brain off, which sparks my interest in many ways, most of which center around that headache I’ve been droning on about for the past six weeks.)

So, anyway. When it’s time to choose a pair of glasses, the best thing to do is take a photo of yourself and play on the computer in your kitchen, right? Right!

Okay, look. I know it’s not a great photo of me. You’re never going to get one of those, so let’s suck it up and concentrate on the glasses. I don’t mind these at all.

I mind these a little more. They’re too thin, maybe? I need some pressed powder for my nose.

Harper likes the orange frames the best. Pearle Vision is running a Buy One, Get One Free deal on frames. Even with that deal, I don’t believe I’ll go for the orange. They make me look like I’m a Celine Dion fan who’s trying really hard to carry off Funky, but everyone knows she has a sweatshirt at home that features a St. Bernard wearing a Santa hat. Am I right? Also, when did I start looking like Jeff Goldblum?

I just fell asleep. This is what I would look like if I fell asleep while wearing glasses!

AND, now I’m scared. This is fun, isn’t it?

My glasses have to look smart during my late night mustard drinking sessions!

I just made out with Ben Folds!

So, anyway. The eye doctor has made me promise to not call him if I reach for the pepper shaker and miss it for the first few days after getting the glasses.

Me: Can I call you if I fall down the stairs?

Him: No. Just wear the glasses and be careful. Your eyes and brain will adjust to any abnormalities you may sense at the beginning. Call me in a year and we’ll revisit the prescription.

Me: I fall down a LOT. I NEVER TOOK DANCE LESSONS!

Him: That’s great. Call me in a year.
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My roommate once told me I was Very Wide. Follow this link to read the story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is what’s happening in my mailbox right now.

I’m still shuddering. Still. Do you think there are babies inside that cotton ball she’s weaving?! On second thought, don’t answer that.

All it takes is something like this to show me that I’m really not cool at all.

Not at all. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Why, yes. I’d love some.

First off? I love each and every one of you for your words of wisdom and concern regarding my crazy headache drama. Without going into too much detail (Just wait a few paragraphs. You know how I am), I believe I am on the mend. So, it now appears that we have a bit of catching up to do related to things that don’t really impact your life at all. But isn’t that how it is when you find yourself sitting across the table from someone? Let’s pretend you and I are enjoying some coffee, and it’s my turn to talk. (I always let you go first, because I’m sort of a Girl Scout like that.) I’ll even put my words in quotation marks so it really seems like I’m using my larynx! Don’t we have fun?

“Yep. As much as I think I would like to hang out with Nate Berkus for a few minutes, I really don’t believe his show is going to last. It’s all over the place and he’s giving pillows away to a sad lady and then all of a sudden a little bouncy girl is featured who designs semi-hoochie clothes, and then we’re talking about dating, and married couples who put sex at the bottom of their totem pole, and some lady keeps a litter box in her bedroom, and really. So much shifting of the focus, and no vintage ribbon to tie it all together.”

“Jeff and I celebrated nine years of marriage on Wednesday by taking Harper to karate, picking Meredith up from scouts, and taking both kids to church choir. We shut the night down with French silk pie, which really isn’t a bad way to shut things down. Jeff presented me with nine roses. I presented him with The Instructions. This evening may find us indulging in a bit of sushification.”

“I just finished my part of a smooth sailing freelance project, and I’m now taking time off while I adjust to my new migraine prevention pills. I’m feeling a few hours of relief each day from the headache, but I’m replacing the pain with a constant haze that, according to my doctor, should last no longer than six weeks. I’m high. When I reach for something, my hand arrives a split second after I think it should. Yesterday, after my neighbor and I discovered that we were both craving Indian food, I found myself filling my plate at Gokul’s buffet. When my plate was full, I went and sat down at a different table from where we had been seated just a few minutes before. Excuse me while I kiss the sky, Guster.”

“Last night we went to the middle school for a family game night, and for the first time ever, Harper kicked my butt at checkers. (This may or may not have anything to do with the anti-seizure meds. Whee!) After each move, she took breaks to work on the book she’s writing about brownies. I would document all of this in her baby book, but why start now?”

“An older bow-tied gentleman at church once noticed that I tend to put the sugar in the cup before pouring in the coffee. He nodded his head and said, ‘Ah! You’re a Pre-Sugarian!’ That will stick with me for the rest of my life.”

“You look so pretty slash handsome today. Please pass the Doritos.”
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My roommate once told me I was Very Wide. Follow this link to read the story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>