Fluid Pudding : Page 73 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Still Running Up That Hill, Kate Bush

Yesterday was the GO! St. Louis Marathon. I didn’t run in the marathon, but I know at least 10 people who did.

As you know, I decided to start running back in September. I started off slowly with the Couch to 5K gig. I ran for three weeks (and hated/loved it) before busting up my ankle.

After going through physical therapy for two months, I started off slowly once again. AND, once again, I ran for three weeks (and hated/loved it) before shattering my leg in three places. (Okay. I realize three stress fractures doesn’t really qualify as shattering. We all know how dramatic I tend to be on April Mondays.)

My orthopedic guy told me to wear the big 11 pound boot for a month.

A month later he told me to wear it for another month.

A month later he told me to wear it until my leg stops hurting.

Tomorrow morning at 9:00, I’ll be seeing him for the fourth time. Has my leg stopped hurting? Sort of. (It still hurts right under my knee and my ankle has started waking me up at night again (It claims to be down on its luck and is just needing a few bucks for an inhaler for its asthmatic child. Meanwhile, its breath reeks of Mad Dog, and it won’t make eye contact with me, so I’m not sure I can trust it.).)

Anyway, if the doctor (who has been known to make jokes about infidelity) tells me to keep wearing the boot (which I haven’t worn in nearly three weeks because so what I’m still a rock star I’ve got my rock moves and I don’t need you), I’m going to find a new doctor. One that will HEAL ME. (I’ve been reading about tent revivals.) One that will get me running again. Soon. Because, you know what? I felt a few little pangs of jealousy when I saw yesterday’s photos of friends with running bibs crossing finish lines and high fiving each other—knowing that I’m still dancing around in the Can’t Even Run to the Mailbox category.

This morning when I drove the girls to school, I saw two 26.2 stickers in the school parking lot. On the way home, I passed a car with a 13.1 sticker. Seven months ago I set the goal of having a 3.1 sticker on my car before 2012.

Harumph.

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To Kale a Mockingbird

This is Tuesday’s haul from the produce co-op.

We scored cilantro, two bunches of kale, bananas, cherry tomatoes, Baby Bella mushrooms, broccoli, green peppers, limes, lemons, corn, zucchini, garlic, mangos, oranges, and pears. All for a total of $23.

Now I shall share a dark secret with you.

I have never eaten kale before.

On Wednesday afternoon, I typed Kale into Pinterest, and quickly came up with 4,392,493 recipes. 4,392, 490 of them were for kale chips. (My numbers might be a little fuzzy.)

Because I’ll eat anything whose birth had nothing to do with a canal, I knew kale chips had to happen. (Side story: When I told my mom that I was going to make kale chips, she said, “Well, Ice didn’t like them very much when Coco made them.” My mom and I live in two very different worlds.)

Here’s what I did: I de-spined my kale and threw the leaves into a bowl with a few tablespoons of olive oil. (I took the spines and buried them in the back yard with my placenta! I’m just kidding!)

I then mixed the leaves and olive oil together and threw it all onto a foil-lined baking sheet, where I sprinkled it with sea salt while listening to Enya.

Finally, I baked the leaves at 350 degrees for twelve minutes, removed them from the oven, and placed them upon a plate with some Carolina Creole.

(If you don’t know Carolina Creole, you should probably get to know it. Jeff cooks shrimp in it. I dip chips and vegetables into it. I almost feel like when I use it, I’m one step closer to hugging Bobby Flay. (In my world, that’s a good thing. He voted for Andrew Cuomo. Politics! Look at me!))

Do you see that plate of kale chips? I finished it off in less than ten minutes, and then I made another batch. Later that evening, I made another batch, and this afternoon I’ll make another. I’m going to keep eating kale chips until my body is GLOWING with sulforaphane. (If you really are what you eat, imagine what could happen if I became a sixty-six inch breathing model of anticancer. Dream it and achieve it, Oprah!)

Kale Chips. Make some. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Jeff is in Orlando. I just turned the furnace back on.

Back in 2009, Jeff decided to take a family photo after we returned home from church on Easter.

I have never seen a photo represent our family as well as this one. Jeff? Happy. The rest of us? On the edge of something wicked.

We did a bit better in 2010.

(The kids weren’t cooperating, so Jeff and I decided to make the most of it.)

This year’s photo is Very Much Okay.

(I’m not liking Flickr’s new photo editing options. Change is so hard, people. Especially when you lose your white balance option.) A much better photo from our Easter is this one:

When I was a kid, my favorite cake was chocolate chip cake with no icing. Although my mom doesn’t recall making it for me, she made it for me. Fairly often. I’ve been searching out a similar cake recipe for years, and I’ve finally found one that I love. (The layers of cinnamon and sugar take this cake right over the edge. Go make it right now. I’m making another one tomorrow. Really. Because I’m still hungry.)

I was going to tell you all about last night’s produce haul at the co-op, but today is the only day this week during which I have a four hour block of time to work on freelance. My four hour block begins in ten minutes.

Tomorrow is another day. A day for discussing mangos and kale chips! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The oven is my beetbox and I just ordered a pizza. Good Friday, indeed.

It feels like Saturday, doesn’t it? It does.

This morning I hung out at the hospital while my mom had surgery on her ankle. (Necrotic tissue, bone spurs, ice machine and elevation for a week, you get the picture. All is now well, although she got really sick to her stomach right after I left. I tend to have that effect on people.) While at the hospital, my dad and I strolled over to the cafeteria where I ate the worst hummus in the history of chick peas. I really should have known that hospital hummus wouldn’t be good. Lesson? Learned.

This afternoon? We picked up one of Meredith’s friends and then quickly dropped Harper off at a friend’s house. Do you remember that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Harrison Ford replaces the golden idol with a bag of sand? We’re doing that with kids this weekend. Drop off a kid, pick a kid up. Pick a kid up, drop off a kid. Harper weighs about 43 pounds. I’m guessing Meredith’s friend comes in at around 58 pounds. (Harper’s packed suitcase weighed around 15 pounds.) Equilibrium has been achieved.

Earlier this week, I attended my second-to-last PTO meeting as Treasurer.

The Things I Love The Most In Life On Friday, April Sixth
1. My family, my friends, my church, and all of the other stuff I’m supposed to list first.

2. Beets that have been wrapped in foil and baked at 400 degrees for an hour, then sprinkled with sea salt and olive oil. Seriously. Try it.

3. This song, which is full of bad words and 100% better than the original, which is sung by a woman who is known at The Pudding House for having dirty feet. (Last week Harper went out to get the mail with no shoes on. Meredith yelled, “No! You’re going to get Ke$ha feet!” My job here is done.)

4. Knowing that after May 1st, I will never have to sit at a big PTO table in front of a group of 20 (or so) people ever again. My voice has shaken and my eyes have rolled into the back of my head many times this year. (Incidentally, I’ve been reading a lot about introversion over the past several months, and I’ve learned that it’s okay to be me (la la laaaah!) and it’s okay to absolutely hate being at the front of the room and it’s okay to not attend events that make me feel awkward and it’s okay to be known as the person who always cancels. Similarly, it’s okay that not everyone wants to be my friend and although I’m still struggling with that one a bit, I *do* know that I have a few friends with whom I’m tight, and I just finished a 32 ounce cup of Diet Dr. Pepper, and the caffeine is sort of manifesting itself in this parenthetical aside. My whole self-awareness thing is so boring for you, isn’t it? I should warn you before I go off like this! Anyway!) Last Tuesday we held the election for next year’s officers, and it was announced that I wasn’t adding my name to the ballot because I want to increase my volunteer time at school. That’s not necessarily true. My volunteer time completely depends on the girls’ teachers and if they would like me to give spelling tests or grade papers or do anything else I can to save them some time. The reason I didn’t run again is because I would rather sit in the back of the room than in the front of the room. When the May meeting is over I plan on driving straight to Houlihan’s and treating myself to a chocolate martini with a Ding Dong sidecar, and it will look a little something like this.

Something Completely Different: I’ve been on a kick to finish a few knitting projects.

A few weeks ago, I finished my Damask. I really should have placed a quarter or a squirrel or something on the shawl so you could get some perspective. It’s really more of a shawlette, I suppose.

Last week I finished my Guernsey Wrap. It’s huge and cozy and I’m finally figuring out ways to wear it that don’t inspire Meredith to accuse me of trying to look like Jesus.

Last night I finished my cotton Liesl. It’s red and blocking and maybe I’ll show it to you next week. I’m currently working on a Seraphim for Jeff’s author who sends us towers of gifts each Christmas, along with handspun fingerless mitts for Gina. AND, I’m feeling the urge to try to spin a pound of fiber and make a sweater out of it. (It’s the Knitmore Girls Spin Along, Knit Along (aka SPAKAL)!)

Also, I’m seriously thinking about planting a salsa garden in my front yard.

Enjoy your Easter.

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I probably think this song is about me…

Do you remember back in December when Harper had that weird fever thing that ended up being an unusual strep strain?

She had the weird fever thing again last week. No other symptoms, just a fever that went as high as 103.6. Sadly, the only time the doctor could get us in was thirty minutes after Harper performed a fashion show for me—complete with a black velvet dress and black eyeshadow. (I let her keep the dress on for the appointment, but made her spend the entire twenty minute drive scrubbing her eyelids with makeup remover pads.) The verdict? “I think it’s a sinus infection.”

By the way, stay away from the internet when you’re searching out information on high fevers with no other symptoms.

Today I’m at a bit of a standstill with my latest freelance project, so I’m meeting my mom for lunch, getting a haircut, and thinking about cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen for Meredith’s sleepover on Friday. (Harp is attending her very first sleepover that evening, so we’re letting Meredith have a friend over for the night. Sadly, because of the weird timing, we’ll be missing one of my favorite church services of the year. It’s a quiet service. A powerful service. It’s the service that killed me dead two years ago when the flaming wick from the candle lighter’s big golden candle lighting tool thinger dinger broke off and fell onto the aisle carpeting—forcing the candle lighter to do a hilarious little dance to extinguish the flame. I could barely hold myself together, and then I started thinking about the time I watched a fly die in church and the time my thumb busted open and started squirting blood in church, and I can barely type right now because the tears are starting to roll.)

Sunday is Easter. Last Easter was my very worst Easter ever.

I just realized that I’m spending this entire post linking to myself. (Please know that right before I begin each new paragraph, I smile at myself in a mirror for twenty seconds. Well, hello there, Lady! Hi, Lady! Lady! You’re my night in shining armor, and I love you.)

Four years ago I wrote backwards on my face with eyeliner for Easter, and then I almost got sued. To keep with my me! Me! ME! theme, here you go.

Yes. The paper towels are off of the holder. Please know that we replaced that ridiculous paper towel holder after finally admitting that unscrewing the top to replace the roll was just too much of an ordeal for us. What a living hell that thing was.

Incidentally, the very eyeliner I used to write on my face fell into the toilet yesterday morning. Gone forever. (As much as I love my eye doctor, I don’t want to risk needing to see him because I’ve been blinded by makeup that may or may not have been contaminated by human waste.) ((And, yes. I don’t use eyeliner very often. After having it for more than four years, it was probably time for that thing to go. I know makeup tends to last longer than raw chicken, but I can’t really keep any of it straight.))

Hey! I finished two knitting projects. Let’s talk about them next time.

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P-Funk All Stars Perform The Anxious Puppy Blues

I’m moving back to Nashville.

(I’m not really moving back to Nashville.)

As you know, we spent a few days in Nashville last week. The entire trip lasted less than 60 hours from start to finish, which wasn’t nearly enough for me. I often wonder how my life would be different had we stayed in Nashville after getting married in 2001. I can’t help but think we would be struggling a bit more. AND, because I’m a clever blend of “The world revolves around me” and “Every time a butterfly flaps its wings, it changes the course of something else” I wonder if Nashville would still be Nashville without us there. I love Nashville just the way it is, so perhaps leaving it was the best decision. If you love something set it free or time keeps on ticking into the future or step off the crack, Jack and make a new plan, Stan.

A day will soon come when my kids no longer want to sit in a gigantic rocking chair. During our trip to Nashville, they sat in it twice and posed for photos. Together. Last night Meredith pulled me aside and asked if she could help pick out her summer clothes this year. The basic short/t-shirt combinations that I tend to buy in bulk at Target are no longer her style. Also, late last week she told me that I shouldn’t be wearing black shoes with light jeans. “Maybe a different pair of black shoes would work, but those don’t look that good. No offense.” Her Smiling in a Big Rocking Chair days are numbered.

One of our favorite meals in Nashville was breakfast at The Pfunky Griddle. Each table had a griddle built in, and if you go for the all you can eat pancake breakfast, the griddle is turned on and the staff continues to deliver wheat and white batter to the table. (Everyone gets to choose one topping. Harper went with M&M’s. Meredith went for chocolate chips. Jeff? Blueberries. Me? Banana slices, plus a side of vegetarian sausage. I mixed it all together and made banana/sausage pancakes. Not bad.)

Did you notice that Meredith is wearing a hoodie in that photo? I’m telling you, the child is living on the edge these days.

While we were gone, we boarded the puppies at their vet office. When I called on Wednesday, I was told that Henry was a bit of a “Nervous Nellie” at first, but he was now doing well with eating and playing. When I called on Thursday, I was told that both dogs were “doing great” and playing/eating/having a great time. When we arrived to pick them up on Friday, the woman in charge of the boarding facility came out and told us that Henry had a horrible experience during his stay. They couldn’t get him in and out of his crate very well, they had to get the help of one of the veterinarians because he was starting to get aggressive, he never pooped, and on and on until I interrupted and said, “Every time I called to check on the dogs, I was told that they were doing really well. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?”

Vet Tech: Well, I guess it depends on who you talked to. They may not have been familiar with the situation.

Me: They may not have been familiar, yet they gave me a glowing report. That bothers me.

Vet Tech: Well, the next time you board, you could consider having a sedative prescribed for Henry so he deals with the situation a bit better.

Me: Had I known he was going nuts, I could have asked for him to be given something during THIS visit. Again, it really bothers me that I wasn’t told what was going on.

Vet Tech: There are a lot of big dogs here right now.

Me: I sometimes dream about taking a nap in a bathtub filled with scrambled eggs. That doesn’t change the fact that something could have been done to help my dog.

When we got Henry home, he pooped for three hours (I’m exaggerating. Slightly.), and then slept for nearly twelve hours. I don’t believe we’ll board him again. (The thing that bugs me? I really like everyone at the vet office. And I know their job is hard. And I know that it’s a busy time of year. And I know, or at least I hope that everyone was doing their best. Still, I hate that Henry was terrified for sixty straight hours.)

In my mind, this truck is filled with the pink slime everyone seems to be talking about. Also, it could be filled with a scrambled egg type of substance that stays at ninety nine degrees indefinitely. For my bathtub. Because I’m sleepy.

(Heads Up: Yesterday I renewed Fluid Pudding for two more years, so you’ve got me until I’m almost 44, if not longer. Cheers to us.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Nashville Cats Play Clean as Country Water

I come to you today from a hotel bed in Nashville, Tennessee. The Pudding family normally takes a cold weather trip before Christmas, but that trip didn’t happen this year. (The cold weather didn’t happen this year, either. Perhaps the cold weather relies on our plan to leave town. Next month I’ll be apologizing to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change.) Anyway. Because we were all itching to hit the road, we chose to spend the girls’ spring break in the town where, in 2001, Jeff and I decided to seal the deal and make some babies. It’s been entirely too long.

We spent part of our afternoon in Franklin, Tennessee, and WHOOSH! So many memories. This is the street where I used to work. This is the ice cream shop that my co-worker and I often visited when we were feeling disgruntled. This is the road where that co-worker told me how he knew he was gay. This is the old stove factory where I held a door for Naomi Judd, and she stared right at me as if it was my JOB to hold the door for her, and then she passed on through without thanking me. (She has porcelain skin and a cactus where her heart should be.) This is the Starbucks I once visited less than ten minutes after Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman visited it! This is the art store where I bought the supplies to make our wedding invitations!

The afternoon ended with “This is the steakhouse where you can throw peanuts on the floor.” AND, because God tends to high five me at least once a day, the steakhouse now has veggie skewers! My dinner consisted of a veggie skewer and one of my very favorite Nashvillian combinations: A baked sweet potato and sweet tea.

Keep being Nashville, Nashville.

I wouldn’t have you any other way. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand.

The phone rings. I pick it up.

Me: Hello?

Guy: Angela?

Me: Yes.

Guy: Hello there! It’s Ben from The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time!

Me: Oh! Hi there!

Ben: I’m just calling to wish you a happy two year anniversary with the Sonata!

Me: Has it really been two years?

Ben: It has! Are you still liking the car?

Me: We’re loving the car!

Ben: Great! Well, this might sound silly, but I’m calling to give you my phone number in case you ever want to send one of your friends or family members over to The Place Where You Bought A Car One Time. If they actually buy a car from me, I’ll send you fifty dollars!

Me: That doesn’t sound silly. I spent fifty dollars filling up my tank this morning!

Ben: I hear you. (He continues talking and Henry decides that he needs to go outside and my potato finishes baking in the oven and everything is happening all at once, so my brain hiccups and all I hear is…) …so Happy Anniversary!

(Suddenly, Henry is knocking on the back door and I’m balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin and I have my hands in the oven and I have completely forgotten why I’m on the telephone, so I do what you do when a pleasant-sounding man wishes you a happy anniversary.)

Me: Happy anniversary. I love you.

(Suddenly, I realize what I have done, and I quickly hang up. You see, I do not love Ben, but I also don’t want to hurt his feelings so soon after using the L word.)

((If you’re interested in a Hyundai, let me know if you need a guy. I’m curious to see if he’d really send fifty bucks to a married lady who just confessed that she’s interested in a tasty side dish that she hasn’t heard from in over two years.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

We shall surely reproduce!

(I suppose I should say re-produce. My oven? It is bunless. My countertop? It is full. Of produce.)

Because I’m trying my best to be one of those stinky hippies who eat only from the ground (also trees and bushes!), I decided to sign The Puddings up at our community produce co-op. $21.50 for a big basket/box/bag of fruits and vegetables that will feed a family of four for two weeks? Count me in! (Please know that I know that my kids will probably refuse to touch roughly 73.4% of the score. This means that every two weeks I’ll be picking up enough fruits and vegetables to feed MY family for three point two weeks! If I had the patience to do the math and I could somehow figure in the fact that both kids will probably move away for college, it means this: If I buy in to the co-op every two weeks for approximately seven point eight years, I think Jeff and I will have enough fruits and vegetables to feed us until we’re ready for assisted living! I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO CAN AND/OR DEHYDRATE!!!)

When I paid for the first installment last week, I was sent an e-mail that held a short list of what may or may not be included in the next delivery, along with the address of the home where the truck drops everything off (or: …along with the address of the home off which the truck drops! Everything!).

“Please pick up your produce between 5:30 and 6:00.”

Because the girls and I are nothing if not punctual, we left our house at 5:10 and arrived at the delivery location at around 5:20. We were told that this week was a bit weird because the truck normally arrives at 5:00, which gives everyone time to unload and sort before people start arriving at 5:30. Personally, I was thrilled with the delay, because helping unload the truck and divide the gazillions of zucchinis and cabbages was possibly the most thrilling thing I’ve done in months! (Someday I’ll attach a cord to my torso and jump off of a bridge. In the meantime, I shall sort produce!)

At the end of the day, we ended up with a huge pile of food.

6 bananas
5 apples
1 bag green beans
2 eggplants
1 pineapple
1 container of strawberries
1 container of baby bella mushrooms
1 bunch of green onions
1 puppy forehead
4 zucchini
1 cabbage
1 Bibb lettuce
1 head of broccoli
2 bunches of cilantro
6 kiwi
1 puppy nose

The girls will enjoy the bananas, the strawberries, the apples (they’re already gone), and the pineapple. The green beans are questionable because they don’t come in a can. I’ll be “forcing” five bites of the eggplant. This evening for dinner I’ll be grilling zucchini. Tomorrow for lunch I’ll be roasting broccoli. The kiwi will all go to Jeff, as kiwi makes my tongue go numb, and Meredith and Harper have complained that they suffer the same effects.

I’ll be making baby bella lettuce wraps with the mushrooms and Bibb lettuce.

I’ll be removing my Birkenstocks from their box in just a few hours.

Harper owns a broom skirt.

I haven’t shaved my left leg in nearly two months.

It’s happening.
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Sunday!

The chocolate chip banana bread did not last long in our house.

I haven’t shared a Henry photo in quite some time.

My pewter Damask is folded in half and is currently blocking on my bed. (I tried to stretch it out, but trying to even out the scalloped edges was driving me insane. You know how it is with those scalloped edges.)