Back in my early driving career, I would always find myself on a rural road, in a big damn hurry to get someplace where I was already five minutes past due. One of the things about living where I do - there are a hundred different backroads to the 'big' towns nearby. Ever the optimist, I would cut my departure time to the bone, and then figure I knew enough shortcuts to get me to my destination with time to spare.

Invariably, I would find myself on a rural road with no shoulders and hairpin, blind turns, following a senior citizen in a Buick, going about twenty miles per hour. I used to joke that one day I would write my autobiography, and title it "Stuck Behind A Buick Doing 20."
Life was so high-speed - late to class, late to work, paper due in the morning, only two dollars worth of gas in the car, and a test on Friday. I was always rushing, because I couldn't plan to save my life.

Not that the chicken minus head routine was a bad thing - I got a nice buzz off of the adreneline that accompanied a 100 yard dash to the timeclock. Oh, the frustration I felt cruising along BELOW THE LIMIT behind a pastel car with a broad, flaring rear. "Go! GO! I've got somewhere to be. I'm late. GO!" Lucky for those other drivers, I didn't have much rage to share with the world. I still don't.

Thinking about Lee's blogging burnout, I reflected on my own wimpy entries the last few days. In my case, it's not burnout, just life. Lee persists in calling me JehNAY ala Forrest Gump...which got me thinking about chocolates. (My stream of consciousness entries are my best work, huh?) Anyway, somehow I got to thinking about my life, and chocolate and came up with this:

No longer stuck behind a Buick, I am now slogging through chocolate pudding. Chocolate Pudding. That's right. (I know, I'm a nutbar.)

The more I thought about it, the funnier it became. So I present my compelling reasoning on Jenny's Life Is Like Slogging Through Chocolate Pudding.

By Jenny, of course.

I seem to still be in a huge hurry all the time, but at this point in my life, it's not the Buick doing me in. The kids, with their tidal pull and all the flotsam and jetsam they toss about are the scapegoats now.

Of course, it still is my fault for insufficient planning and gross overestimation of my mad departure skillz, yo. And that is where the pudding comes in.

My dad used to try to convince my younger brother to try foods by telling him they tasted "just like pudding." Stuffing, for example. My brother never fell for it, and I suspect that he isn't a huge fan of the pudding. It's a texture thing for him. Which reminds me, I need to start using that on my kids, who like the pudding just fine.

Anyway - have you ever walked through a muddy field, feeling the grip of the mud trying to suck your boots right off your feet? You find yourself digging your toes deep into the sole of your boots and high-stepping to the other side. There is always slipping, and the fear that if you slow for a minute, you'll be stuck.

Getting ready to leave the house with the kids is like that, only with chocolate pudding. There is a sweetness to it, even as it grabs your shoes and stains your pants. Like those rare moments when I was stuck behind Grandma and lifted my eyes to the surrounding orchards and rolling hills, it feels good to slow down and slog a bit.

When I am faced with missing shoes and a toddler who WILL do it herself - that chocolate aroma will sneak up on me, and help me to laugh as I notice the determined look of my baby as she struggles with her coat, or the heel of a shoe poking out of the toy box.

Actually, my house is like a giant box FILLED with pudding. It envelopes us as we move through our day. I've learned over time that thrashing and flailing leads to children who make pudding angels as I'm trying to pull them out of the goo. You have to be one with the pudding. Flowing, gliding, moving fluidly. Short, jerky movements don't work well. It's like a constantly moving ballet to keep this family flowing. A pudding ballet. Dude.

That is exactly my problem - I approach parenting like a sheep herding dog. I'm busy running around and barking and keeping the flock together and moving. I'm so busy controlling, in fact, that I lose sight of the beauty of sheep. Er, pudding. Yes. I never roll my sheep in pudding. I think. I'm so confused.

Okay, I need some hip-waders and another cup of coffee. And, like my brother, I think I've lost the Love of the Pudding.