Fluid Pudding

Although spring has sort of sprung, I find that I’m still filling our bird feeder every few days. My mom believes that I’m doing a disservice to the birds by offering free grub. “They should be searching for their OWN food. It’s a learning experience for them.”

I see it differently. By providing mixed seeds for the birds, I’m saving them some time. Time they can spend playing games with their families or writing poetry (or robbing banks, I suppose, but realistically, I believe there are more good birds than bad birds).

I spent some time this morning researching good fundraisers for elementary schools. I haven’t yet given up my idea of a fun run (donations instead of pledges, kids run during recess so their day isn’t interrupted, top money earner gets a pizza party for their class, final mileage is calculated at the end of the day to see how many miles we covered as a team).

I’ve been in touch with a few people about planning a talent show (so many red flags with students getting feelings hurt and is it really worth the time for the amount of money we would make?).

I thought about an adult spelling bee where kids bring in spare change and if a class raises $50, their teacher gets to participate in the bee. The winning teacher scores some sort of party for their class. Root beer floats, maybe? I don’t know. I’m just making this up as I go.

I’m about to ask a question that will be seen as boring to approximately 78% of you, which is why I threw that bird thing in at the top of this post. Honestly, only a few of you remain at this point. I used to have a birthmark shaped like Africa on my right thigh, but it’s gone now. See what you learn if you keep reading?

Anyway, fundraiser ideas. Have any? My favorite pair of underwear is gray! See what you learn by sticking around?! (Thanks for sticking around.)

Grass sandals! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ten years ago today, Meredith was tugged out of my spiral-sliced  and well-seasoned uterus. My fearless obstetrician lifted her into the air like a baby lion in a Disney film and announced, “Angela, this is a Buddha baby.” Weighing ten pounds (plus an ounce) at birth, Meredith never wore newborn clothes. When we were in the hospital, other (surprisingly bold) moms would bring their newborns into my room and lie them down next to Meredith for photos. (Seriously. That happened. More than once. Somewhere out there are several photos of fragile spider monkey babies placed next to my larger than life Meredith Claire. (Abbott and Costello will never NOT be funny, I suppose.))

The sad news? Our computer crashed about a year after Meredith was born and we lost her newborn photos. (Let’s never talk about this. Even typing the news nine years later makes something in my throat feel like a tennis ball.)

Although we don’t have baby photos, I have this photo which was taken on my due date. Meredith continued to simmer for five more days…

Meredith is smart. She challenges herself to read Mark Twain Award winning books and has been known to read the newspaper online.

She’s dedicated. In the past year, she ran three 5K races. THREE 5K RACES!

Meredith is compassionate. She speaks to Scout and Henry in a crazy high-pitched voice, and they think she’s the knees of the bees.

She is developing an incredible sense of style, and her love for the Homewrecker Burrito is unmatched.

I am having the greatest time watching Meredith find her way in this crazy world. She is the perfect blend of sensitive and angry and thoughtful and creative and witty. (She’s SO witty.) Yesterday afternoon, Harper received an American Girl doll for her birthday. As soon as the doll was out of the box, Meredith put her own face inside the box and pretended to be a creepy Just Like Me doll. She then encouraged Harper to act disappointed that the doll looks Just Like Meredith instead of Just Like Harper.

Meredith is a great pianist. She can spell Deoxyribonucleic Acid. She stands her ground, yet she excels at making peace. She is a gem of the highest quality, and I can’t believe I’ve known her for ten years.

The world is lucky to have her in it, for she knows how to make Pavlova.

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Her favorite color is orange, but she’s also fond of purple.

Her eyelashes are longer than my hair. (If you tried to count them, you would be whispering numbers for days.)

We have a room full of books in our basement, and she adores announcing that the library is open. She’s the librarian, of course, and she takes this job very seriously. All you have to do is tell her the genre for which you’re hankering, and she’ll take her time finding the perfect book for you. (I typically choose Art, because I want see what she’ll choose for me. Sometimes it’s Degas because she likes the dancers. Sometimes it’s The Art Book because it weighs seven pounds.) She’ll often close the library without warning by hanging a sign that says, “The library is shut down FOREVER.”

She can play Linus and Lucy on the piano.

She knows all of the words to the Newsies soundtrack, and when she sings Seize the Day, I sometimes feel my lip quivering and my heart can barely take it.

She’s my biggest fan and I’m her biggest fan.

We both love Doritos.

She likes to keep a small notebook with her because she loves to write stories. (Fun Fact: She was first published at the age of five.) ((If you know me at all, you know how perfect it is that she packs a tiny notebook.))

Eight years ago this morning, she winced as she was pulled from a surgical incision made through my abdomen and uterus. (C-sections are often done when they’re not medically necessary, often putting the mother and infant at risk. Sometimes you have to throw stuff like this into a blog entry because you know a few people are thinking it, and you want to show them that you get it. You totally get it. Also, I tend to post the following photo every year on this day, so now it’s YOUR turn to wince!)

Harper Rose was named for both Harper Lee (whose name was actually Nelle Harper Lee) and my grandmother Virginia Rose (whose name was actually Rose Virginia).

The happiest of birthdays to Ms. Harper Lee, who turned 87 today. (Also, a special shout out to my grandma, who ate an orange each and every night after she peeled it with a little plastic stick.) To Harper Rose? May your eighth birthday be filled with cookie cake and friends and books and cinnamon rolls and Newsies and dog kisses and sunshine. You Are Loved.

EDITED TO ADD: Because more than one person mentioned it, here is the infamous rattlesnake video.

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Because of the produce co-op, I now have leeks in my refrigerator. (I also have cantaloupe, tomatoes, lettuce, corn on the cob, bananas, oranges, lemons, potatoes, apples, kale, zucchini, a cucumber, and peppers. Finally, I have a 1.5 pound box of banana chips and an insane amount of love for banana chips. Sometimes I come across one that was sliced lengthwise and I squeal with delight—and we all know that’s not a common thing for me.)

Harper has a birthday on Sunday and Meredith has a birthday on Monday and I’ve been cleaning like crazy because I’m letting each of them have a friend over if they promise to NEVER discuss their “parties” at school. The last thing anyone wants or needs is weird birthday party drama and hurt feelings and sociopathic stirrings and had I waited one more month (in both cases) to get pregnant, school would be out by the time birthdays rolled around and we wouldn’t have to live with heads full of Crazy Town Fear.

When I was 23 years old, one of the orderlies at the hospital where I worked  asked me if I wanted to accompany him to the morgue because he was eye bank certified and was going to “scoop a donor.” To this day, I regret turning him down. (I (mainly) turned him down because he would occasionally send inappropriate magazines (also known as Porn) to me through the pneumatic tube system, and he thought it was so so funny, and I mostly didn’t. BUT, how many of you have seen a donor being scooped? So many missed opportunities.) ((I suppose I could make a call and be all MIGHTY LIFE LIST MAKE IT HAPPEN WITH THE EYEBALLS, but I know myself better than that. It took me twenty minutes to muster up the courage to order a few dozen doughnuts for Meredith’s class on Monday. I am not a good phone person.))

Speaking of which, some guy called on Tuesday and he told me that he knows that I was on birth control pills and that I had complications that resulted from the use of those pills.

Me: What? Who is this?

The Guy Who Knew Too Much (TGWKTM): You will be handsomely compensated! Did you have blood clots in your lungs or perhaps an aneurysm?

Me: I’m not sure why we’re talking about this.

TGWKTM: How many times have you been pregnant in the past twenty years?

Me: Twenty times. Always pregnant! WHY ARE WE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION?!

TGWKTM: You were pregnant AND taking birth control pills?

And that’s when I hung up on him. Because enough is enough and unless I’ve introduced myself to you as Samantha, I’m not in a position (i.e., sufficiently Tipsy) to talk about pills and babies (and aneurysms!) with strangers.

But I will say this: Happy Anzac Day to You! (And to YOU!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The past week was terrible for so many reasons. Boston. West, Texas. One of Jeff’s favorite people in the world met death. A friend of our family lost their parent. Another friend heard some bad news at the doctor’s office. (Don’t get me started on the Senate.)

If cursing doesn’t offend you, go read this. Because: Yep.

On Monday evening, as the girls took their piano lessons, I finished the shawl I started in February. I took the final stitch off of the needles as I listened to the woman at the next table talking on the telephone and puking out lines like, “I’m just glad *I’M* not in Boston right now.” Honestly.

(The shawl is Annis from Knitty, and it will be auctioned off in May. I’ll keep you updated.)

Yesterday afternoon the girls and I planted lettuce and tomatoes and peppers and peas and sage and basil and dill and cilantro and strawberries. Shortly after the lettuce went into the ground, Scout took it OUT of the ground. Less than an hour later, Jeff took measures to ensure that would not happen again.

Sadly, we tend to discriminate a tiny bit when it comes to four-legged friends. This little guy, who is currently hanging out behind our main fence, can have all the lettuce he wants.

This morning I lost my head in a Fit of Cranky. As a result, my family went to church without me, and I sat on the couch and stared at the wall for an hour. Afterwards, I finished cleaning off my bookshelf.

It bothers me a bit, because it’s starting to not hold as many books as a bookshelf should. (How many books should a bookshelf shelve if a bookshelf could shelve books, etc.?) My top-shelfers are still there, mainly because most of them are signed. As far as the knitting and spinning books go, I kept only the ones that I pull out fairly regularly. The remainder? Journals, address books, books I’ve marked up, Gilmore Girls DVDs, New Yorker stuff, and a basket of yarn.

Speaking of which, this arrived in the mail on Wednesday.

It reminds me of Meredith’s hair, and it will eventually become one of these.

I hope you made it through the week. Let’s all drink hot tea and knit. Mad Men starts at 9:00. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A few weeks back, I went out for coffee and nose rings with a friend. As we waited for our switch-outs, we contemplated gelato but stuck with coffee and my friend said something that I’ve thought about every single day since. She said, “I eat well and I exercise. I could obsess about getting down to a certain number on the scale, but I think I would rather know that I’m healthy, and maybe this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

(Don’t be scared. This is NOT going to be another one of my freakout Fluid Pudding things where I go all batty about my pants not fitting. I promise! Just stick with me, because things are going to get really crazy in a few minutes and I want you to be there.)

Anyway, yes! I am less than a month away from turning 43 (Natalie Wood and John Candy died at 43, by the way. That’s weird.), and I’m tired of counting Weight Watcher points and giving space in my closet to snotty little dresses that no longer fit. And this is what I’m going to do about it.

I’m going to drink green smoothies because I love them and how can you NOT love drinking spinach and pears and apples and bananas and lemons in the morning?

Do you want to know what ELSE I’m going to do?

I am going to take time out to eat waffles from the side of a truck. Because life is short! TRUCK WAFFLES! (I recommend the pumpkin, but please know that I’m also planning on trying the apple cinnamon and the banana.)

On Saturday morning, my mom and the girls and I embarked on Meredith’s Purplification Adventure at Bouffant Daddy. (In case you have no idea what I’m talking about, Meredith has wanted purple hair FOREVER, but I didn’t want her to bleach streaks into her hair. HOWEVER, I’m totally fine with bleaching her tips and she’s turning ten in a few weeks, and what a great way to celebrate a decade!)

As Meredith sat in the processing chair, Mom, Harper, and I walked down the road to Foundation Grounds to grab a snack.

Okay. Do you remember earlier when I said that something crazy is going to happen? Yes. It Is Time.

My mom ordered a mocha and a biscotti and Harper ordered hot chocolate and I ordered a soy chai with a molasses cookie.

We sat down.

A woman walked over to our table and stood there and I looked at her and she looked at me and she said my name and I looked at her and I YELLED her name because it was my very best friend from college whom I haven’t seen since my wedding night which was nearly twelve years ago! I won’t even begin to tell you our stories but please know that we were inseparable and she is one of the main reasons that I stayed (mostly) SANE in college.

I hate that life sometimes gets crazy and people get caught up in different things and then days turn into weeks and months turn into twelve years.

We stood there in the coffee place and we talked as if no time had passed. And I had the biggest goofy smile on my face and it got even bigger when she mentioned that the molasses cookies are her favorites and that the day started out great when she scored a pair of vegan Danskos.

And then we discovered this:

We all left Foundation Grounds together and walked over to the salon where I was able to introduce her to Meredith and once again, I am so lucky.

The first time Jeff met my grandma (less than a month before she passed away), he said something to her about how fortunate he has been to be able to weave incredible people into the tapestry of his life. (It sounds corny out of context. At the time, it wasn’t corny at all. At the time, I wanted to kiss the hell out of him for calling my grandma “Grandma.”) Anyway, yes. On Saturday afternoon, I was able to tuck an amazing thread back into my tapestry.

And we walked away with purple tips and huge smiles.

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So, today I flew off the handle and ordered an orange maxi dress because I’ve never HAD a maxi dress and when in St. Louis live like the St. Louisians do, which typically means just eating a Gus’ pretzel and washing it down with toasted ravioli and a Ted Drewes at the Cardinals game. An orange maxi dress doesn’t seem THAT far removed.

Shortly after I went all Hey Ho, Maxi Dress!, I continued to shop around, and I ALMOST got this skirt. Because it’s One Size Fits Most. Because I think I could wear it with a white t-shirt. Because it’s 1995 and my belly button is freshly pierced and my ankle is tattooed and wait a minute. That can’t be right.

I’ll stick with the maxi dress. (I hate the word Maxi. Years worth of unreliable feminine protection will do that to you.) I’ll step back from the hippie skirts. For now.

I really like this dress.

I wish I had one of these for every day of the week.

Oh, how I wish I had the body and guts for a strapless dress, because this one is perfect.

These shoes make me stupidly happy.

I once picked up the phone and some guy asked me what I was wearing and I said, “Byron?” and he said, “Yeah. It’s Byron.” and then we talked and talked for about twenty minutes because it had been a long time since I had spoken to Byron. As we spoke, it sort of started feeling like Byron wasn’t himself, so I decided to see if it really WAS Byron.

Me: How is Andy doing?

Byron: Oh, you know. Andy’s fine. Same old thing.

Me: WE DO NOT HAVE AN ANDY IN COMMON!!!

Byron: So, what are you wearing?

Me: SWEATPANTS AND A T-SHIRT GOODBYE!

So, what are you wearing or wanting to wear as your weather starts to do that whole seasonal change thing? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It rained this morning and I had the windows open and a candle burning and the kitchen and bathroom sinks were clean and the jeans were in the washer and the dogs had been taken out (several times) and I’m without freelance until next week which excites me for one minute and then bums me out the next.

I’m drinking tea called Weight to Go! and I no longer care if it “works” because I’m finding that it tastes sort of delicious and that’s really all that matters. (Also, and this DOESN’T matter, but the tea is just so PRETTY. Apples and strawberries and they plump up in my tea thing and what a Wednesday.)

This entry is not sponsored in any way, although I would get the Teavana logo tattooed onto my rear if they would offer me an unlimited supply of tea for a few years. I had a fun chat with a woman yesterday about ads and knitting and sponsored posts and bloggy ugliness and I really do wish it would be easy just to get all of my favorite people from the internet together for lunch. (Three of us met for lunch a few hours back. We had been trying to make this work since 2012. Schedules are tricky, but weird tofu soup and fun friends? Worth the wait. 100%.)

I keep getting these online coupons for cleaning teams, and I’m about an inch away for asking for a cleaning team for my birthday. What I REALLY want is to go away to a cheap hotel for a weekend and come back to find my house completely clutter free. So many paper piles. So much stuff. I know we’ve talked about this many times before, but now I’m actually considering pulling out that ridiculous Fly Lady book and doing the fling thing that everyone seems to love.

I’m not happy that spring is here. I know that’s weird, but I absolutely love the fall and the winter, so seeing the buds on the trees and feeling like it’s too warm for a scarf is starting to get under my skin. I’m back on the Zyrtec and I bought a stick blender and I’ve been trying to learn how to give myself manicures and all of this is to prepare myself for the next six months of heat. It’s not making me any happier. (I really suck at the whole manicure thing, by the way. I have no idea what I’m doing.)

Yes. I know how ridiculous I sound. Spring and I have a complicated relationship. Don’t even get me started on summer.

This evening I’ll be knitting with Tempe and tomorrow I’ll be seeing a friend and Friday is being kept completely open and Saturday is a Big Day. To celebrate her upcoming tenth birthday, I’ll be taking Meredith (and Harper, and perhaps one of Meredith’s friends) to a salon where Meredith’s tips will be bleached out and dyed purple. She has been wanting purple hair for quite some time, but I refuse to let her bleach a stripe. Tips are different. Tips can be cut off when they start looking not so great. After the purple hair, we will walk down the street and eat pie. When we return home, Jeff and his dad will have filled my raised garden bed with soil, which means it’s time to start thinking about kale and cauliflower and radishes and tomatoes and basil and pulling out the juicer and spring.

Spring. Hhhhhhhh. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I went to a meeting last night and they offered NUTTER BUTTERS as a snack (vegan!) which means I was definitely at the right meeting, and during the meeting we discussed some ways our school district can save money and I sometimes COUPON (as a verb!) which means I was definitely at the right meeting, and on the way home from the meeting two of us made a detour for fried pickles and the last time the two of us had fried pickles together I ended up getting my NOSE PIERCED (honestly!) which means I was definitely at the right meeting with the right friend. (I have no new holes this morning, but my friend IS having her nose manipulated in a few weeks, so tomayto tomahto!)

Why was Ryan Lochte given his own television show? It takes a LOT for me to feel like we’re failing as a nation. The Ryan Lochte show pokes a new potentially dangerous hole through my eclipse-viewing shoebox.

For lunch today, I’m cooking up some spicy Indian food (from a box, but still) for Roger Ebert. Celebrity death doesn’t typically affect me (exceptions: Kurt Cobain, River Phoenix, that girl from Poltergeist, a few more), but I’ve spent the past day reading Ebert articles, and yes. Indian Food and Root Beer with two thumbs up.

The chocolate store next to my hair place is having a bunny sale, and I’m leaving here in an hour to attend.

I recently read a ridiculous article that told me that my website will fail if I don’t put a photo up for each entry (???) (!!!). I thought we were doing pretty well, but I’m one of those people who knows a little bit about a lot of things, yet I am an expert at nothing. (Don’t even say the words Social and Media around me, because I’ll immediately fall asleep!)

Um, this was the first photo I puked up onto Flickr. It’s Harper and it’s 2005 and SUCCESS!!!

(Edited to add: Oh, Dear God. The ads running in my side bar are completely annoying and flashy and one of them contains a cockroach and the other just started playing sound without my permission and damnit! I’m really thinking about returning to the old days where ads don’t exist.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Last week was spring break and this week is not.

I’ve been to the doctor three times in the past two weeks, and today I hit the jackpot where jackpot equals a bunch of blood taken out of my arm and put into some tubes and a prescription for steroids because it’s about time I FELT SOME RAGE!!!

(I felt so badly on Friday evening that I actually had The Talk with Jeff during which I told him that if I die, two of my possessions need to be thrown away. Once those two things (or maybe three) are tossed, all of my stuff is up for grabs.)

Back to spring break. We didn’t do a whole lot—lunch at the American Girl Bistro, a trip to see The Croods with friends (it was terribly funny), a trip to a cupcake shop near my parents’ house, a sleepover for Meredith, a garden planted by Harper, and coffee and knitting with Tempe who surprised me with the most beautiful shawl.

It’s silk and it’s lovely and it’s the perfect blend of orange and red and my bathroom is very green. It is. All of it. I’m lucky to have amazing friends and the ability to see colors the way they were intended to be seen in my world. (I won’t be the arrogant one who presumes your world looks like mine. Harmony. And a lingering Nyquil haze.)

Do you remember a few years back when I said something like, “I’m the PTO treasurer!” and then about a year ago I said, “I’m pleased to report that I’m no longer a PTO officer!” and then a few months later I was all, “So! Guess who’s the PTO treasurer again!”? Do you remember? Less than 48 hours ago, I became next year’s PTO secretary. It seems that this is how it works and I’m slowly working through the anxiety associated with sitting at a table in front of a bunch of people. (It’s so much easier when the realization is made that this bunch of people are mostly working toward the same goal. I’ve never felt the urge to jump up and throw a chair across the room during a PTO meeting. (Wait. Once. I felt that urge once.))

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend and tonight I have a meeting and tomorrow my hair will be cut. Somewhere in there I’ll throw some time toward a freelance project and maybe do some laundry and a little birthday shopping for Harper’s friend.

Carry on. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>