Fluid Pudding : Page 108 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

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

I want to go to Canada for their Thanksgiving. Who’ll have me?

It’s cold and rainy today (which I love), and three of the four kids in my house (sometimes I count the cats) are sick right now. With that said, I had jelly on my toast and hot Earl Grey (with honey) for breakfast, so I really have no complaints. On the calendar for this evening is soccer, Reading Night at the school, and the possibility of knitting. However, none of us will be leaving the house for fear of spreading our germs unnecessarily. (Sometimes it’s necessary. We tend to lick the people we know.)

Let’s get down to business here. The reason I haven’t invited you over to my house is because we have really offensive pink carpeting in the front room, and I’m embarrassed by it. And I know that’s silly, but we choose our own humiliations, right? (I choose Pink Carpeting, and the time in high school when I slipped and fell in the hallway and accidentally threw my French horn into a group of football players! It has been 22 years, and I still haven’t healed!) Supposedly, that Pink carpeting is sitting on top of a hardwood floor that the previous owner swore was in good condition. However, the carpeting (which is very pink. Did I mention the Pink?) looked suspiciously pristine when we moved in, and the owner had a big guilty-looking old dog who appeared to be the type of dog who has zero bladder control in exciting situations. (I can relate. Jim and Pam’s wedding is tonight, by the way.) All of this to say: I want this carpeting out of the house SO badly, but I have a funny feeling we’ll lift it up and find spotty canine pee stains all over the wood. Pee stains that have been covered with cheap Pink carpeting for the past seven years. And suddenly it’s Christmas.

The previous owner of the house once greeted us while wearing a sweatshirt that held an airbrushed representation of the big old dog. I’m sure I would have found a companion tote bag had I looked under all of her yarn. This has nothing to do with anything.

So, Jeff’s aunt gave us a calendar last year for Christmas. She also went the extra mile and wrote everyone’s birthday on the calendar. (Hello, Bob and Susan. Are you aware that you have birthdays at the end of this month? Because I AM aware.) Anyway, the top of the October page contains the following poem:

Jams, puddings; teacakes, and tarts, roast beef in wine sauce and cranberry hearts chicken pot pie with biscuits and cream, French fries and chocolates and Apricot Dream. Blessed with Abundance each day all our own; there’s Love in the kitchen, the Heart of the Home.

For some reason, this poem pisses me off to no end. Other than the punctuation (I’m looking at you, “cranberry heart chicken pot pie”), it doesn’t really hold anything offensive. However, I read it every day and then I sort of roll my eyes into the back of my head and sigh. Okay. Wait. Full disclosure. The calendar also has this paragraph scrawled in a really crappy cursive font on top: “Running home from school on a crisp clear day, crunching as many leaves as possible with my shoes on the way, coming in the door, breathless and pink cheeked, slamming the books down and finding my mom in the kitchen pulling a pan of apple crisp from the oven. Smelled like, looked like, and tasted like love to me.” So, yeah. It starts off innocently enough with the day-way rhyme thing going on, then suddenly it’s nothing but a frantic run-on about how perfectly timed apple crisps represent love. And what’s going on with the book slamming? No apple crisp for book slammers in the Pudding house. (I believe I’ll cross-stitch that sentence and hang it in the hallway.)

I’m toying with the idea of change. Sadly, I don’t believe this is the way to go.

(I’ll probably stick the following at the bottom of every entry for awhile: I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

There’s a reason I’m posting twice in one day.

I’m pregnant. (I’m not really pregnant.)

Actually, it’s BETTER than that: I’m giving away a $200 gift card to Best Buy.

(I know. That’s not REALLY better than being pregnant, is it? Actually, it all sort of depends on what side of the fence you’re leaning on!)

((I sort of liked Ishtar.))

Repeating: I am NOT pregnant. But I AM making out with my dishwasher and wanting to give you a $200 Best Buy gift card.

Weird. I currently have three giveaway things going on. That has never happened before. Are you feeling lucky? You certainly look lucky. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Blame it on the rays? Yeah. Yeah!

For some unknown reason, I spent the entire weekend dressed up as Petulant Pudding. I’m choosing to blame my foulness on the stingrays we visited at the St. Louis Zoo Saturday morning. I have to blame my ire on something, you see, and because the stingrays are now loaded up and on their way to Phoenix, I think it’s safe to blame quite a few things on them. I sat on the couch growling yesterday instead of attending the church picnic because of the stingrays. I was quite unsocial at Meredith’s soccer game yesterday afternoon because of the stingrays. I almost threw up my breakfast yesterday morning because of the stingrays. (The fact that my milk had curdled had nothing to do with it, I’m sure. Stinking stingrays.)

I wish I had an entertaining story for you, but, well, it appears that my cat has herpes. Apparently, herpes in a cat is not a serious thing. In fact, it’s quite common. According to the veterinarian, when a herpefied cat (my term, not his) is put in a stressful situation, the herpes will flare up and will often manifest itself in the form of sneezing fits and drainage. Apparently, the overnight stay at the vet office last week stressed Ramona out a bit. As a result, she sneezed something like 3,284 times last night. And because she sleeps at the foot of our bed and her sneezes come out as cute little high-pitched screams, we didn’t get much sleep last night. (It’s hard to blame our exhaustion on the stingrays, but Ramona insists we do so.)

A few weeks ago, my kids ate spinach, beans, and bread. And we shot a video. And now I’m giving away $100 plus a year’s supply of Wonder® bread! Follow me over here if you’re interested. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

As long as there’s Sea Silk, the world is a happy place. Right?

Our annual neighborhood street party took place two weeks ago. While the girls were off playing with the other kids, Jeff reached over from his lawn chair and touched my hair. Naturally, I thought he was feeling amorous, but I covered.

Me: Did I have a bug?

Jeff: No. I was just noticing the gray.

Oh, Internet. It’s been happening for a long time, but it never really became Real until that moment. I Am Getting Old. I am no longer able to change the shape of my body. (I’ve been trying unsuccessfully for over a year now, and sure: I have been known to eat handfuls of chocolate chips, but for the most part? I am a healthy eater. AND, I’ve once again been working out every day. Still, the pants are too tight and the scale never changes.) I am The Shape of a Mom. And it sounds like I’m complaining. I’m not complaining. I believe I’m really just sort of sighing and realizing that I can’t get out of bed and look fresh anymore. (The sad thing? When I was in my twenties, I could get out of bed and look good. AND, I looked better as the day dragged on. By 11:00 at night when it was time to go out? A little bit of eyeliner and some shoes of questionable height would often score free beverages for me! It’s not like that anymore. It’s not like that At All.)

But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about. What I WANTED to do was share my Friday with you. This morning I dropped Meredith off at school, I’m currently drinking coffee while Harper plays a game, and in about two hours I’m going to The Loopy Ewe to pick up a skein of Hand Maiden Sea Silk 150. You see, the Sea Silk normally comes in 437 yard skeins. HOWEVER, every once in awhile things go happy crazy, and some skeins are created that contain 656 yards! And because Sea Silk is my all time favorite yarn, this happy crazy event often feels like the smiliest part of Christmas morning. For me, at least. (Side note: If you order a skein of Sea Silk 150, let me know. I can provide a list of possible patterns for you! I’ve been doing some research! I think I’ll be making one of these!)

After my yarn pick-up, Harper and I are going to the mall with my mom to grab a bite of lunch before she gets her monthly B12 shot, and then we will be returning home so I can get my bag packed for an evening of Houlihan’s and scrapbooking. And that’s funny, because I don’t really scrapbook as a verb. However, I *do* enjoy Houlihan’s with friends (although the apostrophe S is really bothering me today for some reason), and I haven’t carried my goofy scissors into a mall in over a year, so there you go. (I’ve been putting a note in Meredith’s lunch box every day for the past three weeks. I believe my evening will be spent stockpiling a bunch of those notes. Right now, I tend to simply draw a backward cat out of a Q and then write something ridiculous like “This cat wishes he could wear your candy corn shirt!!!” Yeah. I’m struggling.)

So, what’s your plan for today?

(I offer my apologies for being so bland. What do you want to know?)

Edited to Add: Aaaaahhhhhhhh.
‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Blitzkrieg Bop

I have an idea. Let’s make that whole “Attack Site” thing The Thing of Which We Shall Not Speak (TToWWSNS), okay? Onward!

I have a question. Should I be eating polenta? My grocery store is starting to carry “exciting” flavors, and I really don’t know what polenta is, but if the packaging looks sort of artsy and the words Mushroom Onion are right there in front of me, well, let’s just say I’m feeling a bit of temptation. The only thing that makes me put the polenta back on the shelf is the fact that holding it reminds me of holding pork sausage. I hold pork sausage only once each year. On Christmas morning. When I make this.

I have another question. Does anyone else detest the mornings as much as I do? It seems that our mornings are filled with kids yelling and screaming and pushing one another, and I let all of these things slowly fill me up until steam pours out of my ears and I feel as if I might sneak off into the bedroom and put my fist through a wall. This morning on the way to school, I (loudly) taught the girls about The Golden Rule. And I know how ridiculous I sounded, but I decided to NOT yell and scream about their behaviors and ugh! something about the importance of Teaching Moments, and gheez. I came home from drop off and made the biggest, most unstable pinto bean burrito you can imagine, and then I went to the vet clinic and picked up Ramona, who had a bit of a peeing issue on Monday, and now here I sit with a cat on my lap and a banana in my hand.

Me: Meredith, do you want Harper to push YOU down?

Meredith: No.

Me: Then you shouldn’t push Harper down.

Meredith: Mommy, I really don’t think Harper is strong enough to push me down.

Me: Burritoburritoburritoburritoburrito…

I’m wearing handknit socks today, and they go a little something like this:

Also, don’t forget the Febreze Giveaway! (It occurred during TToWWSNS, and I don’t want you to miss it!)

Finally, I’m doing NaBloPoMo in November. Are you?

Oh! Have you visited Offbeat Mama? Because I love it. So much. ‘ ‘ ‘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’>

All I wanted was to dance to a Milli Vanilli tune. Thwarted again.

As you know, I went to my high school reunion last year. As a result, I’m now once again in touch with all of my favorites from high school (via Facebook, of course). Actually, I take that back. I’m in touch with my favorites who are actually on Facebook. I’m still looking for this guy and the guy in the crop top. If you know where they are, please let me know. Also, does anyone have an update on W. Warden? Okay then.

Jeff’s reunion is coming up in a few weeks. When he told me about it last month, I quickly made plans to lose 25 pounds, grow out my hair, and memorize ten witty one liners. (My favorite? “If all the girls who attended the Hazelwood prom were laid end to end, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” (High five, Dorothy Parker!)) The 25 pound thing? I failed. The hair? Shorter than ever. The one liners? Yeah, probably a waste of time when you consider the fact that I spoke to less than five people at the neighborhood party last weekend. So, anyway. Here we are. Sort of dreading the reunion. Not really looking forward to going through this again. Feeling like a frumpy wife with no quips.

Last night, Jeff went out with three of his friends from high school. When he returned, I was told that none of the friends’ wives are attending the reunion and that I now fall into that “none of the friends’ wives” set. Immediately, as I tend to do, I turned my exhaustion at the thought of GOING to the reunion into anger at NOT being able to go. Isn’t that pretty? I’m a whirling dervish, but not nearly as awesome as the authentic dervishes! I’m happy! I’m so sad! I’m sweating for no apparent reason! I love you! I despise you! Let’s eat marzipan!

Take Note: The girls called a family meeting, where the following announcements were made.

Meredith is no longer Meredith. She is Claire.

Harper? She shall switch off (with no warning) between Jordan and Daisy.

No one calls me Mommy anymore. I am Vanessa.

Jeff? Tom Roger. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s like buying a brand new notebook and spiffy pen!

I suppose it’s a bit silly how I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar-ish I get after completing a seemingly piece of cake act like updating software. Suddenly, I’m wearing new underpants, and I feel like sitting here and writing all day. ($40 says I could have you sleeping by noon.)

After spending entirely too much money in Chicago (On YARN! My sister thinks I’m batty!), I took on a few reviews this week. SO, you’ll see those in the next week or so if you’re interested. (I was able to shoot a video of my kids eating spinach, and my house now smells autumnal and fresh. So there you go.)

What? You want to know what I’ll be knitting in the next several months? Let’s start with This Exact Shawl. It was hanging up in the very first booth we entered last weekend, and it didn’t really appeal to me until I was asked to try it on. (I’m still not sure how that happened. I was sort of drunk on silk at the time, and would have probably done just about anything asked of me. Luckily, I kept my skirt on.) Anyway, I tried on the shawl, and the angels started singing and I cried for three hours to release all of my toxins and ugliness and then I sang love songs to everyone in the convention center (Neil Diamond has nothing on me!), and right before I asked if I could go on a hugging spree, the woman removed the shawl and placed the pattern and yarn into a bag.

I’m currently this far in the game:

And that’s really not far at all, being that I have visions of curling up in this thing on Christmas morning as I sip coffee, listen to Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis, and wait for everyone to wake up. (It’s a personal tradition, give or take the hooker.)

I also bought the kit to make a sweater that is not a sweater. (Once again with the treachery of images!) It’s not a Sweater, it’s a stinking work of art. And I’m not going to link to it here, because you’ll look at the photograph and say, “Hhhmmmm. Time to put on a quilted Americana vest and stuff yourself with a big stupid piece of pie, Pudding!” I am going to keep you in suspense. (Only five people are still reading at this point. Does the knitting talk bore you?) Here’s a bone (I really hate that phrase, by the way): I just corresponded with the woman who is sending the kit to me. She told me the yarn has been back-ordered from Italy, and I firmly believe that adds to the allure. Because now the sweater is like a work of ITALIAN art, meaning Michelangelo and I could probably make out for awhile over coffee and tiramisu. (Tempe? Back me up. The sweater sort of resembles the Sistine Chapel ceiling, no?)

Abrupt change of topic! Tonight is our neighborhood party. More often than not, the party ends early for me when Harper either falls down, or simply decides she would rather sit on a couch in our family room and watch the party through the window than participate in it. (How do you raise your kids to be social creatures when you are most definitely NOT a social creature? Xanax and pumpkin beer? I try my best, and then I go to bed and blame it all on my DNA.)

A few of you have e-mailed to ask what I’m doing to combat the IBS madness. Currently? I’m drinking coffee sprinkled with Benefiber, because I’m your mother. (And to the few who sent e-mails asking me to take down my colon photos? I’m not taking down my colon photos. My colon is my loveable serpentine baby that will (hopefully) always remain inside of me. He deserves his time in the sun, where Sun=Fluid Pudding Front Page.)

This entry was brought to you by WordPress Version 2.8.4! And that sentence will not appear at the end of every entry! Five more minutes of healthy horn tooting, if you please.

Most importantly, enjoy your weekend. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>