Will it make me sick? Archives : Page 6 of 8 : Fluid Pudding

It happens every year! Like a national holiday!

So, I’m making a shrimp thing this evening. (I purchased the Hungry Girl 1-2-3 cookbook a few weeks back, and I love it.) Anyway, this particular recipe calls for one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp. I went to the grocery store and studied the fresh seafood, and there was no uncooked deveined shrimp to be found. Because I cannot stand the thought of touching raw fish, much less ripping out veins (and poop!), I knew I needed some serious help.

Fish Lady: Do you need some help?

Me: Well, I need one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp.

Fish Lady: You’ll have to get that in the frozen food. Aisle 15. And, let me warn you: It’s really expensive. If that bag has more in it than you need bring it back to me, and we’ll talk.

Me (really confused at this point about what we need to talk about): Aisle 15.

Harper and I carted on over to Aisle 15 where we found a two-pound bag of raw deveined tailless shrimp, and it was selling for $19.99. I took the bag back to the fish lady and said, “It has one pound more than what we need.”

Fish Lady: Go ahead and give me that bag and I’ll open it up and split it for you so you don’t have to pay twenty dollars. AND, if you want, I’ll flash it really quickly so it’s thawed out for you.

Me: You would do that for me?

Fish Lady: Yes, Ma’am, I would.

She took the bag, divided up the shrimp, flashed it (I have no idea what that means, but her shirt remained tucked), and repackaged it. $9.99. I then did that thing that I do where I started thanking her over and over again and had you passed us, you would have thought that she had just saved my kid’s life—not simply repackaged some shrimp.

As I walked away from her, I was actually fighting back tears. (Seriously! I know!) Human kindness, People! Sometimes all it takes is a kindhearted fish lady!

And because I do this every year, let me just puke it out right now: I haven’t yet been able to put together a workable New York BlogHer plan, and I’m feeling sorry for myself because the party invites are starting to arrive. Waaaaaaahhhhhhhh! I know. I went in 2006 and 2008. I was going to drive to Chicago last year, but my innards were all messed up. Anyway. That’s all I’m going to say, because if I allowed myself to continue, I’m afraid your eyes would get stuck in the back of your head, and that’s not a smart look for spring. (With that said, I’m hearing that yellow shoes are still a good thing.)

(I learned something last week: I was always under the impression that season names required capitalization. They don’t, unless the season name is the first word of the sentence! Also, I’ve been making chocolate cherry smoothies, and they’re delicious! Once again, it’s Hungry Girl!)

Today for lunch I had a veggie burger cheese scramble thing. I cooked it in a coffee cup in the microwave, and then dropped ketchup onto the top. Hungry Girl!

(That’s my LeahPeah cup, by the way. She gave it to me at BlogHer 2006. That was the year I had to make a $3,492 cab run to Walgreens to buy a breast pump and Swedish Fish. Argh! Titanic! Here I go again! You should be SO happy that you’re not in my house right now. With Ellen on the television, it’s only a matter of minutes before I’m crying. Here’s hoping Eva Longoria doesn’t mention the word Shrimp.)
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I concocted a Pop-Tarts recipe, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Someone get these dark chocolate covered pomegranate seeds out of my kitchen!

I know the exact weight I need to be in order for my jeans to fit.

In January, I discovered that I was fourteen pounds OVER that weight, and my jeans still fit. However, when I removed my jeans (in a completely wholesome way, in order to quickly change into my vanilla frog pajamas), I had bumpy dark red rings around my waist indicating that I was putting some real strain on the waistband of my pants. Sadly, those rings stuck around throughout the night and into the next morning, serving as a constant reminder that although 14 is one of my very favorite numbers (42 is another!), it doesn’t really reflect well on my mid-section. (And let’s not even talk (or think) about my butt! I’m not joking around right now!)

(Side note: I often wonder if I should be drinking more water. Why on earth are those jean rings still hanging out nearly twelve hours after I remove my pants? (Greetings to the people who are finding my website after Googling “remove my pants!” Pull up a chair! There is absolutely nothing for you to see here!) Also, every night I spend way too much time smoothing out my pillow, because I know that any crease that finds its way to my face during the night will still be visible when I pick the kids up from school at 3:30 the next afternoon. I have actually canceled trips to the grocery store because of embarrassing pillow creases. I look like Seal!)

Anyway, because I wasn’t thrilled with the decorative red and itchy jean rings, I decided to take 12 weeks to drop the 14 pounds. And this is important: I decided to do it without adding any sort of exercise. Because zero exercise + zero exercise = I get to stay on the couch and knit! You think I’m lazy! You are correct! Don’t ask me to high five you. It might make me palpitate!

Two weeks ago, I reached the 10 Pounds Gone mark. And despite the Upping of the Fiber and the Continual Slow Elimination of Processed Foods, I’ve been hovering at 10 Pounds Gone now for 15 days. Unacceptable.

Last night for the first time in probably a decade, I did step aerobics for 30 minutes. And, according to The People Who Figure This Stuff Out, I burned 190 calories. And then I sucked three gallons of sweat out of the carpet with our wet vac. Today? My legs feel like noodles. And, according to The People Who Do This Sort of Thing Regularly, I’m supposed to really dig the fact that my legs feel like noodles. But I don’t. In fact, I think it’s time for a crazy animal print hat, because I’m finding that my stride today is quite pimp-like.

To meet my original goal, I have three weeks to lose four pounds. Tonight I’m going to get my hair cut, which means roughly 1/20th of a pound will be left on the floor at my hair joint. When I get home, I might shave my legs. (We’re entering skirt season, you know.)

Every little bit helps. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Swinging dead cats and wishing for the perfect naan.

I once made the statement that you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a gifted kid. After saying it, I sort of regretted saying it, as I tend to regret many of the things I say out loud. (“Quarter Pounder with cheese, mustard, pickle, and onion” is an excellent example of this. Also, the fact that I’m constantly chewing on my foot (figuratively!) is one of the many reasons why you’ll probably never see me in person! I like to stay in my (mostly soundproof) house! I sing songs to my cats! Anyway!)

I wasn’t going to share this with you, but I suddenly feel like I should: Meredith was recently accepted into the gifted program at school. After consulting with us, her teacher recommended her, she tested surprisingly well, and Wham! Every Thursday morning she now reports to the middle school where she has her own locker and she changes classes along with an entire hallway of first and second graders who are also in the program. And I’m being intentionally vague, because it’s such a thin fence between bragging on your kid and not bragging and I suppose it’s not wrong to brag about your kid, and gheez. It’s just sort of new to me, but I will say this: Meredith LOVES her Thursdays, and I like to think of it as her song to sing—not mine.

This might seem like I’m changing the subject, but I’m not: Meredith gets car sick, and because of that, she can’t/won’t ride the bus. This morning I had to take her to the middle school at 9:00, pick her up at 11:00 (it was an early dismissal day), drive her to the elementary school, return home and feed Harper lunch, take Harper to the elementary at 12:30, go back to the middle school for the parent/teacher conference at 1:20, and then back home where I currently sit typingtypingtyping until 3:06 when I make my way back to the elementary to pick them both up. AND, because Jeff is in California and I slept like a horse last night (mostly on my feet, lots of fidgeting and swinging my tail at imaginary bugs), I’m feeling a bit raw.

And now I’m going to change into an even more opaque hat: Something was brought up at today’s conference that should have been brought up at last week’s conference with her elementary classroom teacher, and I’m currently stuck between a rock and a hard place (Ah! Clichés! Rattlesnakes!) because I feel the need to confront someone, but I secretly know I can’t because there’s a 17% chance that it might affect a friendship, and because I am who I am, this is going to bother me for days, and hey! I’m really liking that sick mom from American Idol, aren’t you?

After actually feeling tempted to taste goat meat last weekend, I am now 100% committed to learn how to cook authentic Indian food of the vegetarian variety. (Live long and prosper, Goats!) It seems that whenever Jeff and I get the chance to hit a restaurant, we always go for Indian. I’ve asked for cookbook recommendations on Twitter, and I’ve now added a few to my Amazon wish list. (Whee! A list of wishes!) I’m now wondering if you have any words of wisdom. What I really want is to figure out exactly how the place down the street makes their Delhi’s Chaat. From there? Saag paneer. And on and on until my house smells like an Indian Palace. (Don’t worry. I’m not going to go all Julie and Julia: The Indian Version on you. I’m not nearly that perky.)

Look. I knitted a hat and some washcloths for Meredith’s kindergarten teacher. There I go again, getting all twirly and knitting gifts for teachers!

Jeff told her that it looked like cobbler. He’s so brave.

My calendar this week is filled with words, and most of those words have something to do with freelance work.

(Thursday contains the words Stendhal Syndrome. I’m not sure why I wrote that, but I do love the concept.)

Sadly, today features the following phrase: MC home sick.

Did you know that Meredith has GERD? She had it when she was a baby, and then everything seemed to clear up when she started walking. Last April, she started complaining of stomachaches. After a few weeks of complaints, she started throwing up every morning. Her doctor put her on Prilosec for six months. When six months passed, Meredith was going through a challenging time at school and was scared to death to stop the medicine, so the doctor signed us on for another three months.

A few weeks back, the prescription ran out, and Meredith was cool with that. Onward!

We noticed last week that she was hoarse.

On Sunday afternoon, she had a really awful cough.

Last night at 9:45 she yelled out and was wiggling around her bed in pain.

Me: Do you think you might need a puke bowl?

Meredith: Yes.

Seconds later (before Jeff was able to deliver The Silver Bowl), Meredith unloaded a pile of blueberries onto her bed. And I thought I could handle cleaning it. I totally did. Jeff took Meredith to the bathroom to clean her up, I approached the bed with the intention of removing the sheets and wiping up as much as I could. And then I started in with the gagging and bending over and saying a lot of things like, “Yeesh! Um, I can do this. I can do this. Blergh. Yes. Holy holy holy. Oh. Boy.”

Once again, Jeff came to the rescue and dealt with the sheets while the girls and I watched a bit of Olympic figure skating. (Did anyone else catch the Canadian skater who fixed her partner’s hair during The Way We Were?! It was just like Streisand and Redford! I don’t care that she fell down and repeatedly stumbled. That subtle move should have clinched the gold for them. Go Canada!)

So, anyway. As I sit at my computer and type, Meredith is sleeping off her rough night (we now have more Prilosec), Harper is at school, and there are at least 20 more chapters on reptiles that need to be templated.

If I have time later this week, I want to talk to you about the crush I have on Bobby Flay.
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I spent a week driving a Lincoln, and if you check out my review you could win a $500 Visa gift card! (And more!)

I’m giving away a $200 Visa gift card, and it’s all about pizza. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

So, it looks like the Puddings are headed to prison.

A little over a year ago, Jeff noticed that he was paying our trash people more than once each month. (And when I say Our Trash People, I mean the environmental service that comes to our house on Thursday mornings to haul away the things that we DIDN’T recycle. I’m still wearing my Birkenstocks.)

Anyway, when he pulled up the information online, he realized that he had been double paying for the past six months! He quickly called Our Trash People (OTP) to figure out what was going on.

OTP: It looks like we accidentally created two accounts for your home. I’ll go ahead and delete the second account and credit your first account with six months of payments if that works for you.

Jeff: I’m down with OTP. Yeah. You know me.

Six months passed before we received the next letter from OTP, which said something like, “Hey, Stinky! You’ve probably noticed that we’re no longer picking up your trash! Do you want to know why?! IT’S BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T PAID US IN SIX MONTHS!!! Money! Bring it!!!”

(They had NOT stopped picking up our trash.)

Jeff, who is always surprisingly calm in these situations, picked up the phone and called them.

OTP: Whoa! Hey! Look at that! It looks like we credited the first account with six months worth of payments and then DELETED that account. That’s funny!

Jeff: That’s not funny.

OTP: Our bad! Our bad! Don’t worry. We’ll reinstate the first account and delete this empty account. You’re good to go! Trash away!

The bills started appearing again, and we assumed All Was Well.

Yesterday, we received a letter in the mail that featured an embossed stamp and said something like, “Check it, Heedless Sloth. You haven’t paid your stinking trash bill in over a year! What’s up with that?! Wait. I’ll TELL you what’s up with that! What you’re holding in your hand right now is a summons! On February 25th, if you don’t show up and explain your sorry back side to a judge, we’re going to burn your House o’ Trash down and toss your entire family (including the cats) into the slammer!”

Jeff, who is always surprisingly calm in these situations, picked up the phone and called them.

OTP: Oh My Gosh. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. For some reason, we just keep deleting the wrong account! Comedy Gold!!! I’ll take this in and talk to my supervisor about it. No worries. Fixaroonied!

Jeff: Can you ask your supervisor to send an e-mail assuring me that it’s been taken care of?

OTP: Are you kidding? We can’t send e-mails to people on the outside! Believe me. We’ll take care of this. Hey! Where’d my sandwich go?!

A few minutes later, Jeff received a call from the OTP Supervisor assuring him that the court date has been canceled and All Is Well.

Because I do not trust the OTP, the Puddings will be fleeing the country on the evening of February 24th. Hey, Coffee Lady! Do you have room for some Puddings?

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New Giveaway! I spent a week driving a Lincoln, and if you check out my review you could win a $500 Visa gift card! (And more!)

And don’t forget about the hat, the eggs, and the pizza!

Answer some questions and someone scores a handknit hat!

In just a few days I’ll be giving away a $100 Visa gift card partnered with Six Months Worth of Eggs.

Also, I’m giving away a $200 Visa gift card, and it’s all about pizza. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I will cut off my hair and spite the mite.

Harper is still coughing.

This morning I sat down with her doctor (in a room painted bright red. I felt very uneasy in that room for some reason. Who wants to explore that with me?) and we discussed the possibility of a dust mite allergy. (The doctor brought it up. I would never bring something like that up, because I know the obvious solution would be for me to, well, DUST. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t look at me.)

If Harper doesn’t stop coughing in the next five days (as the antibiotics are realizing their potential to destroy any existing infection in her sinus cavities (Whee!)), I’ve been told that I should consider dusting and vacuuming three times each week for as long as we all shall live. Amen.

I’m crying. (I’m not really crying.)

For the first time in my life, I’m really hoping Harper has a sinus infection. I have a lot of knitting goals that will suffer if I have to devote so much time to cleaning up around here. ((You know I’m joking, right?))

Oh! Speaking of which, I have decided that Time is more important than Hair. I know most of you told me that I should grow my hair out, but the fact that I am spending ten minutes each morning blowing my hair dry is really bringing me down. (I’m clearly exaggerating on the emotion, but not the time.) If this keeps up, I will be spending roughly 52 hours each year (TWO stinking DAYS!) standing in the bathroom shaking my head around with the Conair Supreme 1500 in my hand.

The woman who cuts my hair will be returning to town in three weeks. I’m looking forward to seeing her.

By the way, did you know that 100,000 dust mites can live together on one square foot of carpet, and each mite drops waste at least 20 times each day?!

Sweet dreams. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Mashing the Mish

First off, and most importantly, thanks to all who commented this week regarding homeschooling. So many opinions. So many things to think about. I appreciate your words.

Secondly? We went to church on Christmas Eve. At the end of the service, the entire congregation circled around the church and sang Silent Night by candlelight. And I know some of you think that’s the silliest thing ever, but it’s one of my very favorite Christmas moments. This year we found our place in the circle next to a mom who had her little boy with her. As we sang in German (I’m telling you! We sang in German! Bitte sehr!), the little boy let loose with the most explosive wet cough I’ve ever heard. I immediately stopped my German and nervously noted that the boy is the exact same height as Harper. He coughed again, this time extinguishing his candle flame with the gack that was flying from his mouth. He actually blew his own candle out by coughing Three Times during the song—and I believe we sang only three verses.

Less than 48 hours later, both of my kids were coughing the coughs of hard core smokers. (My uncle had to have his larynx removed. I know the cough.) Anyway, I suppose I can’t really blame the boy and his cough, but Hhhmmmmm. Four weeks later? Harper is still coughing that ridiculous wet explosive cough. Mucinex does nothing for it. The cough suppressant prescribed by the doctor hasn’t touched it. She’s now on Day Two of antibiotics. If she’s not better by Wednesday, we have to go back to the doctor. We’ve been back to church once since Christmas because I tend to not take my kids out when they’re coughing like maniacs. This past Sunday I noticed that Hacking Boy is no longer hacking. This gives me hope.

I finished Middlesex, and I really can’t remember the last time I was sad to see a book end. Nothing but goodness. Next up? My Life in France by Julia Child, and when the book club meets, we’re each to bring a dish from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Also, on the side, I’m jumping into The Pickwick Papers. 2010 is a good year for reading. (And that reminds me: I have a fifty cent library fine, and that fine is prohibiting me from requesting books online. I really need to stop by the library and toss some quarters around.)

Meredith approached me earlier this week and told me that she has made an important decision. She wants to get her ears pierced. We’ve talked at length about how much it hurts, how it’s a big responsibility for a six year old, how you can’t undo it once it’s done, et cetera. She still stands firm. If all goes well, tomorrow I am allowing my little girl to alter her body for the first time. Mir ist schwindlig.

And for the sake of Pete, don’t forget about the eggs! (I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card partnered with Six Months Worth of Eggs!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The real question is: Am I smart/patient enough?

So, I’ve been thinking about homeschooling.

BAM! What?! Where did that come from?!

This is the truth: I adore our elementary school. I’ve come across only one staff member who rubbed me the wrong way (figuratively, obviously), peer advocacy seems to be very important, everyone gets a free breakfast (although I hear the doughnuts really suck), and the extracurricular programs and activities are, well, phenomenal. (Let’s face it: I rarely use the word Phenomenal.)

This is also the truth: A really great friend of mine homeschools her 12-year-old son. They have found a curriculum that works perfectly for their family, they have located social groups in their area so their son still gets to hang out frequently with other kids. They seem to be 100% happy with The Way Things Are, and I’m quite inspired by them.

I’m still telling the truth: I’m scared to death of middle school and high school. Normally, when I am afraid of something, I feel stupid for being afraid. (I’m afraid of people who dress up as animals and cheer at sporting events. I know.) However, I had a conversation with someone last week who made me feel not so stupid (about the middle school thing. We didn’t talk about the animals). The quote that sticks with me? “People are afraid that homeschooled kids don’t get enough socialization, but really—do you completely approve of the socialization they receive in middle and high school?”

So, anyway. We have four more years in our elementary school. I’m planning on immersing myself in The Pool of Other Options during that four year span.

Speaking of The Pool of Other Options (not really. I’m often accused of bumpy segues.), I’m thrilled to be giving away a $100 Visa gift card partnered with Six Months Worth of Eggs! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m packing a firestarter, Drew Barrymore.

So, I gave the coach the hat on Tuesday. I gave it to him in a plastic bag to show that I’m not always a tissue paper/Rudolph bag mom. And when I handed it over, I said, “We made an extra hat over the break for your wife!” He looked sort of confused, but then quickly recovered and said, “Now we don’t have to share!”

Yesterday, he was wearing the original hat, and I felt like I was pressuring him somehow to do something he wasn’t happy about. And we’re all adults, although my brain doesn’t really act like one, so I felt like I had to say something. (You know how I am.) I rolled down the window, and he said, “My wife was really happy with the hat, so thanks!” I came back with, “Great! And, hey! Please don’t feel like you have to wear the hat to school. I know you probably have warmer hats.” He answered with, “Honestly? They all feel the same.” And then I got really mad. (Not really. I just want you to know how my synapses fire.)

Let’s see.

Oh! Okay! Last Saturday our furnace stopped working. SO, the furnace man came over, changed the batteries in the thermostat, and suddenly everything started working again. Victory! And then Jeff left town on Sunday and the furnace stopped working! SO, the furnace man came over on Monday and replaced the thermostat altogether, and suddenly everything started working again. Hallelujah! And then on Monday night, the furnace stopped working! SO, the furnace man came over on Tuesday and replaced a metal thing that communicates between the flame and the blower, and suddenly everything started working again. Triumph! And then on Tuesday night, the furnace stopped working and I ended up on the phone (again) with the furnace guy and he talked me through lighting the pilot light and assured me that he would not ask me to do anything if it wasn’t safe, and I kept asking questions like, “Should I be wearing rubber-soled shoes?!” and saying things like “I need you to understand that I am alone in the house with my kids, and I can NOT explode right now.” And he said, “I’m going to send Mike over tomorrow to talk to you about your options.”

So, yesterday afternoon, the furnace guy’s estimating friend came over and we talked about my options (and the fact that he was peeing blood a few weeks ago. I’m 100% serious. I’m not sure why people feel so comfy around me). And after hearing the sentence “I thought I was pissing Sangria!”, I actually wrote them a check with a really scary number on it, and tomorrow at this time I will have a team of gentlemen in my home installing a new furnace and air conditioner. And please don’t ask me any questions, because frankly? I’m all furnaced out. I’m now having to drag myself downstairs to light the pilot light Every Time We Need Heat, which is often—because it’s currently 14 degrees outside, and the kids are suffering through their first snow day of the year, and furnacefurnacefurnace.

Two hours ago, the girls and I made ice cream out of snow. (Click on the photo for the recipe.)

Meanwhile, Jeff is in California doing things like this:

Yes. He actually shot that video as he drove from San Diego to Palm Springs yesterday afternoon. And Clarence Clemons never once stopped playing the saxophone to tell Jeff a sob story about kidney stones and bloody pee. Furnacefurnacefurnace,etc. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Fluid Pudding Family Caramel Apple Salad Recipe

Oh, people. You’re making this NaBloPoMo thing easy when you ask for things like recipes.

And, please know that I fought the urge to say Recipe: Throw 12 apples into a large bowl. Add 64 Brach’s caramels (wrapped or unwrapped). Happy Thanksgiving.

Since you asked, here is the recipe Grandma used.

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 can (8 oz.) crushed pineapple
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 carton (8 oz.) Cool Whip
4 cups diced Granny Smith apples
1 cup chopped salted dry roasted peanuts, divided

In a heavy saucepan, combine flour, sugar, pineapple with juice, egg, and vinegar. Bring to a slow boil, stirring constantly; cook on medium until thickened. Refrigerate until cold. In a large mixing bowl, fold cooled pineapple mixture into Cool Whip, then fold in apples and 1/2 cup peanuts. Pour into a serving dish and garnish with remaining peanuts.

So, yeah. Absolutely no caramel included, but it TASTES like caramel is included. And I suppose that’s what matters.

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