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’>

I like you as much as I like broccoli pizza.

Today I was involved in a bit of a passive/aggressive war with the school nurse.

This is all I’ll say about that: I’m very sensitive about and very proactive toward Meredith’s vision issues. If you call me on the telephone to tell me that Meredith has “failed” your vision screening, laugh when I ask why I wasn’t aware of this particular screening, and then accuse Meredith’s ophthalmologist of not being 100% qualified to do his job, well, I’m going to go a little nuts on you. Maybe even more than a little. And if I feel it’s necessary, I will involve faxes in my fracas.

Now, nearly ten hours after my head spinning Linda Blairathon, my back is failing me.

Ride a painted pony, let the spinning wheel spin. Whee!

All of this to say: I’m giving away a $200 Visa gift card, and it’s all about pizza.
As it should be.

Also, don’t forget the eggs. (I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card partnered with Six Months Worth of Eggs) ‘ ‘ ‘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’>

Tide Whiff Wise!

Selbu Modern

Because I’ve decided to make 2010 The Year During Which I Finish What I’ve Started (TYDWIFWIS—pronounced Tide Whiff Wise), last night I finished my first fingering weight colorwork hat. I started it many months ago for a friend in Japan, and the next thing you know, five months passed. But now it’s finished, soaked, and resting while wrapped around a ten-inches-in-diameter plate. Tide Whiff Wise!

Thank you for all of your kind words and wishes during my week of single parenting/furnace shopping. I am happy to report that Jeff has returned from California, and we are now the proud parents of a huge working furnace. Because we spent more money on that furnace than we’ve spent on either of our children, I’ve decided to give the furnace a gender-specific pronoun. She. And although Fern would be much easier to remember, I’ve decided to call her Eudora.

Confession: I watch Days of Our Lives. Every Day. Also, my favorite Christmas present is a green and red mass-produced quilt my mom bought at Cracker Barrel. (Sometimes you just have to get these things off your chest.)

Two years ago, I started one of these, got about one third of the way through it, and stashed it in a drawer. I believe it’s time to finish what I’ve started. Tide Whiff Wise!

Edited to Add: Because Isabella Golightly is a genius, I have created a Tide Whiff Wise Flickr Pool! (I’m FluidPudding on Flickr. Shoot a message my way, and I’ll add you to the group!) ‘ ‘ ‘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.)

When life hands you snow, make snow ice cream!

Internet? You’re going to think I’m crazy.

Okay. Do you remember me telling you that I knitted hats and mittens for a few of the teachers at school? If you follow that link, pay special attention to the part about the coach who gets Meredith out of the car every morning with a smile and a “Good morning, Meredith!”

Anyway, I made this hat for the coach, and we gave it to him two days before Christmas break began.

On the day before Christmas break, I saw him in the hall, and he (wearing the hat) came up and said, “My wife told me today is the last day I get to wear this hat, because she’s taking it for herself!”

I told this story to a good friend of mine, and her first response was, “Don’t do it. Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about knitting a hat for his wife.”

Oh, people. Because I’m so “La la laaaah! Everyone should get what they want for Christmas! Benevolence!”, I DID knit the hat—the same hat, only black. I also gave it a lavender rinse, and it’s currently drying on my dining room table.

This morning when I took Meredith to school, the coach was not wearing his hat. And suddenly, I was struck with hesitance. What if that whole story about the wife taking the hat was his (very clever) way of telling me not to expect him to wear that stinking hat to school every morning?! He covered himself the same exact way I often cover MYSELF. But maybe he wasn’t covering. Maybe he really did dig the hat.

Wait a second. Can we take time out for me to sing that Paul Simon song with the “Maybe I Think Too Much” lyrics? No? You have no time for that? Well, okay then.

My question for  you: Should I give him the extra hat, or will he then feel like he HAS to wear the first hat to school?

Do you torture yourself like this? (And don’t even tell me how ridiculous I’m being, because I know! Believe me, I already know! I have a Xanax prescription for this very reason!)

Oh! A few of you asked about the recipe for the warm salad I mentioned earlier in the week. It was the Insalata Toscano from Brio. Hooray for Christmas gift cards! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year

It seems that Meredith is the only one around here who really embraces the “It’s the New Year, So Party Like You Mean It” attitude.

(Please know that I’m not requiring her to balance her glasses like that. Ten minutes after this photo was taken, the drops of Super Glue had set.)

((Yes. I glued the glasses right to her face.))

(((Not really, but the thought of it makes me smile. I used to joke about having glasses tattooed onto my face. Luckily, I’ve never had a night in which I drank myself into a really bad decision involving needles and ink. Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands on my left ankle is more than enough for me.)))

As I type this First Post of the Year for you, please know that I’m digesting a warm salad (one of my favorite things! it’s a salad, and it’s warm! bonus: apples mixed in. WARM apples.) and am getting ready to bolt off for a George Clooney movie.

I hope you’re doing well.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

We’ve been searching for diamonds.

Before I tell you this story, please know: Fluid Pudding has absolutely nothing to do with bodily functions. In fact, I like to pretend that my body does NOT function, if you know what I’m saying. Over the summer when I was diagnosed with a condition that has the word Bowel in the name? Um, yeah. I don’t want to talk about it.

Yesterday I cleaned the girls’ room for the first time ever. It took over eight hours, and the final result is this: Three tons of toys have been donated to charity, another ton of (mostly broken) toys have been thrown away. Now? Every Toy has a place. That’s a huge deal for us.

As I cleaned and tossed (and grew more irritable than I care to admit), I came across a little plastic gem-like thing. As I threw it in the trash, Harper screamed.

“THAT’S MY DIAMOND! YOU CAN’T THROW AWAY MY DIAMOND!”

So, I pulled the gem out of the trash, handed it to her, and said, “I better not ever see that diamond on the floor again.”

Two hours passed, and I took a break from cleaning to fix dinner.

Harper entered the kitchen.

Harper: I think I swallowed my diamond.

Me: What do you mean you THINK you swallowed your diamond? DID you swallow your diamond?

Harper: Naybe.

(Both of my kids say Naybe instead of Maybe. I’ll never correct them. Also, Meredith says Renember instead of Remember. I love that.)

I called the doctor, told her that Harper swallowed a plastic object roughly the size of a nickel, and learned that an 18-month-old baby can swallow a quarter and pass it with minimal difficulty. (Interesting!) She told me the signs to watch for (difficulty breathing, unbearable pain, blood in the stool, etc.) and then said, “If Harper wore diapers, I would suggest you check her output for the gem. Since she’s not in diapers, I’ll just tell you to do whatever gives you peace of mind.”

This afternoon after lunch, the following cry echoed throughout the house:

“I THINK I JUST POOPED A DIAMOND!”

I ran to the bathroom and looked. I didn’t see a diamond.

Harper: I think it’s in there. Look! That one is shaped like a diamond!

Jeff: What are we supposed to do?

Me: I don’t see a diamond. I’m not sure how to proceed! Should we examine it more closely? I DON’T KNOW!

Meredith: You’re going to touch poop with your hands?!?!

Jeff slowly walked outside, retrieved a stick, and poked each of Harper’s creations to check for diamonds. No luck.

Jeff: I’m really glad I took vacation time this week.

Me: When your team asks what you did, be sure to include Poking Poop with a Stick.

Enjoy your holiday. Here at the Pudding house, we’ll be poking poop and crossing our fingers for diamonds. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>