Fluid Pudding : Page 89 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Holes In My Head

At age 32, when I became pregnant with Meredith, I removed my Billy Pancake ring (long story) along with the four “extra” earrings in my ears. For whatever reason, I viewed Pregnancy as a time to say goodbye to superfluosity, which is not a recognized word in the English language. (Apparently, I’m making up a lot of non-words these days. Unimaginability!)

When I was at Camp KIP (I know! Here I go again with the mentioning of knitting camp! NOW I’m actually calling it by name! Next up? I’ll probably rename my goofy website “Fluid Pudding Goes to Knitting Camp!”), I noticed a LOT of people with “extra” earrings, and some of the pierced folks were moms and some were not and I couldn’t stop wishing that I hadn’t removed my tiny hoops over eight years ago. Because, really. Being a mom doesn’t necessarily mean you’re allowed only two earrings, three pairs of khaki capri pants, and four t-shirts with subdued floral prints. There really is no Mom Costume, right? Am I right?

Last night we met some friends from New York for dinner, and the last time we saw these particular friends was nearly ten years ago—before any of us had kids. Last night there were four kids at our table, and for whatever reason, it really hit me that not much has changed in the past ten years, yet we’re now a party of eight instead of a party of four—BUT we can still talk about good music and books that poke our brains. (Can you tell that I’m typing this out really quickly? It’s very difficult (yet such a rattlesnaking cliché) to describe how some things change yet others stay the same, and perhaps I should have relegated this particular Ironing Out to my handwritten journal, but sadly, my handwritten journal doesn’t even exist at this time. I keep meaning to get back into pulling out my notebook every morning, but then I don’t. I could learn so much from this guy. (I actually cried when I watched that video. (Happy HandToFace Crying.) His website is here, and is one of my new favorites.) Where was I? Have I closed all of my parenthetical asides?!)

After we ate at Fitz’s last night, we walked to FroYo, whose website blasts annoying loud music, and I feel the need to warn you before I actually link to it. To get to FroYo, you have to pass by Phoenix Rising. (Fact: Nearly fifteen years ago, I purchased tiny hoop earrings at Phoenix Rising, and I’m now unable to find those hoops.) As we sat around eating our frozen yogurt, the pull became too much for me. I excused myself, walked next door, asked if they had tiny hoops (they did—at five dollars per pair!), quickly checked out, and was back in my yogurt seat in less than five minutes.

I am pleased to report that I have replaced three of my hoops, and only one of my three chosen holes needed to be partially redrilled. (In case you’re wondering about the fourth hole, I’m not quite sure I can get away with having a hoop on the top of my ear. For now, that story will remain untold. Also, I will not redo Billy Pancake.)

Suddenly, my ears look eight years younger.

Speaking of which, you know that I stuffed my mouth with marshmallows for you, I eyelinered my face for you, and I Sharpied my hands for you. My birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and I’m out of ideas. Feel free to challenge me.
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This is (mostly) NOT another post about knitting camp.

Confession: I’m one of those big whiny babies who blasts from three to ten when the outside temperature travels more than ten degrees beyond my comfort zone. On any given day in August, if you put your ear against my house, you will not hear the ocean. You will hear me getting out of the shower and screaming, “It’s HOT IN THIS HOUSE! I’m out of the shower and I’m SWEATING DOWN MY BACK!!! Somebody FIX THIS!!!” (I know. The current estimated world population is 6,894,765,132. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that most of those people probably don’t have residential air conditioning. My rule: We can all complain about three things in life. One of my chosen three is Torridity. I am not completely unlike Scarlett O’Hara.) ((If you’re curious, another of my chosen three is the fact that the best French onion soup is made with beef broth, and Vegetarian Me is really bummed out about that.)) (((I’ll keep the third thing to myself so I can change it desultorily.))) Fact: Today I used the word unimaginability for the first time, and I now see that it isn’t actually a word. Imaginability? Yes. Unimaginable? Yes. Unimaginability? No. And I was feeling so SMART when I said it!

Back to business. The temperature in our room at knitting camp was difficult to regulate. On two separate occasions, my friend and I had to walk to the front desk and ask how to switch the unit from Hot to Cold. (The answer? Press seventeen different buttons in the correct order to turn the Sun into a Snowflake! Obvious!) Eventually, we were able to reach our inner Mordecai Meirowitz to transform Sun to Snowflake, but it wasn’t enough. We then became ambitious and decided to figure out how to increase the intensity of the air flow.

I am pleased to report that after finding our remote control manual for the air/heating unit, we learned that the available settings were Low, Medium, High, and CHAOS. (The all-caps treatment was theirs, not mine.) CHAOS! When we took our unit to CHAOS, the room filled with butterflies, and three days later there was a tornado in Luxembourg. The End.
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Average gestation for a llama? 350 days!

If you’ve been with me since March of 2006, you know that I’m a sucker for alpacas.

The photos in that entry have disappeared, but because TimeWaster is my middle name (Thanks, Mom and Dad!), I searched our external hard drive and found them for you!

Here they are, ordered as they appeared in the original post—over five years ago!

By the way, this is what Jeff and the girls looked like over five years ago.

(If everything Steve Miller says is true, we will be doing this in about a week.)

Anyway. Over the weekend I discovered that not only do I love alpacas, I also love llamas! (You know what? I’m going to throw caution to the wind over here and just say it. I love ALL camelids!)

Just look at this guy, who may or may not really be a girl! (I’ve been calling him Barack O’Llama, so let’s go with Boy.) He was sheared on Friday morning, and I was able to walk away with a tiny bag of his hair. I’m going to plant that hair in my back yard, and when I wake up with a yard full of adorable baby llamas, you will be the first to know.

(A dream is a wish your heart makes.)
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I’ll spin you a yarn!

Hey, you guys. Look what I’m making.

It’s yarn. AND, because I tend to let my new obsessions go all crazy, I just spent a little too much time looking at spinning wheels. Conclusion: They’re expensive.

If you have a strong opinion/recommendation, tell me what sort of wheel I need. (Need. Yep. I know. Need is a strong word. I’m sort of lucky to not Need much of anything. How about telling me what sort of wheel I might want?)

(I know that portability is currently at the top of my list of features, only because I saw about four or five people toting their wheels around this weekend, and the women whose wheels were in cases seemed very smiley to me.)

((I’m currently looking at the Kromski Sonata or a Schacht Ladybug, mainly because I know of a local dealer, and buying locally is always a good idea. Any opinions?))

(((Please know that it is going to take at least a year for me to save up for such a purchase, so a hasty decision isn’t an option. Research is key.)))

((((If you are a manufacturer of spinning wheels and you want to send a wheel to me because you have wheels that you like to give away to enthusiastic beginners? I’ll send a huge batch of cake balls to you, and I’ll make sure to mention your wheel by name every single time I throw up a spinning post. Because I love you.))))

Edited to add: If you want to see a brief recap of camp from The Knitmore Girls and Miss Kalendar from Brass Needles, you can follow this link!
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Welcome to Knitting Camp! With wifi!

I’m coming to you this morning from Camp KIP! Because when you go camping, you often have a wireless network connection, right? We arrived Wednesday afternoon at four o’clock-ish, and I quickly learned that most of this week’s campers consist of knitting podcasters and the people who love knitting podcasters.

All of this to say: I have work to do. Podcasts to upload! Decisions to make regarding which podcasters are worthy of my (valuable?) time! (I currently listen to three podcasts: This American Life, The Moth, and Stash and Burn. Feel free to recommend other podcasts that I shouldn’t be missing, and I’ll figure out what part of my hygiene routine I can eliminate to score some more time!)

What I’ve learned so far: I sort of enjoy the whole Making Yarn With a Drop Spindle thing! My friend from afar presented me with the drop spindle she used when she was learning, along with a bunch of beautiful roving, and we sat and we spun and I forgot the wire that connects my camera to my computer or else I would show you exactly what I’m talking about.

AND, because Some Things Are Meant to Be, last night I won a lovely BFL/silk braid of roving, which means the spinning thing is something I really shouldn’t give up any time soon, because the universe is providing me with supplies. So there you go.

Yesterday evening we had a beer tasting at the on-site microbrewery. While there, I learned that I’m not really cut out for beer tasting, especially when my fellow tasters are saying things like, “Budweiser tastes like pee! That’s not beer!” and “Check out the nutmeg notes and hint of papaya in this one!” I felt a bit out of sorts and could only say things like, “I think this one smells like chocolate, but tastes like coffee! I want to pour it over ice cream! SortOfButNotReally!” (I wrote the entire experience off when the person giving the presentation made two slightly homophobic references. Ugh. Time to bail and go spin!)

Today is vendor day, meaning people are coming in from miles around to sell us stuff. (I hope someone is selling falafel, because I have a hankering.)

I’ll have photos to share when I get back home. I hope you’re doing well!
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I will mangle your microwave and cripple your coffeepot.

I volunteer at the girls’ school at least three days each week, and I totally love being there. I love the teachers, I love the office staff, I love the kids, I love using the word Love, and so on! (I *did* try to employ my reliable thesaurus in order to tune down the Love a bit, and it was recommended that I say something like “I get a bang out of the teachers” or “I lust for the office staff.” I believe I will stick with Love. Thus it is, and so it goes.)

Yesterday afternoon my mom and I volunteered to help 73 first and second graders make paper. About an hour before the kids were to arrive, the teacher showed us how to make pulp in the blender and asked us to fill nine tubs with different colored pulps. Sixty minutes to fill nine tubs with pulp. Duck soup.

After about four or five tubs, we broke the blender. And when I say “we broke the blender” I simply mean that the blender stopped working. I don’t believe we did anything incorrectly—it just overheated or something and died. (It took the microwave down with it, so I can only assume this was an electrical issue. However, when we tried to plug the blender in at a working outlet? It once again did not work. This story is growing entirely too long. May I bring you a blanket?)

The teacher, who is admirably unflappable and kind, handed some cash over and asked if I could go to the store and grab another blender. Yes I can! Mom and I rushed out, grabbed another blender, returned to the school, and made another three tubs of pulp before the second blender broke. At that point, we felt a bit Lucy and Ethel-esque.

My mom (making small talk to distract me from freaking out): Do you still have that weird spot on your hip?

Me: Yep. I think I’m going to have it cut off after knitting camp.

My mom: You know, I’m pretty good at making paper. Maybe I could cut that thing off of your hip!

Both of us: Ha Ha HA HA HA!!!!!

We were able to make due with the pulp we created before Operation Blender Annihilation, and 73 students made some pretty awesome paper before Mom and I headed home for the day. Excellent. (This morning I helped 21 kids plant grass seeds in cups, and at one point I actually said, “I don’t think you want to see me lose my patience.” As my kids know, this is the final thing I tend to say before completely losing my cool. Luckily, I was able to finish the planting and exit the building without showing everyone my ugly Jekyll/Hyde spin kick transformation. (No disrespect intended toward those with actual split personality disorders. (Bases? Covered!)))

I’m getting ready for next week’s knitting camp, and I plan on taking you with me if the WiFi connection is as great as they say. (Dear Coffee Lady, I know. This is NOT real camping, is it?!) I’m taking my current lace weight project (a Pi Shawl made from Noro “Sekku”), a DK weight project (a Seraphim made of Silky Wool), a worsted weight project (a short-sleeved Liesl made of ruby Sierra), and my latest obsession: a Taygete made from Scout’s Swag and Sanguine Gryphon sock yarns. (It’s for my migraine doctor. Because she always admires my knitting and she hasn’t yet given up on the bugs in my head.)

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Meditation and Sweaters

Headache Doctor: So, are you currently taking any medication regularly other than Zonisamide and the multivitamin?

Me: I take a sleep aid at night.

Headache Doctor: How many times per week do you take it?

Me: Well, probably three times per week. Maybe more. Mostly more. Okay then. Seven nights per week.

Headache Doctor: We need to get you off of that. Ideally, you should be able to fall asleep and stay asleep without chemical intervention. What is your caffeine intake?

Me: I drink two or three cups of coffee each day, and I try to finish the final one before ten in the morning. With that said, I’m definitely stretching the truth, because here it is, almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m drinking out of a Starbucks cup! Busted! I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT DECEITFULNESS!

Headache Doctor: Knowing that you SHOULD drink the final one before ten is a good start. Have you ever done yoga or meditation for relaxation?

Me: We joined a gym about three weeks ago, and I really should check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes! AND, now that I’ve said that sentence out loud, I think we both know that the last thing I’m going to do is check the schedule to see if they offer yoga classes. I’m scared to death of the gym. There’s a pool there. I have no idea how to swim, I have no desire to learn how to turn on a stair machine, I know what a Kettlebell is, but I sort of feel the urge to cancel friendships with anyone who asks me to swing one around. I hate the smell of sweat. I feel awkward during all time not spent sitting on my couch, and sometimes I feel awkward when I AM on my couch. So, yeah. I take pills to sleep and sometimes I drink coffee all day. You should see my Hanes Her Way underpants. Dear God, I’ve got problems.

From there, it continued to sputter downhill. Eventually, I found my way home from the headache doctor (I see her again in May. I really need to knit that woman a pair of socks for dealing with my Crazy.), and I immediately logged in to Audible where I downloaded Buddhist Meditation for Beginners by Jack Kornfield. I am not Buddhist, nor do I buy into meditation. (The thought of being barefoot makes me a bit jittery, and once I’m on the floor I can’t get back up very well. Perhaps I need to take a class at the gym! Or swimming lessons! I know. Oh, people. Don’t hug me.)

Anyway, I’ve now put the meditation guide onto my iPod, and I’ve started listening to it every night for the past five nights. Get this: I haven’t heard more than four minutes of the silly thing because I keep falling asleep and not waking up until a cello starts playing at around the five and a half hour mark. In other words, I’m in bed taking in more than five hours of God knows what (accompanied by pan flutes!) while I slumber like a stinking baby! Meditation? Yes. It totally works. Passively.

(I really need to find out if hypnopaedia was truly discredited as a method of learning, because if I could be getting my realtor license or something while I slept, I would feel a hell of a lot more marketable. Imagine the possibilities!)

Hey! I finished a sweater. It’s a Liesl made out of Cascade 220, and I sort of want to make a cotton version (not so green, maybe?) with short sleeves to wear during the summer months.

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I just don’t want to be Tessie.

In approximately two weeks, I will be attending a knitting camp, where I believe there will be both knitting and camping. Sadly, I’ve done what I always seem to do, which is: Not keep up with the message board discussions where the camp is discussed. SO, in two weeks, my friend (who is flying in from far far away) and I will be driving to the campground, where I will be The Woman Who Has No Idea What’s Happening.

Me: Oh! A sheep shearing?! How wonderful! I had no idea!

Me: Oh! I have latrine duty?! Fiddlesticks! I probably should have read the message boards!

Me: Oh! We’re doing a real life version of The Lottery?! Hrm! I’m not quite sure this is what I signed up for, but really? I don’t know WHAT I signed up for! PleaseGodDon’tMakeMeBeTessie.

I do know that at one point during the registration process I paid $25 extra to NOT have to sleep on a bunk bed (really! I’m that kind of person!), but then the camp location changed to a place that doesn’t have bunk beds (hooray!) and DOES have a microbrewery on site (what?!). In other words, UPGRADE! I’ve also heard rumors that an outdoor movie will be shown, and that the movie may be Mamma Mia! (Please know that the exclamation point used in that last sentence is not intended to indicate my own excitement about Mamma Mia! being shown. Seriously.) Anyway, since Hell for me involves spontaneous singing and dancing and high-five lady hug crazyville, there’s a good chance that if the movie is a mandatory event, more than one hundred knitters are going to witness this before the end of the night.

Perhaps it’s time for me to start a warning thread on those message boards…
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We’re picking up our needle and moving to another groove.

So, it’s Spring Break at The Pudding Chalet, and your guess is as good as mine as far as what Spring Break should entail. We were going to go see Rango, but one kid called the other kid a Liar, and that’s really all it takes to cancel a movie. (Confession: It doesn’t really take much to cancel a movie. Especially if I have no desire to see that movie. With that said, we don’t do name calling at The Pudding Chalet.)

Jeff’s dad gave us a lava lamp several years ago when we were dating. I’m still not really sure why, but I sort of went with it, as I often do. By the way, the neighbors down the street now have a huge wooden stork in their front yard, and that huge wooden stork is holding a sign that says “Taylor, 6 lbs. 15 oz., March 17th!” This afternoon Meredith came up to me and said, “If the neighbors can’t find a home for Taylor before the end of the week, can we take her?”

Me: Yes. But before we continue with this conversation, can you tell me what you think Taylor is?

Meredith: I think she’s a puppy.

When I broke the news to Meredith that although WE know that storks deliver pickles, there are some people out there who like to pretend that storks deliver babies, and sadly (sadly?!) Taylor is a BABY and NOT a puppy. (Meredith knows that storks do NOT deliver babies. She also knows that she was pulled (quite unnaturally, with the use of a spinal block of all things) from my abdominal region. She also knows that because of this highly unnatural way to enter the world, there’s a 23% chance that she’ll raise some sort of whimsical hell someday. Anyway. Where was I? Storks! Pickles! Puppies!)

Have I told you that we’re probably getting a puppy at the end of April? Sort of like the lava lamp thing, I’m just nodding my head and going with it. When it happens, you’ll be the first to know. By the way, I got a pair of jeans yesterday, and they call themselves Slim Boyfriend, and for whatever reason, that makes me want to hear this song over and over. (Have I ever told you about my bus ride to Atlanta when I *did* hear that song over and over?) Hey. Tell me a gallbladder story. Because I think I’m starting this sort of stuff up again, and I want somebody to sing a song about beet juice to me.
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Great Balls of Cake!

If you’ve been with me for the past few months, you’ve heard me mention cake balls. If you know what cake balls are and you’re not a fan, I’m about to offer you a hall pass, because there’s not much here for you to see. If you don’t know what cake balls are? Well, it’s Christmas in March, people. Gather around.

I bought the Cake Pops book back in December and have probably made at least a dozen batches of cake balls. In fact, I’m sort of shmooing myself into That Lady Who Always Has Cake Balls. If there’s a trivia night? I’m bringing cake balls. Book club? Cake balls. It’s your birthday? Cake balls. Parent/Teacher Conferences? Cake balls, Cake balls, Cake balls. (I’m proud to report that a friend called with a Cake Ball Emergency a few weeks back, and I was able to provide cake balls. This goes down as one of my proudest moments. 1. Raising kids that don’t suck. 2. Playing Chopin on the piano. 3. Being able to stay calm and deliver during a cake ball emergency.)

Let’s make some cake balls, shall we? The first thing you need to do is bake a cake in a 9 x 13 pan. You can do it by scratch, but I have no idea why you would want to. For this particular batch of cake balls, I baked a Duncan Hines lemon cake. When the cake is done and completely cooled, grab a big bowl and crumble the heck out of the cake. For you, this might be the best part of the process. For me? It’s pretty horrible. I HATE TOUCHING FOOD. Anyway, crumble it until all of the big crumbs are gone. When you’re done, it will look something like this.

Next up? Grab a container of icing. If you have the Cake Pops book, Bakerella has provided a really great grid that lists cake and icing flavors that blend well for the best possible cake balls/pops. For this batch, I went with Lemon Supreme.

And this is where I want to tell you that I normally go in and try to make my photos look good, but this is Migraine Week for me. My migraine hit on Tuesday, and it was at its worst late Wednesday night, and then yesterday afternoon I was hit with some sort of stomach thing and this has nothing to do with that! Back to the cake balls!

Stir no more than 3/4 of the icing container into the cake crumbs. (Helpful hint: Stir using the BACK of the spoon.) If you add the whole container, it’s going to get all goopy, and you definitely do NOT want goopy. When you’re all done stirring it in, it’s going to look like this:

Now the really fun/disgusting part begins. (Once again, this all revolves around your ability to touch food without cringing. These cake balls have been sort of therapeutic for me, I suppose.) It’s time to ball! (What?) Grab a hunk (I hate the word hunk), roll it into about the size of a golf ball, and place it onto a waxed paper lined baking sheet. You’ll notice that your hands start to get gross after about six balls. Please wash them frequently during the balling process. (Hello! Due to that last sentence, I just got 23 hits from people searching for something completely unrelated to cake!) Anyway, frequent hand washing will make the whole thing run a lot more smoothly. (Perhaps I’m projecting. Wash your hands. Wash them. Right now. Go.) One more thing. Don’t roll the cake balls too tightly, if that makes sense. You’re going to be refrigerating them for several hours (or putting them in the freezer for several minutes) and if they’re rolled too tightly, they might crack.

At this point, I normally refrigerate the balls overnight. (I like to spread the cake ball process out over two days. That’s just how I do it. I know a few people who put the balls into the freezer for ten minutes before the dipping phase. It all depends on how much time you have.) Anyway. Onward to the dipping!

I went to Michael’s and bought a bunch of the Wilton’s Candy Melts. They come in a bunch of different colors and are really easy to work with. (I find that it takes about 1 1/3 bags per batch.) If you don’t feel like dealing with that, you can also melt chocolate chips or bark or whatever. (I’ve never done that personally, but I know people who have, and their balls turn out beautifully. I’m no longer trying to be careful about the ball thing. Everyone is welcome at Fluid Pudding.) Anyway.

Here you see a bowl of the melted baking chips and three chilled cake balls ready to be dipped.

Toss a cake ball into the melted chips.

Using a spoon, make sure the ball is completely covered with chocolate/bark/melt/whatever.

CAREFULLY pick it up out of the melted chocolate with the spoon and carefully roll it to the edge of the spoon and sort of tap the excess chocolate off of the spoon. (You’ll develop your own technique in no time. I sort of do a lift Lift LIFT taptaptap motion. Whatever works.)

Roll the ball from the spoon onto another waxed paper lined baking sheet. (If some of the chocolate comes off of the cake ball, you can use your spoon to cover the rough spot with more chocolate. You’ll see what I mean. These things are completely user-friendly.)

After you put a few cake balls onto the baking sheet, feel free to dump sprinkles onto the top or maybe hit them with a different colored icing or whatever strikes you as being sort of fabulous. This particular batch (pink lemonade cake balls) were for Meredith’s Girl Scout troop, so I wanted them to be quirky. Whatever works for you works for the cake balls. Zen. (I always get about 32 cake balls per cake.) NOW, go make some. I would tell you to take a photo and leave a link in the comments so we can all admire your creation, but I know at least three of you who are going to mess this up for everyone. I’m on the couch and hardly in a mood for moderation. (You don’t know this, but this is the roughest you’ve seen me in quite some time. I’m wearing a baseball hat and am severely unshowered.) Cake balls!!!
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