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I haven’t given anything away in a long time. Let’s fix that.
On Saturday morning, I ran to the store and found that the kid pools were on sale for $12. Knowing how much Scout was digging pool time at Puppy Camp, I couldn’t resist buying one for her (and the girls, obviously) to enjoy in the back yard. Because Scout’s legs are less than six inches long, we folded one of the pool sides down and added about two inches of water. Dog Heaven.
As I watched the girls playing with Scout in the pool, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’m hating this hot weather. You already know this about me, so I won’t dwell on the hate. I also won’t dwell on how much I LOVE the fall. LOVE it! Cardigans! Clogs with handknit socks! Fingerless gloves! The promise of hats and snow! I’m dwelling!
Anyway. I had an idea over the weekend. It seems that I have this yarn. It’s Manos Maxima Worsted Weight Merino, and the colorway is Fire.
My photo doesn’t really show just how amazing the colors are. The yarn is a beautiful kettle-dyed red with golden highlights and hints of pink and orange, and it reminds me of autumn leaves and sunsets and apple butter and it’s soft and perfect for fingerless gloves or a hat. And that’s what I want to make for you.
As you know, one of my big things right now is for Aaron to get his bike. The bike costs $3800 and right now we have about $2200. In other words, we’re getting there! Many of you have already donated to the cause, making you eligible for this particular giveaway. Here’s the deal. If you’ve donated $10 to help Aaron get his bike, please leave a comment below. Similarly, if you send a $10 donation (via PayPal) to mousejunkie@att.net, please leave a comment below. (If you donate more than $10, feel free to send an e-mail to me if you wish (angela at fluid pudding dot com), and I’ll give you additional chances to win!) On August 15th, which is our first day of school, I am going to randomly choose someone who has made a donation. I will contact the winner and give him/her several pattern selections that would work with the yarn. I will then knit up the project and mail the finished product out before November rolls around. Imagine how smart you’ll look wearing a pair of striking autumnal fingerless mitts or a lovely fiery hat. (Like this hat!) Similarly, you could think of this as my way of helping you get started with your holiday gifts! Teachers love fingerless gloves! (I know this to be true.)
I feel strongly about a lot of things in life. Right now Aaron and his bike are very important to me. Thanks in advance for making this giveaway work! (Aaron’s Facebook group page is here.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
She was an American Girl, Tom Petty.
Early last week we drove to Kansas City, where we did a little bit of this.
(The girls did eventually enter the store.)
You know, while I was pregnant, I swore that my daughters would not become girly girls. I also swore that they wouldn’t watch a bunch of television and that they would be good eaters. Anyway. Meredith took an American Girl class at her school’s summer enrichment program, and the girls have been reading the American Girl books and choosing their favorite characters (and saving their money, believe it or not) for the past several weeks.
Meredith knew exactly who she was looking for when we entered the store—Just Like Me Doll #53. She and Jeff headed to that end of the store while Harper asked a sales associate to talk her through the historical dolls so she could make the right decision. (I think she knew exactly who she wanted, but enjoyed “interviewing” the store employee to get more facts.)
It’s Molly! Her time period in the books is set during World War II, and I knew that Harper was paying attention to this when she told Meredith that “Molly likes to sleep a lot, because sleeping helps her forget about the war.” Admittedly, I haven’t read the books, but I have to wonder what led to Harper’s immediate need to get a wheelchair for Molly. (“She won’t be able to walk again for at least two years. Or more.”) So, while Nicole (JLM#53) is jumping around and trying on earrings (Yes. Both dolls got their ears pierced at the Doll Hair Salon.), Molly is sitting in a wheelchair wishing that this whole war thing had never happened.
You may think the American Girl thing is crazy. Here’s what I think is crazy:
Crazy Fudge Guy. He slapped the fudge and threw the fudge and made bad fudge jokes and although I felt the same level of discomfort around him that I tend to feel around circus clowns and college mascots, he threw me over the edge when he passed his fudge spatula around the room and encouraged everyone to fill their finger with fresh fudge. (If you know me, you know that I cannot touch food like that. Standing around watching people fudge themselves and then lick their fingers threw me into crazy panic mode.)
So, we left and found a miniature waterfall.
Later that evening, I was able to evaluate my decision to stick with vegetarianism as Jeff ate one of the only things I miss—big deep fried crazy meat sandwiches sprinkled in powdered sugar with raspberry preserves on the side. Ah, Monte Cristo. (I remained strong. After 12 months of vegetables and beans, I will NOT let a deep fried meat and cheese sandwich bring me down!) ((I dipped my fries in the raspberry preserves.))
Remind me sometime to tell you about when we tried to make a Monte Cristo during the university days. It weighed about ten pounds and was filled with oil and was probably not very safe to eat, but we still managed to eat it, because it had taken so much effort to make—what with our lack of a proper Fry Daddy and all. We also ate a turkey on the roof of our house on New Year’s Eve and danced in the snowy street on Groundhog Day. Those were the days. Speaking of which, after we left Kansas City on Thursday, we went to Columbia, Missouri—the town where I danced in the street and ate a turkey on the roof and attempted to make a decent Monte Cristo.
Shakespeare’s doesn’t carry orange soda anymore, and I think that’s insane because nothing goes with broccoli pizza like orange soda.
(They now carry Coke products. And maybe they’ve ALWAYS carried Coke products. I don’t know, because I ALWAYS HAD ORANGE SODA. Dr. Pepper is NOT an acceptable replacement. Life can be so hard sometimes.)
The girls didn’t mind the lack of orange soda. They love Shakespeare’s. They love watching the pizza being made, and they love that the guy who was making it flipped some dough over the window for them to play with. Best of all, my love for Mizzou is rubbing off on them. The one thing they wanted to do before we left town was have their photo taken by the columns with their American Girl dolls.
(The quad was blocked off, so we had to stay on the sidewalk. Not a big deal. We’ll be back.)
On the way home, I put about three inches worth of sock on my needles.
I haven’t felt very enthusiastic about socks lately, but last week something happened that suddenly made me feel enthusiastic about socks. More on that later. When they’re done.
(We boarded Scout for four days and three nights while we were gone. When we picked her up, she had been bathed and bandanafied, and we have photo evidence that she enjoyed playing in the pool with the big dogs. Meanwhile, the cats were home entertaining ideas of us eventually returning WITHOUT Scout. Sometimes, it’s nice to dream.)
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Not all boys are jerks. But sometimes their parents are.
I’m coming to you from Kansas City, where our hotel shower feels like machine gun fire, and the pool is often filled with young boys who are here to participate in a baseball tournament. Last night I actually ventured out in my swimsuit (for the first time in years) to enjoy some pool time with the girls. When I noticed that the pool was filled with over a dozen boys hurling baseballs at each other, I joined the girls in the hot tub for a few moments, and then I headed back to the room to knit while the girls swam in the pool with Jeff.
This morning we walked over to the breakfast area, where the girls (with their new American Girl dolls) chose a table that faced a table full of baseball boy parents. When the waiter brought special high chairs to our table for the dolls (I know! It’s part of the package!), one of the moms at the next table rolled her eyes, sighed, and LOUDLY said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have girls. I can’t deal with all of that trouble. I can’t do dolls.” (She said this after traveling over 300 miles for her kid to play baseball in stupid hot temperatures! I suppose everyone has their own definition of trouble!)
Me: Shut up.
(Not really.)
Me: I’m just wondering how you’re able to teach your son manners if you don’t have any manners of your own!
(Not really.)
Me: Mmmm! Smell those pancakes! AND, know that girls tend to outperform boys in olfactory sensitivity tests! So, it’s actually EASIER to have girls than boys! You know, when it comes to smelling things and taking tests on what you’ve just smelled!
To me, kids are kids. Girls don’t have to “do” dolls just like boys don’t have to “do” baseball. You do what you do. Also, some parents are assholes. I try my best not to be.
Whoosh! I’m now coming to you from Columbia! Time keeps on slipping, and we’re off to fill my need for broccoli pizza and orange soda. Have I mentioned that we’re just a little over $1,500 away from Aaron getting his bike? This is such a good thing. (Donations are still being accepted! Feel free to join us as we reach our goal!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Couch to 5K and Back to Couch Again?
About six months ago, my doctor and I had a conversation about exercise.
Doctor: So, other than the thing on your hip, how are you feeling?
Me: I’m a little rough around the edges, but I think I’m just getting old.
Doctor: You’re 41. That’s not old.
Me: Are you flirting with me?
Doctor: If you’re having joint pain or muscle aches, you might want to ease into a workout routine. Yoga is a great place to start.
Me: Yeah. I know. I once stopped seeing a gynecologist because he looked too much like Jeff and he had his photograph on his business card! Isn’t that funny?!
Doctor: Are you trying to change the subject? Come see me again for your physical in August, and we’ll talk about how yoga is going for you.
Me: This is our last goodbye. I will see you on the 12th. Of Never.
I looked up a yoga class schedule. I did! And the bad news is that school was ending in a few weeks (My excuses smell like fresh lemonade! Delicious!) and I didn’t have a backup plan for where the kids could go while I was downward dogging, so instead of making a few calls, I decided to ride out the summer in the style of a sloth.
Last night it occurred to me that my physical is less than four weeks away. As I sat at the computer researching local frozen yogurt dumps and looking at cute photos of my dog, it hit me: Maybe it’s time for me to do a Couch to 5K program! THAT will impress my doctor! I quickly Googled Couch to 5K and honest to God, my computer crashed. Seriously. This could be a sign. (Confession: I’ve always been slightly afraid that my heart would explode someday due to overexertion. This is why a comfortable couch and a good knitting bag are so important to me.)
This morning, while standing in the shower thinking, I ironed out my Couch to 5K reality. Here’s the thing: I hate to run, and I hate being outside in the heat. Similarly, I hate to sweat, and I hate feeling that parts of me are being jostled. With that said, it’s a nine week program. Nine weeks! That’s the life expectancy of a honey bee in the summertime! If I start “running” during the first week of September, I will be done before Thanksgiving! And forever after!
Me: Will I ever run outside if it’s hot or raining or there’s a chance that someone will see me?
Me: No. BUT, we belong to the J, so I can do this whole thing inside if I want to. And I can keep my eyes closed and PRETEND that no one sees me.
Me: But what’s the fun in that? Shouldn’t I be signing up for a REAL 5K to celebrate being ABLE to run? Shouldn’t there be slow motion finish lines and crying with people you’ve never met but can’t seem to stop hugging because of joy and pain and epinephrine?!
Me: Better yet, maybe I’ll celebrate by getting up at 5:45 in the morning, driving to the J, running five kilometers on the inside track before anyone else shows up, and then driving back home where Jeff will congratulate me with a plate of pancakes. After breakfast, maybe I’ll attempt to do a cartwheel and the girls will hang one of their Little Gym medals around my neck.
Me: Yes. And then I’ll take a nap and give myself the rest of the day off to knit, spin, or whine about how much it all hurts.
Question: Have you done the Couch to 5K thing? If I do it at all, I’m going to do it on my own. I don’t want anyone else to have to depend on me, because I get all flaky when it comes to sweating. (I went to a garage sale this weekend, and as soon as I felt sweat dripping down my back, I flipped out and went home. I suppose I need to work through this “Sweat? GO HOME NOW!” response if I’m going to experience success on the track.) All caps IF I do it, you’ll be the first to know. Because I’ll need someone to give me some music recommendations. And I’ll need someone to step up and say, “It’s okay to quit if you want to.” And then I’ll need someone ELSE to say, “Hey. Let’s go grab coffee and not work out. Because we’re pretty.” It takes a village. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I’ve wrapped up the balls. Figuratively. Also, literally.
This is what a batch of 266 cake balls looks like.
Four cakes.
266 tablespoon scooped balls.
Five pounds of candy melts.
Sparkles and pearls.
The bride was pleased.
Enjoy your weekend. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Shirtsicles will not earn me any coolness points.
A few days back, we had lunch with one of Meredith’s friends and the friend’s mom. It was delightful. As expected, the girls decided to plan a play date. (I still hate that term.) Because Friend wanted to meet Scout, we planned the get together for yesterday afternoon at 12:30. (I’ve gone on and on about how bad I am at inviting the girls’ friends over, so I won’t do the broken record thing with you. You know me.)
Less than an hour into the play date, I noticed that I was sweating. So hot. Crazy hot. 84 degrees in the house. It didn’t help that I had been baking cakes and boiling chickens, but still. Shouldn’t an 18-month-old air conditioner be working better than this?!
I immediately did what anyone would do.
I stuck popsicles down my shirt and sent the kids downstairs to play. (It’s at least 15 degrees cooler downstairs.) ((By the way, do you see the look on my face? My kids know that look as the “We better turn this ship around and start puking random compliments at Mommy!” look.)) I’m sure seeing me with popsicles in my shirt made Friend downgrade my status from Okay to Junk. (Junk was her insult for Miley Cyrus, as in, “I think Miley Cyrus is junk.” I sort of like it, but toward things rather than people. “This fig dip is junk! Diet soda is junk!”)
Side story: At one point during the play date, I offered Friend some gluten-free cookies. She tried them, hated them, and then asked for one of my cucumbers.
Me: Really?
Friend: Yes.
Me: Okay. Do you need me to cut it or peel it or anything?
Friend: No, I’ll just take it.
Me: Do you need something to dip it in?
Friend: Ew. No.
I washed a cucumber, sliced off both ends, and handed it to her. She eats cucumbers like apples. She ate the entire thing. I’m 41 years old, and I’ve never seen anyone do this. Excellent. Anti-junk.
After Friend went home, I went downstairs and noticed that the air conditioner was all iced up. I called our trusty air conditioner guy and he told me to clean the filter and TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER OFF for two hours to let the ice melt. Jeff cleaned the filter and quickly took the girls to VBS—leaving me and the dog sitting in the heat. Scout, sensing how ruffled I was, quickly crawled under the table and took a nap. Me? I raged and cursed and stuck a few popsicles down my pants.
At ten o’clock in the evening, the air had cooled the house to 78 degrees, and this is nothing but good, because I had canceled all plans for today in order to sew a pair of popsicle underpants. Have I mentioned that I’m counting down the days until autumn? Only 72 more days! (My opinion: Summer is junk.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Ballad of the Unhappy Hummingbird
Last summer my lovely neighbor presented me with a hummingbird feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and the hummingbirds flocked.
A few weeks ago I pulled out the feeder. I made the sugar water, I hung the feeder on the hook, and nothing.
This morning I watched a hummingbird approach the feeder, hover for a bit, and then flit away without imbibing. I could swear I heard a very high pitched, “That place SUCKED!” as his shadow grew longer. Everyone has 24 hours in their day. I tend to sleep for about eight and a half of those, meaning I have about fifteen and a half active hours with which to work. (I use the word Active and Work pretty loosely.) I absolutely hate that I’m going to have to use some of that time to try and figure out why my hummingbirds are so angry and/or anorexic.
Hey, look! I made a skein of yarn!
The wool was dyed by Tempe and sloppily spun by me. (Lots of thick and thin spots, yet I’m pretty happy with the final result.) After finishing it up and thwacking it against the wall a few times, I became overly confident. I pulled out some merino fiber and decided to spin four ounces of lace weight. Last night found me cutting the first ounce off of my bobbin with scissors after it repeatedly broke and unwound. I’ve now ordered a used copy of The Intentional Spinner and am hoping to not lose heart too quickly.
Let’s see. What else? Scout has lost her four bottom front teeth, and it’s so adorable I could cry.
I’m getting my tubes tied the good old fashioned way on August 19th. I finally grew tired of researching all of these new-fangled permanent birth control methods and their side effects and just said, “Forget it! Let’s tie them!” The Catholic hospital where I was originally scheduled to have the Adiana procedure performed told me that they don’t want no stinkin’ tube tying going on in their operating room. The Baptist hospital said, “Us! Come to us! We’ll happily tie your tubes!” And there you go. This paragraph has absolutely nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way. Believe it or not, I love them both equally. We’re more alike than we are different.
Cake Ball Update: I’ve baked two cakes and balled 63 cake balls. So far so good. (It was sort of a fishes and loaves moment in that one cake normally yields about 50 tablespoon-sized balls. For whatever reason, my first cake gave me 63 instead of 50. I used the same mix/icing combination and I used the same scoop. Clearly, I’ve just experienced a miracle. If any of the wedding guests bite into a cake ball and see the profile of Jesus, I really won’t be surprised.) This paragraph has nothing to do with Catholics versus Baptists, by the way.
The girls have been loving Vacation Bible School this week. (This paragraph has nothing to do with, oh, nevermind.) Next week is our trip to the American Girl Store. (Yes. That’s what I said.) A few weeks later is College for Kids, and then it’s time to think about school. (We’ve already purchased our school supplies. The summer, it flies. And we haven’t even gone for snow cones yet!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Balls, Jack White, and Presidential Pizza
It’s a very exciting week in The Pudding Kitchen. This is the week that will find me mixing, baking, crumbling, blending, balling, dipping, and decorating until I have made two hundred cake balls. Two hundred cake balls that I will then transport to a reception hall for a wedding! I’ve always thought that the whole “Do what you love and the money will follow.” thing was a load of crap, but I’ve now managed to make it work more than once!
(I refuse to make a joke about Jeff being what I love. (“Do what you love.” Get it?! Raunchy!) Hrm. I *do* have more than one person in my life who believes I do nothing but spend Jeff’s money! Whee! My shoes are too nice! Back to the cake balls! 200! The average gestation of a whitetail deer is 200 days! I’m making a cake ball to represent each of those days! Venezuela just celebrated 200 years of independence! My cake balls are metaphorical!)
White cake. White icing. Blue dipping chips. 50 with white stripes and rose pearls. 50 with rose stripes and rose pearls. 50 with white AND rose stripes! 50 of I don’t know yet but it will incorporate sparkles and either the rose or the white stripes! Jack White! (But also, Catholic Throwdown with Colbert! It’s not safe for work! NKOTB!)
You might ask yourself how one prepares to put together 200 cake balls in a kitchen that’s roughly the size of a Toyota Camry. Well, I prepare by meeting one of Meredith’s friends and her mom for gluten-free pizza at Pi! If it’s good enough for President Obama, it’s good enough for me. Thus it is, and so we go. Enjoy your Monday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Love that’s only slightly soiled. Love for Sale.
Scene: I’m in the shower. The girls are on their own with the puppy. The cats are downstairs plotting.
Meredith: Mommy! MOMMY!!!
Me: What? WHAT?!
Meredith: Scout just pooped on her piddle pad and it looks like popcorn!
Me: Okay! I’ll take care of it when I get out!
Meredith: You don’t understand! I think she’s trying to tell us that she wants to go to the movies!!!
It’s Migraine Week at Fluid Pudding! I’ve been able to keep it at bay for the past two days, and as I rest and take pills, the girls have been downstairs planning a garage sale. They’ve created a To Donate stack and a To Sell stack. If you want to buy our plastic baby slide you have to pay Harper eighty dollars, although it’s probably not worth more than three.
Harper: We have to charge a lot of money so people know just how important this stuff IS to us.
Me: If it’s that important, maybe we shouldn’t sell it!
Meredith: But we need money. Mommy, you should think about selling some of your jewelry—like those earrings you were wearing yesterday.
I’ll keep you updated on our garage sale. If all goes according to the girls’ plan, we’ll be selling all of our valuables for lots and lots of money.