Will it make me sick? Archives : Page 4 of 8 : Fluid Pudding

These are the Facts

Please know that this is all about girl innards and headaches. If you’re not interested, may I suggest you go over here instead? Really.

1. On Sunday, September 26th, I was hit with a migraine, so I did what I always do—I took a Maxalt. This normally kills it within a few hours, but for some reason, on September 26, the Maxalt didn’t even begin to touch the migraine.

2. On Monday, September 27th, I began to cycle, which has absolutely nothing to do with putting on shiny shorts and a helmet. Interestingly enough (it’s really not interesting at all), that was my first cycle since being taken off my BCP nearly a month ago. (I’ve been on the pill for nearly 20 years, and we have breast cancer in the family which puts a capital R on my risky. My doctor and I have been throwing around other options for several months now, and I’ve balked at every one. In September, she played hard ball (as she should have) by not renewing my prescription.)

3. On Tuesday, September 28th, I took another Maxalt. No relief. Terrible headache.

4. By Wednesday, October 6th, I had taken three Maxalt and two of my other migraine pills. (Not all at once, Silly. Spread out over eleven days!) Still paining. SO, I went to see the nurse practitioner at the headache center. She gave me a Toradol shot, which basically made me feel really high and nasty. It did nothing for the headache. She also told me to take anti-seizure drugs that have not been approved by the FDA for migraine prevention, but supposedly work for migraine prevention. (I didn’t take them. I’m weird about just throwing crap at my head—especially if that crap comes with a long list of side effects.)

NOTE: I’ve had the migraines where I end up in bed crying with blankets pulled over my head. This (Thank God) is not one of those. It’s just a constant pain that radiates from my shoulders up to my right eye and sometimes my left eye (sometimes both) and it affects my concentration, and it makes my stomach feel nasty and I feel all hazy and yeesh.

5. On Thursday, October 7th, I attended the most heart-wrenching event I’ve attended in many years. Out of respect for everyone involved, I won’t go into any details. BUT, I will say this: on the drive home my headache was so unbearable that I actually called my gynocologist and BEGGED her to put me back on the pill so that I could get some relief. She didn’t want to do it, but she did it.

6. Monday. October 11th. Now back on the pill for five days. Still no relief.

7. On Tuesday, October 12th, I spoke on the phone with my migraine doctor. She promised that we would get rid of this thing. She told me to go off of the BCP. No more BCP. EVER. She prescribed a steroid that should take care of this headache. She told me to start taking the anti-seizure drug (Zonisamide) that the nurse practitioner had given me the week before.

8. Sunday. October 17th. The headache is now 21 days old, I’ve taken 21 steroids, and am now on anti-seizure drugs. The inside of my head feels hot, my entire body feels tingly (in a not so good way), and I’m feeling like I’m not very sharp (I’m making silly mistakes, forgetting things, etc.). I’m able to keep appointments (mostly), I’m still able to get work done, but I’m just not Me. (I didn’t make it to church this morning because the thought of up and down and sing and up and down and smile and so forth did me in. I was all dressed and ready to go, but then I simply Could Not Do It.)

So, Gggggrrrrrrrrr. I’m now The Girl With the Neverending Headache. (Call Limahl. I’ve got a remake idea for him.) And she’s not interesting or funny. She just sort of sits around in a robe eating apples and looking like your sick old Aunt Marie. Plan for tomorrow: Call the Headache Clinic again. (They’re really very good. I’m actually knitting a pair of Nemesis socks for my doctor, because when/if this headache is conquered, she deserves a prize.)

I offer my apologies to you. Fluid Pudding is not normally a place for such melancholic melon complaints. I’ll probably privatize this number in the next day or so. (Mainly because I’m scheduled to be happy on here tomorrow morning.) Tell me a joke. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m not internationally known, but I’m known to rock the microphone.

On Saturday morning, we packed up the car and headed to Columbia, Missouri to watch the Missouri Tigers KILL the Colorado Buffalos. (I’m all-capping the word KILL to make you think I’m a big football fan. In reality? Not so much. The final score of the game was 26-0, which I believe qualifies as a kill. Remind me to tell you about the time I found myself in Colorado playing the horn of some guy who was out sick with a foot fungus. During that same trip, I ended up wearing a sombrero and singing in a mariachi band. I live the life I love and I love the life I live.)

Our seats were way on the eastern side of the field, and I think we all know that I’m making that eastern thing up. I have no sense of direction. All I know is that 21-year-old students look a lot younger now than they did when I was a student at Mizzou.

While we were in Columbia, Jeff and the girls were very patient with me as I shared my most remarkable memories with them.

I once (mostly accidentally) shaved my head, and my best friend (who was one of the Trumans!) cheered me up by letting me parade around in her Truman suit.

That particular incident most likely took place in this house, which was known as the DOG House, and my capitalization would make much more sense if I was allowed to use Greek letters in this post:

(The incident really did take place at the DOG house, but I’m not completely sure this IS the DOG house. My shadow is growing longer!!! And why are Greek letters giving me error messages?!)

Look at this building and tell me it doesn’t look like a fish with a big gaping mouth that vomits sorority girls!

I know! I think so, too!

Speaking of vomit, it was at this very bench where my friend Séve and I took a break from walking home after a long night out. While taking that break, I leaned over and threw up onto the sidewalk. (I know. I was just as mortified as you are right now.) Séve, God love him, simply squeezed my hand and said, “Oh, honey. You had spaghetti for supper.” (Yes. The girls are pretending to throw up in the photo. They also pretended to cry afterward, because I always cry after throwing up. I gave birth to Good Sports.)

We hung out at the columns, where I once engaged in a Big Mac fight, because I was young and stupid and not yet aware of how many homeless people were roaming the streets just a few blocks over.

This is the house where I lived after graduation. It’s a tiny house, and four of us (sometimes five, sometimes seven and a baby) lived there. I spent many hours sitting on the roof of that house. (One of my roommates built the screened-in porch, which eventually brought us down from the roof.)

When everyone is talking football and the only thing to eat is meaty sandwiches, Harper and I tend to transform our hands into hecklers.

Harper Quote of the Weekend: The sweat in my armpit smells like onions.

Meredith Quote of the Weekend: When I burp it tastes like sausage.

And I share these quotes not because I feel you need to know them, but because I want to remember them. This is my canvas.

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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’>

Sidney. Bono. Yoda. Apples.

Jeff and I were watching a documentary about U2.

Sidney began to mimic Bono’s posture.

We all laughed and laughed.

(All of this to ask: Do you have a favorite variety of apple? I just did a side by side comparison of SweeTango and Honeycrisp, and SweeTango was definitely the winner. I know at least three people who would slap me for saying such a thing, but look at me. I just said it.)
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You are cordially invited to admire my senior photo from high school and take a chance at winning $150!

Please read about my extraordinary family, and follow the links to win all sorts of prizes! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I ain’t gonna study war no more.

On Friday evening the temperature dropped and the four of us found ourselves sitting around in the family room with the windows open and the television off. Perfect night. Then, all of a sudden: “I SAID HELLO, MARY LOU! GOODBYE HEART! SWEET MARY LOU I’M SO IN LOVE WITH YOU!!!”

Jeff: Girls, do you hear that? The church up the street is having their barbershop quartet sing-off tonight!

Me: Wow! It sounds like they have a new sound system! Should we walk up and watch? There might be snowcones!

Meredith and Harper: NO!

So, we continued to sit and listen from our family room, and the music was a bit loud, yet sort of lovely, and the air was crisp, and all was well. (Five commas!) And then two hours passed, and it was bedtime for the girls, and the whole sing-off thing was quickly losing its charm.

“YOU MUST HAVE BEEN A BEAUTIFUL BABY! YOU MUST HAVE BEEN A WONDERFUL CHILD!!!”

“DOWN BY THE OLD MILL STREAM!!! WHERE I FIRST MET YOU!!! WITH YOUR EYES OF BLUE!!! DRESSED IN GINGHAM, TOO!!!!”

Me: Every time one of the songs comes to an end, I find myself praying that the show is over.

Jeff: I’m starting to wonder if the show will EVER be over.

Meredith: I changed my mind. Let’s go see the singers.

Jeff and Me: No.

Another hour passes.

“YOU HOLD HER HAND, AND SHE HOLDS YOURS AND THAT’S A VERY GOOD SIGN!!! THAT SHE’S YOUR TOOTSIE-WOOTSIE IN THE GOOD OLD SUMMERTIME!!!”

Me: I hate barbershop quartets. HATE them.

“GOODBYE MY CONEY ISLE! GOODBYE MY CONEY ISLE! GOODBYE MY CONEY ISLAND BABE!!!”

Me: I’m going to kill someone. If this doesn’t end soon, I swear I’m calling the police.

Ah, but it did end. And thank God for that, because I was starting to itch in strange places, which I believe indicates the onset of An Episode. I’m not sure who won, but I believe it was the gang who belted out Down by the Riverside. Now that we’re more than 48 hours past the trauma, I feel good admitting that they SHOULD have won. Two words: Harmonized Glissandi. (I’m all about glissandi lately—both the word and the effect. This song is getting a lot of play in my car.) ((By the way, I’m totally going to the barbershop quartet sing-off next year. And I’m taking you with me.))

On Saturday afternoon, we went to the school’s Fall Festival, where plates were broken, faces were painted, and severely awkward conversations were held (because that’s what I tend to do).

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You are cordially invited to admire my senior photo from high school and take a chance at winning $150!

Please read about my extraordinary family, and follow the links to win all sorts of prizes! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Japan, Pickles, and Seasonal Ale

As I pulled up the Add New Post screen, my milkman delivered the goods, meaning my refrigerator now contains fresh milk, along with hummus, pesto, Schlafly Pumpkin Ale, kosher baby dills, a sourdough bread starter, leftover spaghetti and meatballs, and a ton of condiments. Today is Respect for the Aged Day in Japan, so I’m going to hug my cat (who is something like 85 years old if I’m doing the math correctly), and dip a pickle in hummus. Let’s hope it sticks. The hummus to the pickle, that is.

Shall we talk about the Schlafly Pumpkin Ale? Every year our neighbors host a block party, and every year Jeff prepares for the party by heading to the store and purchasing a crazy number of bratwurst, buns, and a six-pack of some sort of seasonal beer. Most often, I drink one or two of the beers, and then I’m good for the next six months. A few years ago he purchased some sort of autumnal Budweiser, and it was very okay. Last year saw me holding a raspberry something or other, and I’m not sure I even finished the first one. The Schlafly Pumpkin Ale? Oh my. I drank only one, but I’ve been thinking fondly of it ever since. (I once had a Schlafly Pumpkin Ale Ice Cream Float, and it still goes down as one of the best desserts I’ve ever had.) I don’t really consider myself to be much of a swiller, but when beer tastes like pumpkin pie, I’m in.

Although I definitely don’t need any more sock yarn, I purchased some sock yarn a few weeks back. AND, if you knit at the correct gauge, ghosts begin to form. The last thing I want to do is become the lady who has a pair of socks for every holiday (Respect for the Aged Day!), but I really couldn’t pass this up.

ETA: Oh! I just sent a bulk e-mail to those who wanted the owl cozy pattern. Please let me know if you wanted it but didn’t get it. Thanks!

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You are cordially invited to admire my senior photo from high school and take a chance at winning $150!

Please read about my extraordinary family, and follow the links to win all sorts of prizes! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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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You are cordially invited to admire my senior photo from high school and take a chance at winning $150!

Please read about my extraordinary family, and follow the links to win all sorts of prizes! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Owls and Dinners and Roses, etc.

So, I’m thinking this year’s Christmas gifts for teachers will consist of a 16 oz. coffee cup filled with a gift card and surrounded with an owl cozy.

Either that or mittens. It’s a tough decision. Cozies are quicker. Mittens are more useful. Both are equally warm and woolly.

My segues lack novelty: Speaking of tough decisions, about a week ago I threw a crazy fit that had something to do with me being tired of fixing a different dinner for everyone in the house. I’m not eating meat. The girls don’t want to eat what I make for Jeff, and they tend to want only chicken noodle soup or chicken nuggets for dinner, and argh! End of my rope! Jeff, being my hero and all, quickly found a service that puts together meal plans with recipes and shopping lists based on your family’s needs.

And, guess what? We “sold” it to the kids by talking about how fun it’s going to be to eat the same thing for dinner and how it will free up more time for reading and playing games and New Chapter for the Puddings and whatever, and Friday found both of my kids eating meatloaf filled with zucchini and carrots. AND, I’m able to eat the healthy side dishes and keep the vegetarian thing going. $1.25 each week, and everyone is winning. (I apologize if I seem a bit too excited about this. When you’ve gone nearly five years fixing at least three different meals for everyone’s dinner and suddenly everyone has the same stuff on their plate and they’re actually eating it? It makes me dance. And I’m no dancer. I’ll keep their link in my sidebar until I fall out of love with them.)

Finally, do you remember how my parents gave me a lovely rose bush for my birthday and I got all horticultural and replanted it next to our house and it suddenly died? Last week, as everyone in my family was eating pork chops and gravy over egg noodles (!!!), this was happening on the rose bush.

It’s tiny and sort of damaged, but I’ll take it. Also, I distributed over 100 fliers with my neighbor last week, and she thanked me by giving us a hummingbird feeder, which is the most perfect gift because Fliers and Fliers! Anyway, at this moment in time, I’m 100% into the hummingbirds. I’ve already made two batches of food for them, and they’ve promised to not migrate until early November. (I know they’re lying to me, but at least we’re communicating.)

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Please read about my extraordinary family, and follow the links to win all sorts of prizes! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

And they all lived together in a crooked little house.

Last week I found myself at the Center for New Health Options for a bit of Physical Therapy, if you know what I’m saying. (I’m saying that my back has been bothering me for nearly three months, and our insurance covers physical therapy. They do NOT cover a new mattress. They DO cover 80% of an IUD installation, and I’ll be doing that on September 15th! Hello there!) After the paperwork was filled out and the proper introductions were made, Catherine, my therapist, took me back into an exam room to work up a general evaluation.

Catherine: Just stand against the wall, and I’m going to take some notes about your posture. Do you want me to tell you what I find as I go?

Me (Feeling curiously naked, yet fully clothed. In sweats!): Sure! Let’s hear it!

Catherine: Your left hip is slightly higher than your right hip, and as a result, your left leg looks slightly shorter than the right leg. Your arms hang in front of your body instead of to the sides. That’s because you are slightly hunched over. Your left shoulder is a bit higher than your right, and your head and neck are sitting about a half inch to an inch off-center toward the right shoulder.

Me: CrookedGirlSaysWhat?!

Catherine: Yep. Let me take you to a mirror so you can see what I’m talking about.

We walked to a room down the hall where Catherine stood me in front of a huge mirror and once again pointed out my slants, slopes, tilts, and warps. Before the appointment, I had never noticed just how crooked I am. But now it’s all I can see.

This is me on the outside, and if you look closely, you can see how my neck and head are choosing to side with my right shoulder. (It’s a mirror image, so right is right.) Also, please know that my skin is the same color as the wood on the bathroom door, and my dress matches the walls! You come and go, karma chameleon!:

This is me on the inside, sitting on a chair in our dining room and thinking about peach pie. Tis the season, you know!:

(I used to think of myself as being a bit Rubenesque. Now? I’m a total Picasso.)

After I came to grips with being all asymmetrical in awkward places, Catherine put me on a table where we engaged in myofascial release, which is quite an amazing thing. (Picture yourself lying down with someone’s hands in your mouth. Suddenly, you begin to feel the sensation of butter melting in your head. Your neck is no longer aching. We are in Xanadu.)

I’ve been approved for five more visits, one of which will involve the stretching out of my C-section and appendectomy scars. (I’ve been told to wear shorts. At this point in time, I don’t own a pair of shorts. Things are about to get Very Interesting.)
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I want to give you $150! Come over here, read about my disaster cake decorating experience, tell me a funny 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!

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’>

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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