Fluid Pudding

I haven’t been responding to comments again. I hate when I do that. Sometimes I wonder if I should go back to the No Comments thing, but then I know that I would miss hearing from you. Isn’t life hard? (I’m sitting on a stool in a warm house staring at the computer while eating a bowl of Purely Decadent Cookie Dough. My life is not hard.) I do apologize for being quiet lately.

The past week has been crazy and amazing. My mom had her surgery on Friday, and everything went well and I would post a photo of her in her anesthesiatic haze, but it seems that anesthesiatic isn’t even a WORD—so why post a photo and stir up hell with The Word People (not to mention the anesthesiatically hazy!)?

On Sunday I journeyed out for lunch to meet someone I’ve never met before. She and her husband moved to St. Louis from Boston, and it took less than two minutes for her to zoom way up to the top of my Favorite People list. She’s creative and super smart and funny and she knits and, yes. As nervous as I get about meeting new people, I do love eating cheesecake at a two-seater wooden table with a brilliant new friend.

Monday. On Monday I did Pilates and went to the library and did my PTO reports and had dinner with ANOTHER one of my favorite people. (I have at least twenty.) We went to One 19 North where I tried Brussels sprouts for the very first time. I also got my fig marmalade fix, and I drank the very best martini ever.

It’s called a Baked Apple Pie Martini, and it was delivered steaming hot and delicious and I’m almost embarrassed about how much I smiled and looked up toward the heavens as I drank it and I’m even (almost) MORE embarrassed about how angry I felt when a fruit fly perched itself on my glass, rendering the final two drinks undrinkable. (I’m pretty sure I could create the drink at home using this recipe. However, to my knowledge, I have never purchased a bottle of vodka, and I’m not sure I should start now. Highway to the danger zone.)

Today I worked on freelance and I went to a parent/teacher conference at the middle school and I roasted Brussels sprouts for the first time. (Brussels sprouts no longer scare me!) I also dropped by the elementary school where I did that thing that I hate doing which involves calling things as I see them with ugly talk. (I really should carry a pack of Marlboros and some sloppy red lipstick in my pocket for these toxic moments, as I firmly believe that people who spout yuck should have lipstick on their teeth and a cigarette that flops around with every unnecessary exclamation point.) I once had a friend who waited at least ten seconds before answering a question because he didn’t want to waste words. I need to adopt that strategy starting right now. Now.

It’s time for me to step away from the computer and prepare chickenless dumplings for dinner. (Do you know what the opposite of excited is? That’s how the girls are feeling about the chickenless dumplings! Yet, I soldier on.)

Tomorrow? It’s the Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A few years back, I joined a book club at my church and I actually did pretty well keeping up with the books and the meetings. About six (or more) books ago, I decided to take a break from the club and read The Hunger Games. (I know! Would you just be quiet over there?) SO, I read the first two Hunger Games books and then I read Juliet, Naked and Gone Girl and Skipped Parts and The Fault in Our Stars and In One Person. I received the e-mail a few weeks back that the book club is now reading Not Like Other Boys. I immediately requested it from the library, because why join a book club and then stop reading the books?!

Not Like Other Boys is due back in two days, and I Cannot Get Into It.

It’s not that it’s a bad book, because it’s NOT. It’s just that I really want to read The Hotel New Hampshire. I hate that life is so short. (Sadly, part of me justifies returning the book unread because I know a few people who NEED to read it. People who have actually told me that they would disown their own child if he/she ever came out. Perhaps I should buy several copies of the book and mail them anonymously!)

Do you remember about a month ago when I went to the new haircut place and it’s right next to a chocolate place and it ended up being a perfect day? I went back yesterday, and I took in a photo of a bald Charlize Theron. Because my new hair lady is a genius, I walked out with my very favorite haircut.

(I’m wearing my new favorite shirt with a favorite scarf and it sort of looks like I’m on a journey to Duck Face, but I can assure you that I am not. Hey, look! The left side arm rest fell off of our rocking chair, but we’re holding off on getting another chair until we can move! Also, I never *really* want to replace the chair because it’s the chair that supported me while I was feeding the girls in the middle of the night. It’s a great chair for knitting and reading and checking texts and Scout takes naps on it and one weekend I read most of East of Eden while sitting on that chair holding a feverish baby named Meredith and Hey! Pope Benedict is on television right now leaving his apartment for the last time. I wonder if he feels attached to any of his chairs.)

Heather talked about her hair today. I love her, so I followed her lead.

If I say Mouse Races, what do YOU say? Our school used to host a trivia night in the spring, and the turnout was never huge. I believe it has something to do with the fact that our school holds students from something like 23 different countries. Trivia Nights aren’t a big thing all over the world, and if you don’t know American pop culture, it might not be a fun time. (I’m FIERCELY competitive at these things. Because of this, if I was invited to a Mongolian trivia night, I would probably stay home because I know I wouldn’t stand a chance.) ((WAIT. Before you start raising your eyebrows at me, let me say that I KNOW a Mongolian trivia night would probably be very educational for me and that I am Exactly What Is Wrong With Our Country. I would DEFINITELY go to an event called Meet Mongolian People, Chat About Their Heritage, and Eat Food! I just don’t want to sit at a table feeling like a loser because I don’t know this song.))

Anyway, this year we’re taking a break from the trivia night and going with mouse races instead. When the idea of mouse races was introduced, I had to ask if we’re talking about Real Mice. (We are.) The mice will not be eaten, but they will be given fake names and they will be yelled at to run faster so people can place bets and win money and it all sounds so crazy to me, but I’ve heard it’s an amazing time! Have you gone to mouse races? (Would you LIKE to go to mouse races? If you’re in St. Louis and you want more info, shoot an e-mail my way!) Mice! Running! Adults only because of the betting and the drinking and the screaming at the mice! (Yes. There will be drinking. The drinking might make some people jump up and down as they yell loudly at their chosen mouse. The drinking might make some people sit in the corner and send PayPal donations to animal rights groups. I won’t tell you which hat I might be wearing.) ((Disclaimer: Drinking is not required, Silly. Neither is reading Fluid Pudding. I love free will. (I also love determinism!)))

I’ve been told the races look a little something like this:

Again. Let me know if you’re local and interested. (In mouse races. I’m not trying to date you, although I *will* high-five you and make awkward eye contact if you show up!)

This evening for dinner we’re having a vegan shepherd’s pie. My friend Erika shared the recipe, and it led me to purchase my first parsnips (Life List Item #82!). Tomorrow morning will find me at the hospital at 6:00. After that, there’s a 70% chance of Pilates followed by another sleepover for Meredith. Also, I’ll be starting The Hotel New Hampshire. (Oh, John Irving. You stir me every time.)

Oh! Wait! Bread Pudding! A few of you want to make bread pudding, so let’s do it next week! I’ve marked my calendar for Thursday, March 7th. It’s the Second Ever Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong!!! Aren’t we amazing? We Are. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Every year I gain ten pounds over the holidays, and every year I lose ten pounds before the end of February.

Today is February 25th. (Only ten months until Christmas!) I have managed to lose three of my ten pounds. This can only mean that old lady crap metabolism has set in and that I’ll have to start moving around more than twice each week to get down to Status: My Pants Fit. New Plan? Lose the remaining seven pounds before the end of April, and gain only 5 pounds during the holidays. Easy. (Hopefully. Stinking Oreo Balls.)

One of my very favorite people is organizing an auction for the End Women’s Cancer Walk. I’m going to be knitting an Annis to donate to the auction. Because I’m absolutely terrible with deadlines, I’m going to use Fluid Pudding to hold me accountable throughout the next two months. I did my cast on last night.

I’ll keep you updated. Weekly, maybe. Or weakly. We’ll see. (If you would like to contribute anything to the auction, let me know! I can hook you up with the details.)

Spoofing Update: In the past 72 hours, only one person has cursed at me and accused me of stealing their credit card information. This might mean that the end is in sight! I have no idea! (I remain hopeful, because the hopeful people are the most charming, don’t you think? (The pessimistic ones always get those scowled up forehead wrinkles, and those are not always adorable.) By the way, I’m going to get my hair cut in the style of a Shaven Theron on Wednesday morning, and would you rather I be a pleasant bald lady or a scowler bald lady? That’s what I thought! Where was I?)

This week is crazy with meetings and conferences (meetings and conferences are two very different things!) and appointments (something else entirely!) and vegan spinach alfredo (dinner!) and shortened school days (no worries! we still meet our required 1,044 hours!) and surgeries (my mom’s ankle!) and veggie kebobs (lunch!).

Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me. (I capitalize when I’m talking about the planet. I sometimes put my commas and periods outside of the quotation marks. A good friend of mine calls it intuitive punctuation, and I’m nothing if not intuitive.)

Is it time to do another BreadPuddingAlong? Three years have passed! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Let me just say this.

My name is Angela. (My middle name is Lynn, if you’re curious. I once asked my mom why she chose Lynn, hoping she would tell me a story about Loretta Lynn. Nope. Mom and Dad chose Lynn because everyone else was choosing Lynn. Lynn it is.)

I own Fluid Pudding Dot Com, and I have five e-mail accounts at Fluid Pudding Dot Com. One is for Angela, and that is my name. One is for Angie, and that is also my name. (I go by both, and sometimes I have no idea how to introduce myself. You can call me whatever you want. I used to drink a little and then introduce myself as Samantha. It’s a free country, although some of you don’t think so. Because it’s NOT!!!! Big scowls and frowns and blaming Obama for high gas prices!!! Where was I?) One e-mail account is for Fluid Pudding when I feel like I don’t want to share my name. My kids each have an account at Fluid Pudding, mainly because they really dig Pottermore, and you need an e-mail address to sign up.

I do not send out e-mails from 3920859 at fluid pudding dot com. I do not send out e-mails from loves269 at fluid pudding dot com or helensnastycloset at fluid pudding dot com. I could continue with this list, but I’m assuming you get the idea.

All of this to say: Fluid Pudding Dot Com has been spoofed. Spoofed! As a result, a lot of people are getting strange e-mails from random names at fluid pudding dot com. Some of those e-mails say things like, “Your PayPal payment to Bernard Chastain has been processed!” When the (mostly angry) recipient of this e-mail responds to Bernard at fluid pudding dot com, I get the (mostly angry) e-mail. And then I have to say something like this:

“Hello there! I am so sorry to tell you this, but I am not Bernard Chastain. My name is Angela and my account has been spoofed. I am not selling anything, nor am I trying to take payment for anything. I am currently in touch with my website host along with the tech support at PayPal, and we are trying to figure out what has happened. In the meantime, all I can do is tell you that I’m very sorry you received the terribly annoying e-mail regarding payment to Bernard Chastain, but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure it stops.”

Also, despite what the spoofer (is that what you call someone who spoofs?) wants you to think, I do not want to be connected to you on LinkedIn. I don’t want to be connected to ANYONE on LinkedIn. I pretty much hate LinkedIn, and I’ve deleted my account there 493 times, yet the e-mails keep pouring in. (“You can’t quit me, Angela!!!” – LinkedIn)

Finally, I have no interest in purchasing or selling a Russian mail order bride. I didn’t even realize that Russian mail order brides existed outside of bad sitcoms. Oh, the things you learn when you’re spoofed.

(It has been a very strange few days.)

If you’re here because you want to punch me for sending you a weird e-mail, please wait at the back of the line. I’ll be over here scratching my dogs’ ears and hoping this all ends soon. There’s coconut milk in the fridge. Help yourself. (Disclaimer: This is not really an invitation to help yourself to the coconut milk. Please don’t come into my house.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

1. This afternoon my mom came up and we had veggie sushi. Afterwards, we went to a health food store and I’m pleased to report that I am now the proud owner of nutritional yeast and vegan bacon bits and vegan bouillon cubes and Himalayan pink salt and vegan chicken and vegan beef and vegan egg substitute and I feel like you’re getting bored. I’ve been getting closer and closer to full on veganism, and now that I have this cookbook, it all boiled down to Finding the Products. I have found them.

2. If something weird happened and all of a sudden you were required to punch one person with absolutely zero consequences, do you know who you would punch? Sure, it would be easy to simply nod and choose Dr. Oz, but think about it. You get to punch ANYONE. You HAVE to punch someone. And maybe we’ll set it up in a way that the punchee has no idea WHO the puncher is. Do you know who you would choose? (I know who I would choose. I’m telling no one. If Punching Day ever happens, I’m ready.) ((My mom wants to punch Carrie Underwood, and although that sort of came out of left field, it made me very happy that my mom has chosen a Punchee.)) (((Please know that I do NOT endorse punching if it’s not part of a federally mandated Punching Day. Peace! Love!! Understanding!!!)))

3. After Harper misplaced both tennis shoes and her homework over the weekend and then offered a REWARD for them instead of actually LOOKING for them, my feathers got a little ruffled. When I went into the girls’ room to help look for the missing items and I found dirty clothes on the floor along with notes from school that carried dates from November, I lost my mind. Yesterday morning I dropped the girls off at school. I then returned home, entered their room armed with a box of trash bags, and threw away every single thing that was out of place. I had been threatening to do this for several weeks, but I always lost my nerve. Yesterday was The Day. The only items I held back from the trash were things like a digital camera, an iPod Nano, a DSi, and any books. (I can’t throw books away.) Those items were placed into a basket, and the girls can buy them back from me as they earn money by doing chores. (The Buy Back Bin was not my idea. A dear friend of mine mentioned it several months back, and I knew I had to work it in.)

4. When I was 21 years old, My Bloody Valentine released an album titled Loveless. I was finishing up the first semester of my first senior year and I spent my spare time writing bad poetry and taking midnight drives to Jefferson City for doughnuts and drinking instant coffee and burning incense and dipping fries in ice cream and Loveless was always in the background. When I think of Loveless, the leaves are brown and I’m in my Volkswagen Fox and I’m driving with the windows down and the heater on because I love fresh air and heat and I wore flannel and clunky shoes and I thought I liked to sip whiskey, but now I know I was just pretending.

Last week, My Bloody Valentine released their follow-up to Loveless. I’m now 42 years old. I’m now married with two kids, I’ve done the office job thing, I’ve moved several times, and I’m too tired for midnight doughnuts. Ah, but the leaves are still brown and my shoes are still a little clunky and I still try to write (not poetry, just this and that) and this morning I drove around with the windows cracked and the heat on and My Bloody Valentine is once again in my head and yes.

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First off and most importantly, thank you for all of your kind words regarding Meredith and her spelling bee! I love you guys. Please come over for dinner right now. I’m making this, and it smells like onion heaven. (That’s a very good thing.)

Okay.

My Thursday spinning class starts at 9:30. I have attended the class every week since Thursday, December 27th, which means it’s still a fairly new gig, but this is what I know: I LOVE it. I schedule appointments around it. I plan sports bra laundry around it. I love the instructor, I love her music, and I love the fact that I sometimes drip sweat onto the floor as I ride up a hill in the dark.

The place where I spin is right across the street from the girls’ school. On Thursdays, I tend to drop them off at around 8:40. I then park at the gym’s lot and drink hot tea until 8:50. I then enter the gym, sign up for a spot in the spinning studio, place my towels and my water on my favorite bike, and slowly warm up until the instructor arrives. At around 9:15, the studio is normally full of spinners. Although I haven’t really spoken to anyone, I always smile at the woman from Australia. I always stay far away from the older gentleman who is VERY outspoken about his belief that everyone should own a gun. (I have no idea how he manages to turn every topic of conversation into a gun control debate, but he does! It’s sort of like that whole Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon thing, minus the fun, plus furrowed brows and paranoia.) I try to stick close to the tall blonde woman who seems to weigh 60 pounds. (Fun Fact: If you click on the tall blonde woman link and listen to the song, please know that I can’t sing along without choking.)

This lady? I do not like this lady. Let’s call her Coco, because she actually carries a Chanel mini-backpack to the gym.

Coco always arrives for class right around the time that the bikes are filling up, and she ALWAYS screams to her friends about These New People who are showing up too EARLY and reserving their bikes too EARLY and, “I come straight here after I drop off my kid! I can’t get here any earlier and all of these NEW people are showing up and taking all the bikes! What the HELL?!”

These are her friends.

Their kids attend the same middle school as Coco’s, yet they somehow manage to arrive at class at least twenty minutes before her.

When Coco arrived to class last Thursday, all of the bikes were taken and SHE LOST HER MIND.

Coco: What the HELL?! IT WAS MY PLAN TO SPIN THIS MORNING!!! Who ARE all of these people?!

Friend #1: I know!

Friend #2: It’s disgusting.

(Really! She said it was disgusting! I can name at least 93 things that are more disgusting than people showing up a little early for a spinning class!)

Friend #3: Whoever put those towels on that bike hasn’t been here since I’ve been here. I say take it.

Coco then removed the water bottle and towels that someone else had placed on the bike, sat down, and began warming up—all while chomping gum and ranting about how ridiculous life can be.

Less than two minutes later, two gym employees entered the spinning studio with a guy who occasionally attends the class. Apparently, the towels and water bottle Coco had removed were his. The employees then BOUNCED Coco, and my heart filled with joy as she gathered her phone and her tiny backpack while yelling at the employees about All These People and how It’s Not Fair and You People Need to Do Something!!!

(Yes. My heart filled with joy. I’m not the greatest person and God isn’t finished with me yet or something (or other).)

The best part of all? After she stomped out and the door closed, Coco’s friends actually laughed about the whole thing. And Friend #2 spent the entire class shamelessly flirting with the guy who snitched on Coco.

He definitely wasn’t into it.

I matched (and sometimes outpaced) Friend #2’s ride until the final song ended, which I believe means that I won. And I’ll be back on Thursday. At 8:45. Because I can.

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I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been trying pretty hard to not write about the kids at Fluid Pudding. (Mommy Blogger,  Schmommy Blogger, am I right?!) Today I feel the need to pull up my MomBlog pants for a quick Meredith story.

Every year, the girls’ school holds a spelling bee. Every third, fourth, and fifth grade classroom has a mini bee, during which a top speller is chosen to represent the class at the school bee. Meredith was the top speller in her third grade class last year, which scored her a spot at the bee.

Please take a moment and follow this link to see how tiny she looked at the bee last year. While you’re there, you can read about how I cried three times during the bee. After that, you can see that I was sort of obsessed with that whole nose piercing thing last year at this time. Eyeliner dots on my nose. So silly. We were all younger back then, weren’t we?

A few months ago, Meredith came home from school and announced that she had once again scored the honor of being the top speller in her class. She then presented us with the (HUGE) list of words that she would be studying until the day of the school spelling bee. She was serious. Motivated. She wanted to win more than she has wanted ANYTHING (except for an iPod Touch) EVER.

Because Jeff is the greatest dad, he recorded each and every one of those challenging words into a spelling app so that Meredith could practice around the clock. Her iPod would recite each word in Jeff’s voice, Meredith then typed each word in, and when she was finished testing she was given a percentage of correct words along with a list of missed words. Last weekend she tested herself on over 300 of the words. She missed only two of them, and the two she missed were because of typing errors. She was ready.

I drove to school yesterday afternoon for this year’s bee. Although the bee had absolutely nothing to do with me, I was a wreck. When the spellers entered the cafeteria, I immediately started guzzling my tea to keep from tearing up. (Why?! I know!!!) The third, fourth, and fifth graders were seated, the moderator explained the rules, and it was time to begin.

It didn’t take long to notice that one of the spellers is what I refer to as a Magical Child. She’s a fifth grader. She’s lovely and polite and smart. She is a musician. Her mom is involved in the PTO. Her family attends events. She is well-liked. Confident. She is a GREAT SPELLER.

Moderator: Magical Child, your word is Insouciant.

Magical Child: Insouciant. EyeEnEssOhYouSeeEyeAyEnTee. Insouciant.

Moderator: That is correct.

I knew right away that Magic could take this thing.

It took only a few rounds before several of the spellers’ nerves were exposed and they started making simple mistakes. (The first boy down missed the word Bridge, and it broke me because I know he knew that word and I also know that the bee was something he took seriously because he was wearing a tie. A TIE! (Studies have shown that emotional tears contain more manganese, an element that affects temperament, and more prolactin, a hormone that regulates milk production. Sobbing out manganese and prolactin is thought to relieve tension by balancing the body’s stress levels and eliminating build-up of the chemicals, making the crier feel better. I need to head to the pharmacy and grab some supplements, because I believe I’m currently manganese and prolactin deficient.))

It took about twenty minutes to get down to the final three spellers: Meredith, Magic, and Some Girl I Don’t Know.

Meredith had spelled Describe, Upbringing, Poultry, Caterpillar, Eruption, Emotional, Curiosity, and Isolation. These were easy words. It was time to turn it up a notch.

Moderator: Magical Child, your word is Pharmaceutical.

(Please know that her word wasn’t REALLY Pharmaceutical. At this point my hands were so sweaty that I could no longer take notes.)

Magic: Pharmaceutical. Pharmaceutical. PeeAychAyArEmEeSeeYouTeeEyeSeeAyEl. Pharmaceutical.

Moderator: I’m sorry.

As soon as Magic sat down, I made eye contact with Meredith. This was it. Things were happening. Oh My Oh My Oh My Oh My Et Cetera.

It was now down to Meredith and That Girl I Don’t Know, who tended to spell her words as if she was asking a question. (Her style did not inspire confidence. Have I mentioned how emotionally charged this whole spelling bee thing can be?!)

Moderator: Meredith. Your word is Evaluate.

Meredith (after taking a big breath): Evaluate. EeVeeAyYouAyTeeEe. Evaluate.

She knew she missed it. She knew her nerves got the best of her. She was angry and disappointed and I have no idea what happened next because I was lying on the floor soaked in my own vomit.

The Girl I Still Don’t Know spelled her word correctly to finish out the round, and then spelled her NEXT word correctly and that’s when she was proclaimed the winner and it all happened so quickly and photos were taken and I DO remember whispering the word, “Damnit.” and I hope no one saw or heard me, because this is not the time nor the place for my foul mouth. I clapped for the winner. I did. I was sincerely happy for her, and the fact that her sister went up and hugged her after the bee warmed my heart like crazy. What made me even HAPPIER was that I later learned that The Girl I Don’t Know is in the fifth grade. It was her final year to compete. If Meredith can’t win, I want it to be a fifth grader. I want it to be a Girl I Don’t Know.

When Meredith came out to the car after school, Harper asked how the bee went.

Meredith: I lost.

Me: Actually, you tied for second place! Third place last year, second place this year! IT’S ALL SO AWESOME WITH THE DAISIES AND UNICORNS AND TWIX BARS AND HAPPINESS!

Harper: What word did you miss?

Meredith: Evaluate.

Harper, who is about to win the Fluid Pudding Award for Kindness with this statement: Meredith, evaluate is a very tricky word.

Me: It is a VERY tricky word and PRIDE AND AWESOME AND SOMETIMES I HAVE TO RAMBLE AND SPEAK LOUDLY BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHY!

Meredith: When Dad gets home, can we celebrate with a burrito?

Silly question. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

(Harper gave me pens for Christmas.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Every time Meredith has money, she wants to spend it on gifts for her friends. I don’t think this is a bad thing, and I enjoy seeing how thoughtful she is becoming as she chooses The Perfect Gift for different girls in her class. Because we’ve heard rumors that a birthday party is being planned in February, Meredith asked if we could go to the mall yesterday. She has chosen a few gifts for the birthday girl, and the store that sells the gifts (Justice) currently has a 40% storewide sale.

Please note that although I mentioned the store name up there, I didn’t link to it. Because I don’t like it. Because they sell padded bras for children. I mention how ridiculous this is every time we visit the store, yet we STILL VISIT THE STORE. (The girls love their pajamas and jewelry.) (Oh! Please don’t tell me how terrible I am for even walking in the door KNOWING that they sell padded bras for children. As hackneyed as it sounds, you really DO choose your battles/boycotts. I tend to not purchase products that were tested on animals. If someone tells me that the best seitan is at Whole Foods, I’ll go to Whole Foods regardless of the CEO’s views on climate change. (I’m on the edge of trying seitan. I might take you with me on that adventure.) My kids have been vaccinated and they’re current on their flu shots. I made them watch the inauguration yesterday. I will never wear anything with a Nike logo on it. I would rather have a migraine than eat a hamburger. I will always turn to rescue groups when it’s time to adopt a pet. I’m just a big bowl of Ridiculous and Kind and Anxious and Smart and Thirsty. (My hot tea is brewing. It was purchased at a place that was recently acquired by Starbucks. I won’t stop buying my tea, because my tea makes me happy. If you’re rolling your eyes right now, I hope they don’t stick like that. I really don’t! I think you’re so pretty, even though we might make different choices.))

The four of us arrived at the mall at approximately 12:30 and none of us had eaten lunch, so we headed to the food court where babies were screaming and kids were running and strollers were being pushed into people (mostly accidentally, I’m sure) and so many people. SO many people and so much noise and terrible food smells and sticky surfaces and although I have a prescription for Xanax, I rarely carry it with me. I needed Xanax at the mall food court, but I settled for a veggie burger.

After eating, we headed to the store where Meredith chose a stuffed animal, a necklace, and a hat for her friend. Something that should have taken about three minutes ended up taking fifteen, and when we exited the store and Jeff asked if we needed to go anywhere else in the mall, all I could say was, “I just need to be in the car. Right now.” I know my kids think I’m a weirdo. I also know that when you have kids, you can’t always avoid crowds. So many parades, amusement parks, parties, et cetera. I try to keep it together. That’s all I can do.

This morning I was supposed to go to the J for a spinning class after dropping Harper off at school. I made it as far as the parking lot before turning around and going right back home. I really can’t do people today. (I try to make it to spinning at least thirty minutes before class starts. After selecting my bike (#4!) and placing my towels, I warm up slowly while listening to the other class members talk about how disappointed they are because the class has become so crowded with “all these people who made resolutions to get into shape!” I’m one of the people they’re talking about, and I understand that they’re bummed about having to show up a few minutes earlier to sign up and choose a bike, but I also know that my paid membership carries the same weight as their paid membership and Dear God I’m so crabby right now.)

Someone around here needs to go to the grocery store, and that someone is me. Less than ten miles from my house sits a butternut squash that needs to find its way into my oven. (I’ll be using the self check-out lane.) Enjoy your Tuesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Well, that week passed by quickly, didn’t it?

Let’s see. I gave my dogs their heartworm preventatives, I made a zucchini lasagna, I went to Pilates and spinning, and I joined Tempe and my mom at The Melting Pot where the guy in the kitchen PUT BACON ON MY SALAD AFTER I ORDERED IT WITHOUT BACON AND I TOOK A BIG BITE OF SALAD WITHOUT NOTICING AND UGH. BACON.

(I know. I went all caps in real life, too. I realize it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been a vegetarian for quite some time now, and Hhhhhhh. I now feel like I’m back at Day One. Jeff has assured me that this isn’t the case because it wasn’t intentional, but still. Still. I don’t want to talk about it. I know I sound petty. It made me sad. That’s all.)

I finished knitting a shawl for a woman in Florida who sends amazing Christmas presents to my kids even though she has never met them.

I put some time in on a cardigan that will eventually look like this, but now mainly looks like this:

Most importantly? My Rivet & Sway glasses arrived yesterday afternoon! (The story is here in case you just tuned in. Don’t forget, the ANGELASWAYS coupon code will score you $25 off a pair of glasses until April 8th, 2013!)

I tried to get a decent photo of myself wearing my glasses this morning. I was sitting in a parking lot and the sun was positioned in a way that made it look as if I was shooting rainbows out of the side of my face. Sadly, after five or so failed attempts, I started throwing my crabby face. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. (Unless someone puts unsolicited bacon on your salad.)

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