Fluid Pudding : Page 82 of 123 : It's the old small talk!

Urine for a Surprise!

So, remember yesterday when I mentioned that something in the house smelled like urine? I noticed that the odor was stronger when I was sitting at the computer, which made me think it was something in the kitchen. Later in the afternoon, I noticed that it was pretty terrible when I was driving the car, meaning the smell was also in the car! This morning when I threw on yesterday’s jeans so I could watch the kids waiting for the bus, I noticed that the smell was pretty terrible when I was sitting on my bed putting on my shoes.

When I stepped out of my room, BOTH kids immediately put their hands over their noses.

Meredith: WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!?!

Harper: IT SMELLS LIKE DOG PEE!!!

Me: No. No! NOooooooo!

I quickly ran back into the bedroom and asked Jeff to smell my jeans.

Jeff: Holy! Um, yeah. Your jeans stink.

Yesterday I stood in the elementary school office and talked to THREE different people while exuding a bouquet of urine. I am mortified.

A few minutes ago, I went down to get clothes out of the dryer, and found that the clean (and dry) clothes ALL smell like urine!

Do you remember three years ago when my towels were stinky?! Apparently, the madness never ends.

(Please know this: There is no urine on the clothes. Neither dog has had an accident in the house in quite some time, and the cats no longer go into our bedroom, where the dirty clothes are kept. I haven’t peed in my pants since I attempted to use a Neti pot while pregnant with Meredith. Enigmatic Urine will be my next CB handle.)

((What bothers me the most is the fact that I couldn’t put two and two together to realize that I was a walking sample of pee perfume all day yesterday. I definitely detected the smell more when I was sitting down. In other words: When my NOSE was closer to my PANTS.))

One more thing: I hate when adults walk up to a pregnant woman and call her “Mommy” as in, “When is the blessing due, Mommy?” I will never NOT be creeped out by that. Similarly (not really, but I have nowhere else to put this), yesterday I was at the bank (smelling like pee) when the bank teller had to repeat herself to a customer several times. Finally, the customer said, “I think my ears are full of wax!” She was not joking. Dear Lord, Lady. I don’t know ANYONE with whom I would feel comfortable enough to blurt out ear wax confessions. (I’m still not quite over the fact that Jeff smelled my pee pants.)

And another thing: I felt fine all day yesterday. For dinner, I had a tiny bit of salmon. Within minutes, I was sneezing and all congested and I felt like I was getting a migraine. HOWEVER, within two hours I was back to normal. Jeff thinks it was environmental allergies. I think it’s time to admit that fish DO have souls and perhaps I shouldn’t be eating them. Ever. (I rarely eat them. You can’t really be a full-on vegetarian if you’re eating a fish, right?)

The new Jeffrey Eugenides book came out on Tuesday. (It was delivered to my Nook at 3:06 in the morning. I’ve been dealing with goofy insomnia lately, so I was actually awake and ON the Nook when it arrived. I dove in immediately. Serendipity.) ((Oh! Our closest independent bookstore now sells eBooks. This makes me so happy.)) What are you reading these days?

UPDATED TO ADD: I actually found the story about my Neti Pot! Here it is. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m just over here doing Tuesday.

Hello!

It appears that October is already 1/3 of the way over, and that raises my anxiety levels a bit because: Due to circumstances beyond my control but not REALLY beyond my control, I am now the head room parent for Meredith’s class AND Harper’s class. I filled out the form and said something like, “I will NOT be the head room parent, because I like to visit both girls’ classrooms during each of the parties.”

Last week I got the call. “No one has signed up to be a room parent for Meredith’s class. You’re the only one who sent in the form saying you will be at all parties. Will you do it?” AND, because Meredith’s teacher is currently on maternity leave and I don’t want the substitute teacher to have to deal with it, I reluctantly stepped forward.

A few days later, I received the news that Harper’s class doesn’t have a head room parent, either. Well, in my eyes, it’s not really fair that I’m doing it for Meredith and NOT for Harper, so I got all sloppy drunk and stepped up. (Disclaimer: There was no alcohol involved. I really have no idea what takes over and forces me to raise my hand when asked to do something that I don’t really want to do. Increased epinephrine levels? Hubris? The constant yearning for heroic background music to start playing when I so something that terrifies me?)

I won’t bother you with Hermionic (I just made that word up to compare myself to Hermione in Harry Potter. Meredith is reading the Harry Potter books right now, and she just reached the point where Ron notices that Hermione has three classes scheduled for 9:00 in the morning. I loved that part.) logistics. I’ll just say this: One of the big things I remember from my third grade Halloween party was when our teacher brought in a Crock Pot and melted caramels all morning so we could dip apple slices in the pot in the afternoon. I decided to recreate that memory for Meredith’s class. AND, then I received the note. Someone has an apple allergy. Also, there’s an egg allergy that includes anything MADE with eggs. Pork allergy. (No worries on that one.) Shellfish allergy. (Mollusks, anyone?) Peanut allergy. (That’s pretty much a given these days, isn’t it?) I have no idea what I’ll be doing, but please rest assured that I *will* figure something out. Hopefully.

Something in my house smells like urine, but I don’t believe it’s urine. What an interesting time of year it is.

Speaking of The Time of The Year, every year our church makes a huge batch of apple butter, and every year I purchase a jar and go all crazy with it. Apple butter in my hot tea. Apple butter on French vanilla ice cream. Spoonful of apple butter just because it’s 3:17 in the afternoon. This year I came up with the greatest apple butter combination that I’ve had so far: Take a tortilla (I prefer Flatout), spread about two tablespoons of apple butter on it, throw two slices of pepper jack cheese on top, roll it up, and you’re about to eat The Greatest Wrap Ever. The only thing that might make it better is to add something that crunches. Spinach, perhaps?

I took a spinning class last week, and two people in my life assumed that the class had something to do with sitting on a stationary bike. Instead, it had everything to do with drafting methods and getting the yarn to look right on the bobbin and Navajo plying and so forth. On Sunday afternoon, I spun two ounces of Lisa Souza’s Wensleydale in “Sky Drama.”

It’s pretty sloppy because the staple length is longer than what I’m used to (and I’m still not so good with achieving even bobbins). BUT, it’s so shiny and colorful and I can’t wait to see how it looks when it’s plied and lovely. My short-term spinning goal involves trying out as many fiber blends as I can. Spinning has become so meditative and therapeutic. I highly recommend it.

Meredith won a raffle which will enable her to be the school principal for the day on Thursday. She will start her day thirty minutes before the other students arrive, and will spend the entire day with the principal. They will have lunch, they will meet with the superintendent, and they will monitor classrooms together. At the end of the day, Meredith will be writing up a small report that will be included in the weekly newsletter. Meredith has already planned her outfit, is a bit upset that I refused to purchase a suit with heels for her, and is already brainstorming on how to make her school a better place.

Meredith: We really need to somehow get kids to try harder to behave.

Harper: I am already trying AS HARD AS I CAN!

Meredith: I bet you can try harder. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ah-ah-ah… Scieszka! Bless You!

It has been One Of Those Weeks. We realized on Monday that our license plates expired in September. SO, on Tuesday I took the car in for an inspection, and it failed because of a malfunctioning LED brake strip. We quickly scheduled an appointment at the dealer, because it seems that no one else carries the strip. On Wednesday morning, I left the house at 6:45, drove in the type of traffic that terrifies me, arrived at the dealer for my 7:30 appointment, and was quickly told that they would have to order the part.

Guy at Dealer: It might be in tomorrow, but it might take up to five days.

Me: I might take a Xanax tomorrow. I might take five right now.

Guy at Dealer: Pardon me?

Me: Where can I get a Diet Dr. Pepper in this joint?

Add these tiny inconveniences to the fact that I’ve misplaced my tiny scissors (I KNOW!), we have yet another $100 vet bill for Henry, I’m doing that Stressed About A Deadline thing that I tend to always do when I have a deadline, and yeesh. Thank God for Jon Scieszka. (My life is charmed. Please know that I know.)

I’ve always enjoyed going to book readings, and taking my kids to meet authors. Because I believe that Writers Can Be Rock Stars, I was super jazzed last week when I heard that Jon Scieszka was going to be at the girls’ school this morning, as I consider him to be one of the funniest authors of all time. (I went to see him in October of 1998 when Squids Will Be Squids was released. I actually left work early that day and camped out in the bookstore cafe so I could arrive before the kids who would be coming after school. I was 28. They were 7. I won.) Thursday. Scieszka. Yes. I’m in.

Enter: The Wrench.

Harper, who LOVES Squids Will Be Squids as well as The Stinky Cheese Man, takes classes at the middle school on Thursdays, meaning she wouldn’t be able to see Mr. Scieszka at the elementary.

Luckily, he had an appearance scheduled last night at the library headquarters.

Harper and I put on our glad rags and headed out.

Because we crave high-brow literary outings. (And pretzel M&Ms.)

We got there early enough to nab front row seats. AND, sadly, because the Cardinals are doing the “We Might Go to the World Series” thing, not very many people followed us in. (I was expecting a HUGE crowd. Those stinking Cardinals. (Of course, I’m kidding. I BLEED RED! (Not really.))) At about 7:10, Mr. Scieszka (rhymes with Fresca, because some of you were wondering) began telling us about his childhood, and about his books.

Despite the sort of crap week I’ve been having so far (WHERE ARE MY TINY SCISSORS?!), I sat there and laughed until I was crying. CRYING! I really should read you the story from Cowboy and Octopus that did me in. BUT, if you didn’t laugh, I would feel all weird. Anyway. After the Q&A session, he signed books.

I’m pleased to report that the book he signed on October 14, 1998 has been signed again.

AND, best of all, Harper now has her first signed book.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Bad Wheels and Baby Heads

A week has passed, and my ankle is still messed up.

“Go to the DOCTOR!” you say, and to that I reply, “I did!” Last Friday my sister was in town and the two of us went to Fleet Feet where she bought some amazing socks, and I was fitted for running shoes. Although the shoe fitting wasn’t nearly as awkward as a bra fitting, I will admit that taking off my socks and shoes and having a young man stick his finger under my foot for arch assessment felt a bit strange.

Young Man at Fleet Feet: Now I’d like to watch you walk.

Me: Yeah, I bet you would, Sparky.

Anyway, what he REALLY wanted to do was watch me run so he could study my style, but my ankle was hurting so badly that running was impossible. Walking was nearly impossible. (The only thing that didn’t feel nearly impossible to me that day was eating a big veggie sandwich from Great Harvest. I killed that one.) When my sister went home, I headed to the doctor who ordered an x-ray. (Sadly, they couldn’t read the x-ray until Monday, so I spent the weekend not really knowing if my ankle was broken or sprained.)

Anyway, on Saturday, our school hosted the Fall Festival which is a pretty incredible event where the price of admission includes food, drinks, pony rides, a petting zoo, games, prizes, balloon sculptures, caricatures, etc. Not included in the ticket price? Everyone who attended Fall Festival was greeted by yours truly. Because I was taking the money.

Here is an actual photo of me taking the money.

I could write a book (not really) about the sad/maddening things I witnessed at the Fall Festival, but I’ll spare you. No. Wait. Two things. 1. If an event is scheduled to last from 3:30 until 7:00 and you show up at 5:00? Don’t ask me to cut the ticket price in half. It makes me feel awkward because I really want to help you, and it makes you look cheap because I see that you have a wallet full of cash. 2. If every piece of Fall Festival correspondence has gone home with a statement that says something like, “No drop-offs are allowed. All children MUST be accompanied by a paid adult.”, don’t drop your kids off. Yes. They’ll probably be okay. BUT, what if they fall off of a horse or choke on a hot dog or simply raise the type of ten-year-old hell that shouldn’t really be raised at a family event? You are not above the rules.

By the time I got home Saturday night, my ankle felt like it was the size of a baby head. I limped out to the garage and took another x-ray. (Our radiology equipment is outdated, but it still does the trick.) Sure enough.

On Sunday, I took it easy and worked on a boatload of freelance.

On Monday? The doctor called and told me that my ankle is not broken. Also, I am NOT growing a baby in my left foot. What I have is a sprain, and what I need is eight weeks of taking it easy.

And that’s unacceptable. BECAUSE, remember those running shoes I was fitted for? Wait. Let me reword that. Remember those running shoes for which I was fitted?! They were $140 at Fleet Feet, which made it pretty easy to walk away and say, “I need to see what’s up with my ankle before I commit to such a pricey pair of shoes.” However, yesterday I found them on sale at Running Warehouse, and after finding an additional coupon code, I managed to get them for 2/3 of their suggested retail price. All of this means that I need to get back to running because I now have running shoes. And a good sports bra. And cute running shorts with underpants sewn in. (The only two things left on my list are arch supports and some foot hugging socks.)

One more thing.

Henry is still itchy. BUT, with the veterinarian’s approval, I have taken him off of all medications except for the twice daily antihistamine. The poor guy has been on antibiotics for the past five weeks, along with steroids, flea preventatives, mite injections, and antifungals. Yesterday he received his final round of vaccinations. It just seems to be too much. (I know I’m not an expert.) SO, we’re now blank slating him for a week to see what happens with The Itch.

Oh! One more thing. I spun more yarn.

It’s Aramanth by Dyeabolical, and I love it.

Enjoy your Thursday. I believe now is the time (for all good men) to bake brownies. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Pudding Down!

You know, I rarely start things out like this, but: Damnit.

As you know, I’ve been running. I leave the house at around 5:30 in the morning, I get to the gym at 5:36, I sit in the parking lot and blow my nose 37 times because I’m one of those people who has to blow her nose 37 times in the morning, I wish myself good luck, and then I head to the track to do my Couch to 5K gig.

On Monday, I did the Week Three, Day One run, which consisted of two 90 second runs, two THREE MINUTE runs (Argh!), some walks here and there, one tiny stumble (foreshadowing!), and lots of sweating and hating of running. On Monday night, my left ankle was hurting, and was approximately the size of a knee. I decided to show it to Jeff.

Me: Does my ankle look swollen to you?

Jeff: The right one looks slightly larger than the left.

Me: Wrong. You’re wrong.

I felt okay knowing that the pain wasn’t crazy and that the swelling clearly wasn’t as intense as I thought. The next day was my No Run Celebration Day, so I spent the afternoon doing the ice thing and the heat thing. On Tuesday evening I met a friend for dinner (roasted vegetable salad!) and on the way home I stopped and purchased an ankle brace for the Wednesday morning run. (Get a load of me Not Quitting!)

On Wednesday morning, my ankle was feeling slightly unstable, but not terrible. I put the brace on and decided to be a hero. I arrived at the gym at approximately 5:41. (I struggled with the brace for about five minutes. That explains the 5:41. Just in case you were wondering.) I blew my nose. I entered the building. I greeted a friend who was already running. I did my five minute warm up walk. “Ding! Run!” I took off running and lasted for about twenty seconds before my ankle started screaming for me to stop. I sat down and took the brace off and decided to try again. “STOP! EEEEEAUGH!!!! AAAARRRROOOOOO!!!!” (That was my ankle being a siren and/or a Beagle.)

I’m supposed to run again tomorrow morning. There’s no way I can make it with my ankle hurting the way it is right now. I’m bummed. Completely. I was doing so WELL. I was actually surprising MYSELF with how well I was doing. (Please know that I’m not quitting. This is just a bump in the road.)

I just spent twenty minutes taking photographs of my ankles to show you what Lefty looks like. Wow. These ankles of mine are severely unphotogenic. You don’t need to see them. With that said, I challenge you to take a beautiful photo of your ankle. If you succeed, you have my respect for life.

Wait. Before I go? Thanks so much for commenting on my ten anniversary thing. Each and every one of you is a superstar. (I want to eat lunch with you.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh, the places we’ve gone.

You guys, today is my ten year anniversary at Fluid Pudding. Ten years. (This is where we started.) I wanted to do something really meaningful to celebrate a decade with you. Artistic nude photo? Yes! (No.) Video blog? My awkwardness is contagious! You didn’t come here to squirm! At the last minute, I decided to celebrate by creating something that I love.

I love burritos.

I took two slices of Muenster cheese and placed them (lovingly) on a Flatout. (When I SEE Flatout, I think “PHLAT out”. When I SAY Flatout, I say, “phlah TOOT.”)

I then sliced a SweeTango and placed the slices (passionately) on top of the cheese.

Finally, I rolled it up (as you do) and ate it.

Ten years. Some of you have been with me since before I was married.

You stuck with me during both pregnancies.

And both births.

You listened to me sing.

You dealt with my headaches and my eczema.

You don’t laugh when I fall down. You humor me when I knit stuff and when I sing songs about cake balls and when I make my dogs lick your face and when I stuff my own face with marshmallows.

You always make me feel like I’m exactly where I should be.

You know about Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, right? Get this. I just learned that you can make oatmeal pie balls by smooshing up Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies, rolling them into balls, and dipping them.

They look just like cake balls on the outside, but when you bite into them, you are right back in elementary school and it’s snowing outside and your mom has a roast in the oven and Christmas is right around the corner.

They’re magical. And they take less than an hour to put together. And you don’t have to bake a cake. You don’t have to bake anything!

Instead of doing a giveaway for my ten year Fluid Pudding anniversary, I’d like to ask you to do something for me. Would you please leave a comment below so I know you’re still with me? I wouldn’t be here without you, you know.

The traditional ten year anniversary gift is tin. For that reason, I dedicate this song to you.

(I know.)

Thank you for sticking around. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Just filling you in over here…

Remember Henry? Yep. He’s still itchy. Yesterday morning I took him to a new vet where they did a few skin scrapes and found that his bacteria and yeast numbers are through the roof, even though he had a bath less than twelve hours before the appointment. He is now on another round of antibiotics, an antihistamine, and an antifungal. Luckily, this veterinarian firmly believes that he’s entirely too young for a food allergy, so I can once again give the pills in a tiny piece of hot dog. Do you have any idea how much my quality of life improves when I can give a dog a pill in a hot dog slice?

Speaking of The Improvement of My Life, let me tell you a story about an apple. Last year, a friend of mine told me how excited she was that SweeTango apples were back in season. I’ve never heard of anyone getting excited about an apple before, so I headed to the store and grabbed a few for myself. Immediately, my entire world was turned upside down. These are the most delicious apples I have ever tasted. EVER. They’re crisp. They’re sweet. They’re perfect. I must have eaten 25,000 SweeTango apples last fall, and the day I went to the store and found that they were no longer available, I was horrified. “What? What?! I have to wait until next FALL for ANOTHER?!”

I’ve been following the SweeTango page on Facebook. In other words, I’ve been keeping up with orchard news for the past few weeks. I even sent a quick note to them and found out that the apples would be delivered to St. Louis “during the week of September 12th.” On Monday, September 12th, I went to the store that carries the SweeTango apples. They weren’t there. I went back on Tuesday. Still not there. I went back on Wednesday and Thursday. No apples. Last night after Jeff left the house and the girls were in bed, a friend of mine posted a photo of a SweeTango that had just been taken off of the truck in St. Louis. I actually squealed. (And then I cried because I refuse to leave the house when I’m the only adult and the girls are in bed. I hate that I’m such a good mom like that…)

The girls boarded the bus this morning at approximately 8:17. At 8:18, I was in my car on the way to the store.

Oh, people. I spent $11.49 on seven apples, and I could not be happier.

I’ve already eaten four today. (Yes. I should probably slow down. Just remember: They’re APPLES. Not shots of booze. I’ll be okay.) ((Is it weird that I’m making a list of things I can sell to support my SweeTango habit?))

True Story: A few minutes ago, I called my doctor to see if she wanted to talk about a new medication I’m going to try. (Long story.) She doesn’t want to see me! She’s just going to give me some samples! Four apples a day kept my doctor away!

And another thing: Other than the SweeTango, this is my current favorite thing.

It’s a scarf made out of Berroco Link yarn. It’s knit on size 35 needles, which is like knitting with big bass drum mallets, and it comes together in less than an hour. The scarf I’m wearing in that photo was started at 1:00 this afternoon. I wove the ends in at 1:49. (I made this one last week.) Hint: If you’re going to buy the yarn, I recommend going to your local yarn store. If they can’t get it and you have to order it online, I highly recommend NobleKnits. The shipping is free, and the price is slightly better than most places. Merry Christmas to everyone. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Running, Working, Spinning, Fighting!

This morning I got up and ran at 5:30. Seriously. I did. I’m not even lying to you. AND, I’m the first to admit that This Is Not Me.

Let me tell you the reasons why I loved running at 5:30.

1. I had the track to myself for the first twenty minutes. SO, I was able to try new running styles without feeling all weird, and I was able to sing along with my running playlist. As much as I hate running, it felt sort of awesome to be traveling in circles while singing Heretic Pride.

2. I got a really great parking spot at the gym. Last week when I went on a Friday at 6:00 in the morning? I had to park thirty miles away from the front door. This morning at 5:30? I stepped out of my car and into the gym.

3. For a few moments, I was the youngest person working out. I’m very rarely the youngest person anywhere.

4. I was back home before the kids got up.

After Jeff left for work and the kids left for school, I grabbed my laptop to get some freelance work done at a coffee dump. I got my coffee (which I view as Rent when I’m about to hog a two seater table), opened up my computer, and found that the battery was dead. I had charged it all afternoon yesterday, so this whole dead thing stirred me up a bit. (Especially since I had just spent $4.11 on a 16 oz. coffee that I did not need.) I packed everything back up, went to the store for edamame, a salad, and some macaroni and cheese, came back home, and discovered that the outlet strip I had used yesterday was in need of resetting. As I bore you with these details, the laptop is charging and I’ll be heading out again in a few hours.

Meanwhile, since my original plan was wrenched, I decided to spin the remainder of my first bobbin of Amaranth. I’ve never spun anything with silk content before (honestly, I haven’t spun much of anything because I was operating under the false assumption that my wheel was broken. Whee! I know nothing! But I’m learning!), and I’m loving it. So shiny! My plan is to spin the remaining two ounces before the weekend, and then ply them together. AND, depending on the result, I’m envisioning a shiny pink cowl. Or fingerless mitts. Or a thick and thin beret? (I realize my single ply is highly uneven. I’m working really hard at drafting the amount required to produce thicker yarns. This bobbin reflects my very happy experiment.)

Tonight I’m hooking up with some friends from high school for Mexican food and fist fighting.

Back to your Tuesday, then. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Stirring of the Stumps

So, it has been nearly two months since I told my doctor I was going to do a Couch to 5K program. School started, and I didn’t get off of the couch. I used my surgery as an excuse to stay on the couch a little longer. Then I got a cold. It’s difficult to run when you’re on the couch with a cold. (I’ve got the couch part down. Funny how I think about running only when it’s impossible for me to run. “Tra la la. I should be running, but it’s tricky when the anesthesia is wearing off, so here I lie. Fiddle dee dee!”)

My sister is a runner. When I told her that I was toying with the idea of running, she started calling to encourage me to put my shoes on.

Jen: So. How’s the running going?

Me: Well, I’ve got that surgery in two weeks and right now I need to shave these legs of mine and…

Jen: Ang. I think you’re okay to get started.

Me: I can’t hear you.

I set my start date for Tuesday. The day after Labor Day. My running day. Yes. Tuesday. And then I had to take Henry to the vet and get through some paperwork for school and figure out what I was going to wear for a meeting, and damnit. I finally reached the point where I was getting sick of my own excuses. SO, I watched this video again.

(It makes me cry Every Time I Watch It. I’ve watched My 120 Pound Journey about 25 times now, and I can barely think about it without my lip quivering. The most recent Shrek movie made me cry. Glee does it to me fairly often. Toy Story 3? I was a mess. I have no idea what’s happening over here.)

Yesterday morning I got out of the shower and put my “running” shorts on. I call them running shorts because they’re slippery. I then reached into my Drawer o’ Underpants and pulled out two sports bras. The first one was a nursing bra that was purchased to hold my lactaters back, and it always seemed to come unhooked at unfortunate times. (This is not an option at the track.) The second one? I purchased it during my sophomore year in college. Because I was really getting into the Jane Fonda workout. The year was 1990. My sports bra is 21 years old, and I am no longer the same shape that I was when I was 20, but I didn’t let that stop me. I wrestled myself into the thing and immediately felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. (I then said a little prayer that the bra would be the ONLY cause of tightness in my chest.)

Confession: When I think about running, I am terrified of two things: 1. That my heart will explode. 2. That I will pee myself.

I found my athletic shoes, loaded my running app onto the iPod, ate a banana while telling myself that the extra potassium will hug my heart and prevent it from exploding, and drove to the gym.

The first thing the app does is choose a tune from your iPod. Then it says something like, “Ding! Walk!” So, I walked. And as I walked, I watched the program count down to my first sixty seconds of Run. And when I had less than ten seconds to go before Run, I started freaking out. It’s happening. It’s happening.

Three.
Two.
One.
“Ding! Run!”

I took off running like someone was chasing me, and it didn’t take long before I realized that I didn’t really know how to handle running. Three other people (who knew what they were doing, as evidenced by their cute running clothes) were running, and if I would have kept up at my “Someone is CHASING ME HOLY CRAP!” pace, I would have lapped them repeatedly. I slowed down to a jog and immediately felt a lot less frantic. “Ding! Walk!” Yes.

Because I’m a huge fan of experimentation, every time I got the “Ding! Run!” I practiced a new style of running in order to figure out what was the most comfortable. Do I use my heels? Do I run on the balls of my feet? Do I kick my legs backward? I tried everything, and sadly, I never found a style that felt right. (I *do* know that the heel-to-toe method felt very wrong.) If anyone was watching me, I’m sure I provided great entertainment as I sweated and panted and snorted and hopped and repeatedly replaced the ear buds that kept falling out of my ears.

When I noticed that I had only one more run followed by a five minute cool down walk, I got really excited to hear if I would be congratulated when the workout was over. I ran a little faster. I walked with a bit more bounce. And then the vocal track went out on my iPod, and I immediately knew that I was having a stroke. I was sweaty, my right leg felt like it was about to separate itself from my torso, I was seeing a few spots before my eyes, and I could no longer hear Cee Lo Green. It’s all over.

And then it WAS all over. Week One, Day One. Completed.

Tomorrow is Week One, Day Two. And just typing that makes it seem like a plan. I just need to figure out HOW to run. (Do you use your heels? Do you kick your legs up? I would hate to think that I’m running the exact way that will surely lead to a heart explosion or a bladder failure…)

Don’t look at me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Snorting and Stomping

Jeff came home early from work last Tuesday because he had a terrible cold. He’s not one to jump the gun on sick days, so it really surprised me when he stayed home on Wednesday, too. On Thursday, when I started feeling heaviness in my head, I was So Angry. Friday found me home alone with the animals, who were not happy to see me cocooned in my robe on the couch sneezing and coughing and drinking hot tea and yelling things like “Jeff! Why did you DO this to ME-HE-He-he?!”

Yes. This is all about me having a little cold. Intriguing! I really need to start planning some adventures. Know that I know that.

Side note: I hate taking cold medicine. I hate the hungover feeling that comes with it. I would rather not take anything and suffer through the symptoms than swallow a pill that makes me feel hazy. On Friday afternoon, I raided our medicine cabinet for cold medicine. I could NOT fight this without help. The cabinet was empty. (It’s actually pretty full—of nail polish and magnesium supplements and some weird gauze thing and pain pills that expired back in 1996.) I called Jeff and asked him to stop by Walgreens and get something for me.

Jeff: What do you need?

Me: EDDIEDING DAT WILL BAKE BE FEEL BEDDAH!!!

Thirty minutes later, he arrived with Pretzel M&M’s, a dark chocolate Milky Way, a Twix, and some sort of Three Musketeers wafer thing. (He knows me so well.)

Another side note: A friend of mine knew that I was feeling punky, and she delivered Delhi’s Chaat (#30 on the menu) to me earlier in the day. I am terribly lucky to have people who get my need for chocolate and Indian food.

I spent most of Saturday in my bed and on the couch. I found that it helped a bit to stand up and scream, “I’m MISERABLE!” for anyone who might be interested. (Not many were interested.) I have no idea where Sunday went. I honestly have no memory of Sunday. I turned a corner yesterday morning, and celebrated by juicing carrots, a beet, and some ginger. It was terrible. I then juiced an apple and mixed it in, which took it from a level of Terrible 8 to Terrible 3. Drinkable. (I’m really trying to not be afraid of my juicer.)

Today is Tuesday. I have an itchy dog, and it appears that my cold is 89% gone.

(Thanks for all of the itchy dog suggestions, by the way. He has now been on the prescription food and the flea pills for four days, and he’s scratching more than ever. Although his follow-up appointment isn’t until Thursday, I’m going to try to get him in this morning.)

((Also, Scout got her first all-over groom on Saturday morning. She’s now clean, fluffy, and proud.))

(((Oh! I met with the principal last week about Regina and The Sex Girls (I know. Awesome band name.), and without missing a beat, he came up with a perfect solution. All is well.))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>