Fluid Pudding : Page 72 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

This is what’s under my skirt.

When I was in college, I would spend the summer months working in St. Louis for a company that tries to prevent people from collecting unemployment benefits. (It’s a long story. It never really matched up with my core values, and because I hate to compromise when it comes to Values, I eventually transferred over to switchboard operating which might sound like a demotion, but it sure didn’t feel like one because I was fed many more cupcakes and catered lunches as an operator than I was as a claim investigator. PLUS, the pay was exactly the same! Now! Back to our story!)

Because my summer months were often spent trying to lose the weight I had gained the year before in college, my lunch as a switchboard operator (when I wasn’t enjoying catering or cupcakes) normally consisted of Slim-Fast and strawberries. A few people rolled their eyes at me, and looking back I can see why: I was probably weighing in at 120 and desperately trying to get back to 107 before school started in the fall. In other words, I probably didn’t need to drop any weight, but it was A Thing. So, there I sat with my little can of diet drink and my fresh fruit trying to make conversation with the (seemingly depressed, mostly crabby) throngs of people who sucked down Chinese leftovers and tubes of Pringles. (I worked with over 300 people. I can name all of the pleasant ones in the time it would take you to say “You take my life when you take the means whereby I live.” (Shakespeare was sort of a stud, wasn’t he?))

I exited that company for the last time more than a dozen years ago, and in that dozen years I’ve signed on for MANY types of weight loss whims. I drank nothing but soup for weeks at a time. I took weight loss pills. I ate a bunch of grapefruit. I didn’t eat anything.

I have a number of tragic flaws. My inability to accept what I see in the mirror is probably my worst.

When one of my favorite people called a few weeks back to report that Groupon was offering Hot Pants for next to nothing, I was all over it. Supposedly, you can wear these things for two weeks, and you just might drop two pants sizes. (Some people say you need to wear them during exercise. Others say they did next to nothing and still dropped the inches. One woman actually reported losing four inches from each thigh and all she did was light gardening and housework, and that’s why you can’t believe everything you read on the internet!)

I’ve been wearing skirts for the past week. Do you want to know why?

I decided to take the Two Week Hot Pants Challenge, and I decided to do it slothfully. (I still have the boot for two more weeks, meaning I really can’t move around very much. This is not a bad thing. I don’t like moving around very much. Hot Pants!) The two week challenge involves wearing the pants all day and all night. The only time I’ve taken them off is to shower, and then I quickly put them back on again. Surprisingly, they don’t stink. (Believe me. I’m highly paranoid of being stinky.)

This is what I know: The Hot Pants make me sweat like crazy. I’m now drinking 64 ounces of water every day (at least), and all 64 ounces are dripping off of my hips, legs, and butt. I’m totally okay with that, because it feels like something is happening. (I just hope the something has nothing to do with an unfortunate infection brought on by sitting in puddles of my own sweat. I know! It’s nastiness! Hot Pants!)

After one week of wearing the pants, here are my results:

My hips are exactly the same size as they were one week ago.

My thighs are exactly the same size as they were one week ago.

The texture of my skin is the same as it was one week ago.

And, yes. Deep down I sort of knew that this would be the case. There is no such thing as a pair of pants that will change your shape as you sit on the couch eating kale chips. (So many kale chips!) I’ll take my measurements again at the end of the challenge, but I have a funny feeling I won’t be seeing any changes. Because I take less than 1,000 steps per day! (I’m not proud of that. Don’t think I’m proud of that.)

So, anyway. One week down, and one to go.

Sing it with me! Hot Pants!

(Wait! Don’t hit my comment box and go all nutty on how ridiculous I am! I know myself even better than you know me! That is a fact!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Peace, Love, and Cupcakes!

A few months back, I received an e-mail asking if I was interested in reviewing a book for kids titled The Cupcake Club. The main character in the book is Meredith’s age and seems to share Meredith’s love of cupcakes. The main author of the book is the co-author of Soul Surfer. Meredith LOVED that movie. The “mean girl” in the book is NAMED Meredith. Too many coincidences. I couldn’t pass it up.

When I told Meredith about the book, she asked if SHE could review it. She read the advance copy in less than a day and gave me the following summary:

The Cupcake Club is about a girl named Kylie who has a drama teacher named Mrs. Valentine. Mrs. Valentine is Kylie’s favorite teacher. Mrs. V will be having twins and going away, and that makes Kylie really sad. When the new drama teacher arrives, they put on a play and Kylie thinks Meredith has done something to her hat because the pipe cleaners wouldn’t come off and when the show was over, the new drama teacher told Kylie to come backstage with her. She gave Kylie a red velvet cupcake and told her how when she was younger, her hair was the color of red velvet cupcakes, and now red velvet cupcakes are her favorite. She also tells Kylie that she was bullied in school, and that she started bringing in homemade cupcakes, and pretty soon the bullies weren’t important anymore, because everyone was loving the cupcakes she made and that motivated her to stay happy. Kylie decides to start up a cupcake club.

Kylie and her friend Lexi make a cupcake club with a few other girls. In the cupcake club, they bake cupcakes. On the first meeting, they made muffins that didn’t turn out very well because they didn’t follow the recipe correctly. The muffins were crunchy with eggshells. Eventually, they make cupcakes for a bakery and they bake a cupcake for the Golden Spoon Gourmet Grocery and the money goes toward the new EcoCenter.

In the end, it was field day, and in a tug of war game, Meredith fell down and lost her necklace. Everyone looked all over for it, and then Kylie found it! Kylie gave it to Meredith, and Meredith hugged her unexpectedly.

I loved this book because it has cupcakes in it, and I love cupcakes. It also teaches the lesson that you should like yourself for who you are and don’t be quick to not like other people.

When I told Meredith that she could actually interview the mother/daughter team who are writing the series together, she flipped out. We typed up her questions, we sent them off, and we received our answers from Carrie (the nine-year-old co-author of the book) the very next day.

Meredith: Did you actually prepare the recipes that appear in the book? Which one is your favorite?

Carrie: I made them with my recipe developer, Jessi Walter. My favorite is definitely the Maple Red Velvet cause I am an RV girl!

Meredith: How did you write the book together? Did you base the characters on people you know?

Carrie: I based the characters on my friends, teachers, family…A LOT! We write the book starting like this: We talk about it first. Then, my mom writes a first draft. She prints the whole story out and I have to read it and edit it. Once my mom has added in my changes, she prints it out again, then I edit it…we do this about 7 times in total.

Meredith: Will there be a second book? (I hope so!)

Carrie: YES! There will be at least 4 books! We just finished the second book: The Cupcake Club: Recipe For Trouble. It comes out in November!!!!!!!

Meredith: If there IS a second book, will Meredith and Kylie become friends?

Carrie: Meredith is still in the picture–but Meredith doesn’t bully her anymore and Kylie learns to deal with her.

Meredith: Do you see Kylie and her friends opening a bakery when they get older? I hope so! And I hope you write a book about it!

Carrie: We don’t have that planned right now–they’re only in 5th grade in the second book. But it’s one of Kylie’s big dreams so great idea!

We’ve already marked our calendar to look for the second book in November! In the meantime, Meredith is definitely recommending The Cupcake Club to all of her friends, as well as anyone who knows a cupcake loving kid! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Nine. It’s a Wonder!

This morning as we celebrated Meredith’s birthday, I pointed the camera at her and asked her to talk about Nine.

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Seven Years Old!

On April 29th, 2010, Jeff created a video to celebrate Meredith’s seventh birthday.

Today we’re celebrating Harper’s seventh birthday.

We’re also celebrating Harper Lee’s 86th birthday. (Unfortunately, we have no video footage of her jumping rope or riding a bike.)

((If you’re itching to once again see the photo of Harper being pulled from my innards, head on over here!))

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Hush Hush, Eye to Eye

Every two weeks I pick up my haul at the community produce co-op.

Every two weeks I post a photo of what was included in the basket.

Every two weeks you say, “Fruits and vegetables. Awesome. Next?”

I’ll tell you what’s next! I’ve started indulging in Vegan Tuesdays! Sadly, I wasn’t very prepared to deal with this past Tuesday’s vegan adventure. In fact, on Tuesday afternoon I ended up making a semi-desperate phone call to the Ritz cracker people to see if their Reduced Fat crackers are vegan.

Me: It’s not on the PETA list, but OTHER Ritz crackers ARE, so I’ve GOTTA KNOW! TALK TO ME ABOUT THE NATURAL FLAVORS!!!

Ritz Man: Well, the natural flavors COULD be derived from plants OR animals.

Me: . . .

Ritz Man: Nabisco won’t tell us what they are.

Me: You work for Nabisco, and they won’t tell you if the natural flavors are plants or animals?!

Ritz Man: I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Why don’t you give me your mailing address so we can send you special offers regarding some new and exciting Nabisco products?

Me: Here is your mission. Find out what the natural flavors are, and then I’ll give you my mailing address.

As I ponder the transition from vegetarianism to veganism, please know that I’m going to be relying heavily on VegaDeli. Also know that as I attempt to make our house reflect our style, I’ll be relying on VegaDeli once again.

They’re currently selling the work of a local artist named Sandy Griffin, and I absolutely love it. (I had a serious tie going on between Make Breakfast, Not War and Make Windmills, Not War. If you’re in St. Louis, go to VegaDeli, get a bone builder juice and a raw taco wrap, and enjoy the atmosphere. Also, give me a heads-up. I’ll probably want to meet you there.)

Hey, look! Henry and Scout love each other!

(You might think Henry’s hair is getting a little unruly. What you don’t know is that he’s auditioning for Kajagoogoo in a few weeks.)

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Soggy Kneecaps and Sedaris Make Out Parties

I went to see my new orthopedic doctor on Tuesday, where it was determined that I have a mysterious medial meniscus malady. Because of this, I’m back in the boot for three weeks. If it’s not better in three weeks, we’ll discuss a steroid shot in the ankle. If that doesn’t do the trick, we’ll talk about a meniscal probe (which sounds a lot more cringe-worthy than it actually is) and/or surgery to clean up the demons (and scar tissue) in my ankle.

All of this to say: Yep. I’m hobbling around in the boot again. For three weeks. I’m supposed to be staying off of my foot as much as possible, but that’s tricky when one has tickets to see David Sedaris and the closest parking spot is a block away, and the Peabody Opera House is filled with stairs and beverages and a bear on the ceiling and David Sedaris on the stage! (I decided to pretend that my doctor appointment is actually TOMORROW. I’ll try to stay off of it starting tomorrow. Wait. Saturday might be better. Actually, Saturday the fifth of May at around 10:30 will be good, although I have plans that evening. Sunday the sixth. I’ll stay off of it starting Sunday the sixth.)

Our seats for David Sedaris were amazing, and although I’m a tough sell in the laughing out loud department, I did the shoulder bouncing laugh through his entire show. I would try to explain what took me down, but it would go a little something like this,

“. . . ha ha ha! And then the thing about the owl and the arm and the skeleton! And, and, and the one about living to 200 and the colonoscopy and Little Caesar’s and the joke about fellating Willie Nelson and the Tourette’s rally cry and Mr. and Mrs. Dunston at the coffee place that proudly serves Starbucks but isn’t actually a Starbucks! Oh! Oh! And the baby vampire! And having good time teeth! And Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls! . . .”

and that would probably bore you or, if you’re anything like me, irritate you beyond repair. I will say this: David Sedaris started writing in a diary when he was 20, and he has written in it every single day (except for maybe 40 days) for the past 35 years. And that inspires me so much that I am now in the market for a diary, but I believe I’ll settle for a college ruled five subject notebook from Walgreens, because I have a three dollar coupon that goes toward the purchase of absolutely anything, all because I bought a box of Prilosec to keep Meredith’s reflux under control! Magical.

Do you remember when we used to do morning pages together? Do you want to start that up again? We really should start that up again.

This afternoon I grabbed lunch at my favorite vegan deli, and while there I once again toyed with the idea of getting my nose pierced. Two days ago, a friend mentioned that she was also toying with the idea. I’ll be 42 in a few weeks. It seems like such a fun present for 42, does it not?

I wasn’t going to tell you this because I’ve become a bit self-conscious about beating my drum, BUT: As we were slowly making our way through the building toward the exit last night (the place was so crowded, and most of the crowd seemed to be headed to the lobby for the book signing), I heard a familiar voice to my right. I turned, and there was David Sedaris being escorted to the signing table by a bunch of Peabody thugs. I smiled the smile of a wild-eyed tongueless girl with a literary crush. He smiled and said, “Hello.” I nodded and returned it.

(All I could think about for the next hour is that David Sedaris used the same mouth to say hello to me that he uses to say hello to Ira Glass, and Bonus: I was able to say hello to him without falling down or puking out something ridiculous like “You, Ira Glass, Ben Folds, Anderson Cooper, Keith Olbermann, Mumford and Sons, Kale Chips!”)

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Seven. It seems old, because it’s the first age with two syllables.

Saturday is Harper’s seventh birthday. Sunday is Meredith’s ninth birthday.

Because I can’t deal with having too many things going on at once, I decided to let Harper have her friend party this past weekend. This coming weekend will be the family party. Next weekend will be Meredith’s party. (Who am I kidding?! Every DAY is a stinking party at our house! Not really!)

I told Harper she could invite three friends over, and that we would decide what to do based on how many friends will be joining us. She told me that since it’s her first sleepover at our house, she would rather have one friend over, and do a bigger party with more friends some other time. (She’s just like me. Easily overwhelmed. This evening I’m running a meeting at a restaurant and six people will be there and all of my work is done, yet I’m already thinking things like, “What if it’s loud?” and “What if I fall down and/or do that crying thing with my voice?” I know. At least I KNOW that I’m ridiculous. BUT, would it be better to NOT know, and just be ridiculous? I KNOW I shouldn’t eat an entire pecan pie. NOT knowing that I shouldn’t would be a lifestyle game changer. Where was I?)

Harper chose a friend. We picked that friend up on Saturday afternoon and headed straight to one of those places where you pay entirely too much money to paint ceramics. (My mom used to run a ceramics shop out of our basement when I was a kid. When I told her that I paid $21 to paint a mug for myself, she gasped. “That shouldn’t have cost more than six dollars.” She then said something about how Coco painted a set of mugs for Ice once and how he responded with “I love ’em all. I love ’em crazily!”) After the ceramics, we came home and ate pizza. When the pizza was finished, we jumped into the car and headed out to The Melting Pot to dip strawberries and marshmallows and cheesecake and brownies and bananas and more into two big pots of chocolate. (One of which was set on FIRE!)

Okay. I’m about to turn into a Pinterest mom. Buckle up.

On the way home from The Melting Pot, we stopped by a craft store to buy plain t-shirts, iron-on rhinestones, and medicine droppers.

Two hours later, we had Sharpie tie-dyed t-shirts!

I ironed the rhinestones onto Harp’s friend’s t-shirt yesterday morning. The finished shirt looks like this:

When the shirts were done, the girls were getting tired. SO, we decided to make fairy jars! I took a few glow sticks and cut off the tips. I then shook the sticks into the jars, and found that nothing was coming out. SO, I cut off the tips from the other side of the sticks. The glowing goop splattered out onto my Ben Folds Choking Lady t-shirt, which made me flip out on the inside. When I shook the sticks into the jars, the stuff STILL wouldn’t come out. SO, I put my mouth around the glow sticks and blew the goop into the spice jars. (I was still tasting the glowing goop at three in the morning, and that’s when I started wondering if it was toxic. And then I started comparing UPS shipping times with planning a funeral, because I had ordered a pretty awesome dress earlier in the evening, and if at all possible, I want that dress to be my visitation dress if the glow sticks are going to be my ticket out.)

Luckily, the phrase “met her demise after blowing glow sticks into fairy jars” probably won’t appear on my obituary. (I just read an article about metastasis, by the way. This may or may not have something to do with time-released glow stick poison and my fear of glowing from within.)

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American Girl Bistro? The Puddings want to live inside of you.

Do you remember last summer when we drove to Kansas City to visit the American Girl store? If I had become pregnant during that trip, I would be preparing to give birth right about now!

Coincidentally, St. Louis is currently preparing for the grand opening of their very first American Girl store! On Saturday morning, the front door will open, and hundreds of American Girls will fly out!

Fun Fact: If you enter an American Girl store and purchase a baby plus all of the things the baby will need (high chair, bed, clothes, etc.), you will spend more money than Jeff and I did when we welcomed Meredith into the world! And that included a five day hospital stay! (Okay. We had good insurance. But still!)

ANYWAY, because Meredith and Harper love the American Girl dolls, books, and movies, they were absolutely thrilled when the new St. Louis store was announced. They were even MORE thrilled when we were invited to be test customers at the American Girl Bistro this afternoon. (Get this: I picked the girls up from school almost two hours early to eat at the bistro. That is NOT the kind of mom I am! I schedule their dentist appointments on days when there is no school! What are you doing to me, American Girl?)

We arrived at the store early enough to do a bit of browsing before we ate.

(The bistro was running about 45 minutes behind on the reservations, so we actually had time to do a LOT of browsing before we ate. As you can tell by Harper’s face, we didn’t mind a bit.)

(Please know that I’m really not liking Flickr’s new photo editing options. I’m no good at it! Argh! But back to my story!)

Check it out. This is McKenna. She is the Girl of the Year for 2012, and she’s a gymnast, and she has a really amazing purple loft bed, and she’s injured.

(Because Harper’s heart bleeds (and rejoices!) when anyone is suffering from a bum wheel, we actually came home with a set of American Girl crutches this afternoon. They will go very well with the American Girl wheelchair that Harper purchased last summer. I’m not kidding about this.)

The six of us (four humans, two dolls) were eventually seated, and it was 100% heartwarming (and slightly weird, but you just have to go with it) when the girls’ dolls were treated like real people. (When the server brought our drinks, she brought teacups for the dolls and mentioned that they looked thirsty. This is when I began to cry. (Not really.) (But almost.))

We started our meal with a curly fry appetizer. (We had ordered fruit kebobs, but when the server brought fries, it almost seemed like she knew us better than we know ourselves. Sure, we pretend to want fruit, but really? Yes. The fries hit the spot.)

I decided to go with the afternoon tea platter as my meal option, mainly because I’m a sucker for meals served on a tower with a pot of steaming chai.

The bottom layer? Fruit kebob and yogurt. In the middle? Two cheese and tomato star sandwiches and a tiny bowl filled with the best macaroni and cheese I’ve had in a long time. On top? A chocolate chip cookie, a brownie, and a cupcake. Perfection.

When Meredith finished her meal, she proclaimed it to be the best meal she has had in her life. In her LIFE!

On the way home, Harper said that today was the greatest day ever.

The grand opening is Saturday. I highly recommend the macaroni. (And the crutches.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Three Things for Wednesday

1. I am now the proud keeper of my medical records, and I didn’t have to pay a dime for them. This just reinforces my belief that life is so much easier when people are kind to one another. I was kind. The medical records lady was kind. As a result of all of the kindness, I treated myself to a chai latte and a naked burrito, and am getting ready to head to my favorite vegan restaurant for hummus and knitting. Today is a good day. (By the way, if you haven’t read the comments to my post from yesterday, please do. Kelly’s comment (#27) changed me. It’s always good to hear what’s happening on the other side.)

2. I finished a cotton Liesl to wear over tank tops because I’m not happy with my upper arm jingle jangle. (I’m not sure why I’m standing like that.)

This evening I’ll be knitting on a sock whose partner has been waiting for over four years. It’s time to finish what I’ve started.

3. I cannot get enough of this song.

I’m liking the entire album, but this particular song is speaking to me today. (Actually, it spoke to me at least ten times today as I made the trip to the doctor’s office and back and to lunch and back and school and back.) The way the singer handles the phrase “This I know” at 0:59 gives me happy shivers. (Sometime I’ll tell you about how Les McKeown from the Bay City Rollers sang the word “right” and how the way he sang that word intrigued me so much (at age 6) that I spent days listening to nothing but the first fifteen seconds of the song over and over again—just to hear that word.) (If the acoustic live version is a bit too screamy for you, go here. So good. I love this one, too, mainly because Harper mentioned that it sounds like it could be a new theme for The Lion King.)

4. I know I said three. This one doesn’t really count. I just want to make it official that I’m growing out my hair. Starting yesterday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Break-ups and Hoops and Gas and The President!

As you know, my orthopedic doctor appointment was scheduled for 9:00 this morning.

(Fourteen people just clicked away. That first sentence isn’t very compelling, is it? Here. Let’s move faster.)

I shaved my legs this morning.

I dropped the kids off at school and hauled it to my appointment so I wouldn’t be late.

I signed in at 8:55, and then sat down.

At 9:15 I was still sitting. (Three other people were in the waiting room.)

At 9:25 I was still sitting, and starting to feel squirmy.

At 9:30 I went up to the reception desk to ask how late the doctor was running.

Receptionist: There’s one more person in front of you.

Me: Well then, I think I’m just going to go.

Receptionist: Just a second.

(She walked away for a few seconds, and then came back.)

Receptionist: All of his rooms are full.

Me: The thing is, my appointment was scheduled for 30 minutes ago, and history has shown that he’ll spend no more than 5 minutes with me. I don’t want to wait in a SMALLER room for MORE time just to earn 5 minutes of HIS time. I’m going to go.

(I said all of that very nicely, because as soon as I get nervous and stop saying things nicely, my voice gets all shaky and it sounds like I’m going to cry. Every time I spoke during the PTO meetings, it sounded like I was going to cry about the checks I wrote and the balance of our savings account. Such a hoot. But not really. Sometime I’ll tell you about the time I called the cable company and my voice started shaking and then I actually STARTED crying because I couldn’t watch The Food Network or something. My head is filled with monkeys.)

Receptionist: Just a second.

(She walked away.)

Me (to myself): Quietly muttering something under my breath about how he doesn’t inspire my confidence! Nervous shaky voice that sounds like crying, and this doctor has made it clear that he doesn’t care about my ankle because I’M NOT A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE! No one can hear me and I’m starting to look a little bit crazy with my darty eyes and handful of tissues (ALLERGY SEASON!), so it’s time to go now.

And I walked out. And I called my mom and got the name of HER orthopedic guy, and I drove home and called him and his office is close to the girls’ school and HE can see me next Tuesday morning as long as I can get my medical records from the first doctor before then.

Me: Um, so, that might be a little awkward. Don’t you guys take care of that?

New Doctor’s Receptionist: Well, we CAN, but the offices tend to drag their feet if we ask for it. It’s more effective if you pick up the records.

Me: Will they charge me for that?

New Doctor’s Receptionist: No.

So, I called the old doctor’s office and explained that “Hiya! I just rode a high horse out of your office about an hour ago, and now I need a big favor! Medical records! Yee Haw! SorryI’mAnAsshole!”

Medical Records Lady: If you pick them up, there will be a fee.

Me: No! I’m so confused.

Medical Records Lady: If we fax them over to the new office, there is no fee. But you still have to sign a form to release the files. What’s your fax number?

Me: I am a person living in a tiny house with no fax machine.

Medical Records Lady: Then I can either mail the form to you, or you can come to the office and sign it.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be making the drive BACK to the doctor’s office so I can track down the medical records lady and sign the form to allow my records to be faxed to the new office. (If I actually TAKE the records to save them the trouble of faxing them, I will be charged a fee.) After signing the form, I will drive straight to Target and purchase 14 hula hoops, and I will spend the afternoon setting them on fire and jumping through them. Because that’s how it feels.

(And I know everyone is doing their best and that this is no one’s fault.)

((Except for President Obama. It’s totally his fault.))

(((It’s not really his fault.))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>