Will it make me sick? Archives : Page 7 of 8 : Fluid Pudding

The only problem: Tomatoes aren’t so good right now.

Our parent/teacher conference is on Thursday evening, and I have volunteered to bring a food item to school for the teachers to snack on during the conferences. Because my mind tends to swim around in paltry waters and I want my food item to be a Memorable and Thoughtful food item (preferably containing a protein of some sort because that’s what I tend to crave these days), I’m obsessing about what to bring.

My brain is telling me to buy a 30 pack of Taco Bell tacos.

My heart is telling me to create an out of this world vegetarian taco dip casserole thing.

My daughters are telling me to bake brownies.

My husband is telling me that he’s leaving town on Wednesday and won’t be returning until approximately two minutes before our first conference.

Any recommendations?

In completely unrelated news, if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll notice that I’ve come out of hiding (I’m not so good at Twitter, if one may be considered Good at Twitter) and am now completing nearly every one of my thoughts with #momspotting. I’ll be telling you more about that in the coming weeks, but for now, here’s a video that will surely catapult you to the edge of your seats.

Vegetarian taco dip, right? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tirade! Now, with coughing!

So, as you know, Meredith was sick last week, but is no longer sick. She has an annoying cough. She does NOT have a fever, nor does she have chills. No runny nose. Just a cough. She’s full of energy. She feels great.

1. About an hour ago, Meredith’s teacher sent her to the nurse’s office to deliver a backpack to a child who was going home sick for the day. According to the nurse, “I took her temperature for the heck of it, and she has a fever of 99.6, so you need to come and get her.”

2. This morning, I packed a sandwich bag full of mints, and threw in one Mucinex packet with a note that said, “Please allow Meredith to eat these mints as needed for her cough. I’m also including a packet of Mucinex. She may take it if needed after 12:00.” When the school nurse called to ask me to pick Meredith up, she told me that as a nurse, she is not allowed to dispense medication with only a parental permission slip. She needs a prescription from the pediatrician. So, even though I picked this stuff up at the store and gave the nurse written permission to hand it to Meredith, I still have to call the doctor (who is booked up for the day, I’m sure), have her write a prescription for Mucinex, and fax it to the school. With that said, I am allowed to drive to school, pull Meredith out of her classroom, and dispense the medicine myself (seriously—I’ve done it), but the school nurse cannot give it to her. And I get that, I think. I think.

3. When I arrived at the nurse’s office to pick Meredith up, the nurse said, “If her fever comes back at any time today, you need to keep her home tomorrow.” They have a policy at school that says something like “Fever Today? No School Tomorrow.” And I get that. I really do. BUT, the fact that she said, “If her fever comes BACK” confused me a bit. When we got home, Meredith’s temperature was 98.4. As I sit here at the computer, she’s running around the house feeling perfectly fine.

I’m sure all of this makes perfect sense and Better Safe Than Sorry and it’s flu season and schools are closing and the locusts are descending and whatever. I’m sure it does. I’m just having trouble seeing it right now. You see, I’m a very selfish and uncaring mother who is probably 99.6% (or 98.4%, depending on whose side you’re on) responsible for the flu outbreak at Meredith’s school. There. I said it so you don’t have to.

I would like a large non-fat chai and a walk in the woods. Thank you for your support. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Yes, I’ve had reactions. But not to a flu shot.

This afternoon I picked the girls up from school and headed straight to the drug store to purchase Starlight Mints for Meredith. Although she’s no longer contagious, her cough is so annoying that her teacher sent her to the nurse’s office this afternoon for a cough drop. Because the nurse isn’t allowed to give medicine that hasn’t been prescribed by a physician (I had a blanket prescription written at the beginning of the school year that covered Tylenol and Tums, but I totally zoned on cough drops.), Meredith was given a Starlight Mint and sent on her merry way.

And a merry way it was. Meredith LOVES the mints. She has never had hard candy before, which probably blows your mind. Or maybe it doesn’t. Here. Let me tell you why my kids have never had hard candy before: Once, when Meredith was a year old, she choked on a tiny cracker in the back seat of the car. And it scared the crap out of me to the extent that I rarely give anyone (including Jeff) foods with high choke potential. I don’t allow the girls to have gum. They cannot eat popcorn unless a drink is nearby. Most importantly, no clove cigarettes.

As I was saying, Meredith LOVES the mints. And because coughing kids break my heart, I threw caution to the wind, put on my Laissez Faire hat (it sparkles!), and drove straight to the drug store to load up. While there, I noticed that the pharmacy was offering flu shots for $24.99. What a bargain! Maybe?! I don’t know!

Me: Hey! Girls! Do you want to see Mommy get a shot?!

Harper: Will it be in your butt?

I grabbed the forms from the pharmacist, was baited and switched with “We are currently out of the $24.99 version, but can we interest you in the much prettier $29.99 version? It contains no preservatives!”

Me: I’ll take the pretty one! After all, it’s not MY money, it’s my HUSBAND’S money! And he doesn’t want me to get sick, because if I’m sick, Who Will Cook the Lasagna?!

(The lasagna is in the oven Right Now. It’s vegetarian, and is loaded with peas and mushrooms. My windows are cracked, so that’s what you’re smelling. It’s a soft food, you know. No choke potential. Stress-free dinner.)

A few minutes later, the pharmacist called the girls and I into the back room for the shot.

Pharmacist: Let’s talk about your fever and vomiting.

Me: Gosh, I can’t remember the last time I threw up, and I know I don’t have a fever.

Pharmacist: On the form you just filled out, you checked Yes to “I have had a fever or vomited in the past 24 hours.”

Me: How weird! I have no recollection of checking the Yes box. That pen must have been sort of like a Ouija board but not really!

Pharmacist (who apparently works in a position where there’s not much room for joking around): Have you had a fever or thrown up in the past 24 hours?

Me (totally sober now): No, Ma’am.

Pharmacist (who knows she can’t trust me as far as she can throw me, and I outweigh her by at least twenty pounds): Do you suffer from Guillain-Barre syndrome?

Me: No.

Pharmacist (Wait! She’s asking me all of the questions from the form! She probably thinks I don’t know how to read. Sometimes the illiterate are really good fakers, as evidenced by several made for television movies!): Are you allergic to eggs?

Me: I will not eat them on a train.

So, here I sit. The lasagna will be ready in fifteen minutes, and I’ve been vaccinated. And I hesitate to tell you this, but my kids have been vaccinated, too. Some of you think that’s fine, but some of you CAPS LOCK DO NOT THINK THAT’S FINE. And that’s what makes the world a special place, don’t you think? We’re all just doing our best, it’s just that some people believe they are doing it Better Than Others.

Today I give thanks for the Canadians.
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(I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Despite rumors to the contrary, I am not an attack site.

Oh, Internet.

Do you remember last week when I updated my software and I was So Proud and maybe a bit cocky about the whole thing?

Yesterday, as I was writing a review for BlogHer, my screen went squirrely, and I received a message accusing me of being an attack site. The message came from Google, but when I log into Google, my dashboard is all, “Hey, Fluid Pudding! Everything’s gravy! Wheee!”

As I type this message to you, I’m hoping that Liquid Web is looking into my issue. The last I heard was “I’m putting this over to our Security team. You should be hearing from them shortly.” That was about sixteen hours ago. I’m perplexed, Internet.

BUT, my house smells good. And if you want to read about it, you can follow me over here, once again, I doubt you’re attacked. Trust me. Argh! (Updated to add: One person was apparently sent to a site filled with pop-ups. No one else has mentioned any problems.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m eating my hair. I’m eating my hair!

So, I’m about to update my website software to the latest version, and I’m shaking in my boots. My hair is curling, my flesh is crawling, my blood is running cold, et cetera.

Confession: I am scared to death of driving around in a big city. I’m no good at it. I make lots of mistakes. (You can ask my Chicago companions how many times we were almost killed last week simply because I insisted on driving. I’m ridiculous!) Anyway, this Updating of the Software thing? Let’s just say I would rather be dropped in the middle of Atlanta rush hour traffic in a smoking crap Gran Torino than deal with this. (Ask Mr. Deal. He’s totally aware of my ignorance. We actually talked on the phone once, and I’m still feeling stupid about how stupid I can be!)

If something terrible happens, please know that I love each and every one of you for reasons only I will ever know. Blackbird? I know we’ll meet some day. This is just another bump in that road. Finslippy? You always ALWAYS make me laugh and laugh. Emily? We WILL have coffee. Amy? I finished your socks this afternoon, and they’re currently soaking in a lavender bath! I should join them! (Don’t worry. I won’t join them.)

Wait. Why is everything fading? Hhhmmmm. I believe I’ll start walking toward that light in the distance…

Seriously, all. Wish me luck. IhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisetc.

EDITED TO ADD: Okay. You can all relax. I think I did it. I think. And the funny (?) thing is, I just looked to my right and noticed a big smear of blood on the wall. I have no idea where THAT came from. (Really. I have no idea. Blood on the wall!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Colon Firth—The Final Innard Entry

I come to you this day to report that my colon is clear and healthy, and I may now sit safely under the large (and slightly itchy) IBS quilt.

Wait. Did you just say you wanted to see a photograph of my colon? Well, here you go!

(That is not a hot dog, René Magritte!)

As you can see, what my colon lacks in personality, he makes up for in shininess! Pizazz, even!

When he gets spruced up a bit, he turns into an angry (and sweaty) chemistry teacher!

“Astatine!!! Einsteinium!!! Damnit!!!”

(Thanks to everyone for the comments and e-mails. I’m now off to Chicago for my annual Fiber and Sushi Hajj.)

Stock up on the Northern! It’s FAFPBPA time!!!

Do you remember back in March when I threw my fist to the sky and invited you to participate in the First Annual Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong (also known as FAFPBPA, which is pronounced FafPuhBuhPah)?

Six months have passed, and I think it’s time we have ANOTHER FafPuhBuhPah! But this time? Let’s shake it up a lot more than a little, shall we?!

It seems that Wednesday, September 9th will find me knocked out (and rolled over) as I undergo both an upper endoscopy (to rule out ulcers) AND a colonoscopy (to rule out Crohn’s). Wheee! I’m not particularly rattled about these procedures, because the people driving the tubes around my insides do this stuff every single day. (Except maybe Christmas and/or their own birthday.) (I wonder how many times a tube-driving doctor has jokingly muttered “I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque” while performing a colonoscopy. Because that is very (very) funny. To me.)

What I *am* a bit puckered up about are the events that have to take place the day prior to the procedures. Let’s call a duck a duck, shall we? I am dreading the idea of “bowel prep.”

This is where you come in. Wait! Get back here!!!

It’s the First Annual Fluid Pudding BowelPrepAlong (also known as FAFPBPA, which is pronounced FafPuhBuhPah)!!! On the morning of Tuesday, September 8th, which is Two Weeks from Today So Mark Your Calendars, we shall not partake of any solids. It’s a clear liquid day! AND, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the shivaree shall commence with the swallowing of four Dulcolax! One! Two! Three! Four Dulcolax!!!

Thirty minutes later? We shall drink a half bottle of Miralax mixed into a 32-ounce jug of Gatorade! At 8:00 in the evening? Yes! ANOTHER half bottle of Miralax mixed into a 32-ounce jug of Gatorade! According to my calculations which are nearly always incorrect, it looks like we’ll be ingesting three weeks worth of laxatives in four hours time! We are living the bulimic dream! It’s FAFPBPA!

I’m trying to decide if I should liveblog the event. I mean, seriously. If people can liveblog the Grammy Awards, why can’t I liveblog the clearing of my colon?

Okay. Who wants to design the shirts?

(CROSSING MY Ts, IN ALL CAPS, NO LESS: YOU EXPRESSLY UNDERSTAND AND AGREE THAT YOUR USE OF THE FLUID PUDDING WEB SITE AND THE INFORMATION THEREON IS ENTIRELY AT YOUR SOLE RISK. ANGELA PUDDING AND HER AFFILIATES AND LICENSORS WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE TO YOU OR TO ANY THIRD PARTIES FOR ANY DIRECT OR INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, SPECIAL, OR PUNITIVE DAMAGES OR LOSSES YOU MAY INCUR IN CONNECTION WITH THE FLUID PUDDING WEBSITE, YOUR USE THEREOF OR ANY OF THE INFORMATION, DATA OR OTHER MATERIAL TRANSMITTED THROUGH OR RESIDING ON THE WEBSITE, REGARDLESS OF THE TYPE OF CLAIM OR THE NATURE OF THE CAUSE OF ACTION, EVEN IF WE HAVE BEEN ADVISED OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE OR LOSS. TO THE MAXIMUM EXTENT PERMITTED BY LAW, YOU HEREBY RELEASE AND FOREVER WAIVE ANY AND ALL CLAIMS YOU MAY HAVE AGAINST ANGELA PUDDING, HER AFFILIATES AND LICENSORS FROM LOSSES OR DAMAGES YOU SUSTAIN IN CONNECTION WITH YOUR USE OF THE INFORMATION CONTAINED HEREIN.)

Edited to Add: Who wants to design the shirts? Melissa wants to design the shirts! So she did! (This is EXACTLY why I love Fluid Pudding Readers!)
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Lack of Intestinal Fortitude, Chapter 43

While we were at Trout Lodge, something crazy happened that led me to call my doctor once again for the Mystery Abdominal Thing. Long story short? We scheduled a CT scan!

Lady at Scheduling: Your test will be on Thursday at 3:30, but we’ll need you to be here at 2:30 for registration. AND, you’ll need to stop eating and drinking at 11:30 so we can get an accurate result.

Me: Okay and okay!

So, last Thursday morning I stopped eating at 11:00 (Can you guess how many microwave s’mores I ate between 10:50 and 11:00? The answer is Three!), and I parked the Hyundai at 2:22. (I remember the time because I tend to make a wish when I look at the clock and it’s 11:11 or 2:22 or 4:44 or something similar. I’m four years old!)

Registration Lady: Go ahead and fill out these forms, and one of the nurses will bring you something to drink in just a minute.

Me: Excellent! I hope it’s root beer. (Did I mention that I’m four years old?)

RL: Heh.

This is starting to get boring, so take a deep breath and Here We Go!

It was not root beer. It was two gigantic cups of a barium cocktail that tasted like orange coconut poison and while I was drinking it, they called me back to start an IV, and I had no idea THAT was part of the deal, but I’m pretty flexible so whatever, and they started the IV in the crook of my right arm and I gulped the poison, and thirty minutes later they put me on the table and I had to scootch my skirt down to my knees because of the zipper, and when the nurse went to put the stuff into my IV, the IV didn’t work correctly and the stuff infiltrated and BURNING ARM! SO they went to start an IV in my left arm crook (I’m loving using the word crook, by the way), and my veins were rolling too much and YEESH! PAIN! They tried the top of my left forearm instead and still with the rolling and double the pain (maybe even triple) and YEEOWWW! So they called a nurse in from the main hospital who jabbed me on my right forearm (My skirt was still around my knees! Were you wondering about that?) and it worked, but as I was pumping my hand to give her some hefty vein action, my original IV site started secretly spurting and suddenly there was a fat puddle of blood all over my arm, and holy crap. Wooooozzzzzzzyyyyyyyy!

Nurse (pushing the stuff into my IV): I’m pushing this through, and you might feel a warm sensation that sort of feels like you’re peeing in your pants, but don’t worry. You’re not peeing.

Me: I think I’m peeing.

Nurse: You’re not peeing.

Me: This has been an incredible day.

Less than two minutes later, the entire procedure was finished. AND, I can’t really complain because The Pokers were all really nice people, and I suppose I can simply blame my ancestors for my weirdo veins, right? Right-o!

So, anyway. A few of you have e-mailed to ask if I’ve had my gallbladder removed yet. I have not! Because, according to the tests, Governor Gallbladder is an upstanding member of the Angela Pudding Abdominal Organ Population.

Side story: When all of this abdominal stuff started up, I said something to Jeff like, “You know, watch this be a really embarrassing diagnosis that involves one of the following terms: rectum, anus, stool, sphincter, fissures, or yucky vagina.”

When the doctor called with my CT scan results, he actually used one of those terms coupled with the word “abnormal.” (It was not Abnormal Yucky Vagina.)

So, yeah. Here we are. It’s nothing serious, so please don’t bother to wish me well. Just know that I’ll be seeing a gastroenterologist a week from Friday! AND, according to my research, he’s also a pianist!

This has nothing to do with anything, but it’s in my mind: I would give just about anything for a few tablespoons of horseradish right about now. What good is a cheese sandwich without horseradish?! It’s a living hell, I tell you. (According to my calendar, today is the Green Corn Moon, so we’ve got that going for us, I suppose!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

We saw the writing on the wall as we felt this magical fantasy.

As you know, Giuseppe Zangara, because of the fire in my belly, I did NOT go to BlogHer. I was actually 42% fine with my decision until early last week when people began writing their “I’m packing for BlogHer!” posts. Then my 42% swooped down into the teens. I immediately called Jeff and told him that we need to go “camping.” (I added those quotation marks for you, Coffee Lady! My definition of camping really IS very loose. No television, people in the dining hall are wearing swimsuits, and I didn’t even pack eyeliner? Camping!) When I saw on the news that Trout Lodge’s adjoining camp had to evacuate because of an E. Coli scare, reducing the entire camp’s population by one half? Well, I turned that scar into a star! (I don’t handle crowds very well. You’re a pal, E. Coli!)

We arrived at Trout Lodge on Sunday afternoon, and immediately hit the ground running. When you check in, you’re handed a fairly hefty list of options and times so you can fill your schedule with as many (or as few) activities as you want. I’m still a bit amazed at all of the things we crammed into a 48 hour period of time.

On Monday morning, we went on a fishing trip with Robinson from Colombia. As he pulled the boat away from the dock, he talked a big talk about how we were going to catch a huge fish. We fished for an hour and caught nothing. As Robinson prepared to lift the anchor and take us back to the boat house, Meredith caught a fish. Robinson actually squealed and confessed that he has been taking families out on fishing trips all summer, and NO ONE has caught a fish. Meredith was a hero. (And, seriously. Wouldn’t it suck a bit to fly out to Missouri from South America and spend three months taking families on unsuccessful fishing trips? It almost smells like some sort of punishment! Anyway, because of Meredith, I’m almost positive that Robinson now whistles The Star Spangled Banner as he pulls the fishing boat away from the dock!)

On Monday afternoon, the girls rode ponies. This goes down as their favorite part of the trip. (It was super hot outside, yet all of the ranch employees were wearing Wranglers, long sleeved shirts, and hats. I was actually walking around in a bikini fashioned out of frozen bottles of Gatorade, and these guys were dressed for November. God Bless the Cowboys.)

On Monday night, the girls tie-dyed shirts. And everything about that was great, except for the family of seven that shared the activity with us. They spent nearly half of the evening speaking in fake British accents, and the other half was spent taking cheap shots at the presidential candidate for whom they clearly did not vote. Later in the evening, I noticed that instead of leaving their shirts wrapped in plastic (as we were instructed) to allow the dye to set, the Annoyingtons hung their unwrapped shirts out on their balcony. Confession: When I saw this, I secretly hoped their shirts would lose more than a bit of vibrance. I know. I’m the devil.

On Tuesday morning, we fed gigantic fish. And many of the fish had huge goiteresque humps growing out of their sides. We determined that the goiter fish were the pregnant ladies, and we soon found ourselves aiming the food at them. Can you help me out, fish people? When carp get pregnant do they sort of look like they’ve swallowed a human skull? (Actually, I sort of like the skull theory. It’s possible that I don’t really want to know the truth.)

We also went on a hay ride, the girls swam (several times) in the lake, we walked (and walked some more), we saw a pretty crappy puppet show, we ate ice cream (and biscuits and gravy!), we made body spray (?!?!), and best of all, the girls had crazy giddy fun and no one suffered symptoms of E. Coli. (The entire photo set may be viewed here.)

Okay. This is the part of the post that no one reads because it falls below the final photograph. This part is just between you and me. At night, after Jeff and the girls were asleep, I would sneak out to the boat house and dance with Robinson. Penny, his normal dance partner, was confined to bed due to a botched abortion, and Robinson desperately needed someone to dance with him at the nearby resort’s annual show. When Robinson was accused of stealing a wallet and I covered for him by telling the Trout Lodge authorities about our clandestine (and somewhat dirty) dance sessions, Jeff and the other Trout Lodge campers let their tempers flare. Luckily, everything worked out in the end, and we all ended up having the time of our lives. (Yes, I swear. It’s the truth.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Skirting Around the Biliary Dyskinesia

A few weeks ago I suddenly got the urge to fill my closet with skirts. In the past, when similar urges have struck or stricken depending on your preference, I simply made a trip to J.Jill where I tried on a handful of skirts, did the math while standing half-clothed in the dressing room, and walked out empty handed (yet fully clothed) with the skippy feeling you get when you have saved $439.85 by NOT filling your closet with skirts.

(I know. I don’t HAVE to go to J.Jill. BUT, if I were to choose a store based on the style I think I want to represent, stinking expensive J.Jill it would be.) ((Um, by the way, I would love to be able to carry this off. I believe I would drink more green tea if I dressed like that! And I know I would smile more! And I would be right on track with Infinite Summer!))

Anyway, instead of making a trip to the mall this time around, I made a trip to the fabric store.

Last weekend I put this together:

I wore it out on Monday, and it didn’t fall apart when I sat down, so I headed back to the fabric store a few days back with my biggest critics—Harper and Meredith.

Me: I would like you to help me choose some fabric for a skirt that would look good with either a white or a black t-shirt.

Meredith (after browsing less than three minutes): This is the one. You can wear it when you go to a restaurant.

And I know that it’s probably best suited for a pot holder or a tablecloth, but Meredith actually put a bit of thought into it, and Harper agreed with her. So now I have one of these:

AND, because my brain is completely wrapped up in skirts, I went out this morning and bought the fabric to make another. You see, I’m going to a party tonight (who? me? what?), and I believe the party calls for something with neon dots, as most parties do.

(Please stay tuned, for my next update will contain actual photographs (or cartoony drawings, depending on your preference) of my gall bladder—specifically, my sphincter of Oddi, which has absolutely nothing to do with the large-tongued dog in the Garfield cartoon strip.)

Skirts!

Edited to Add: Finished with the Friday Skirt! (See what I mean about the skirts?! It’s all skirts all the time over here! Simplicity 2906!)

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