Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the windows. Actually, that’s not true. I woke up to my cell phone alarm going off and then shortly thereafter heard the rain coming down outside.

Normally I love nothing better than a cold, rainy morning, but yesterday I was running carpool and I had to have our dog Bruiser at the vet by 8:15.

So I was all like “WHY? WHY IS IT RAINING TODAY OF ALL DAYS?” And, granted, we desperately need the rain because according to the weathermen we’re in the middle of a DROUGHT! THE DRIEST YEAR ON RECORD! THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HAPPENED TO NOAH! IT WILL NEVER RAIN AGAIN AND THE SKY IS FALLING! ALSO, THE STOCK MARKET STINKS AND MY 401K IS DRYING UP FASTER THAN THE RIVERS THAT RUN THROUGH SOUTH TEXAS!

Oh media, I do love your frenzied, fear-inciting state of mind.

Anyway, I ended up dropping the girls off late because who knew that the carpool drop-off line is so long on rainy days? I guess if it ever rained, I would know that.

I drove home very sensibly and at a moderate pace to pick up Bruiser before we were to late for drop-off at the vet. At some point last week Bruiser incurred some type of injury to his toenail that began to look infected. Of course we couldn’t tell for sure because anytime we got anywhere near his paw, he would begin to growl at us to indicate we needed to back off. Kind of like me when I have PMS.

There’s nothing as pleasant as loading a wet, muddy dog into your Volvo unless it’s digging a large hole in your backyard for no reason at all. I dropped him off at the vet where I basically told them, “Something is wrong with his right front paw but he won’t let us look at it. He’s very sweet unless he decides to bite! Good luck and God speed!”

Then I went to Starbucks to reward myself for dealing with whiny, cold kids, rainy weather and a muddy, ill-tempered dog all before 8:30 a.m.

Around noon they called to let me know that Bruiser was ready to go. His toenail is split, he needs antibiotics and he weighs 64 pounds. That will be $100.00.

Fare thee well plans to stock up on a surplus of Gap flannel pajama bottoms at the bargain price of $9.97 a pair. The important thing is that my dog has a healthy toenail.

After I paid the bill, they handed me a brochure and a bottle of pills. They brought Bruiser out and he and his 64 pounds of solid muscle practically pulled me off my feet as we went barreling out of the vet’s office.

Once we were safely in the car, I put the pills in my purse and glanced at the brochure to see if it was something I needed to keep. I am understandably thrilled to learn that our vet clinic is now offering acupuncture and water treadmill therapy sessions.

Meanwhile, I can’t even get my doctor’s office to return my calls.

Maybe I’ll see if I can get in with my vet. Water therapy sounds delightful.

Remember last September when Hurricane Ike was supposed to hit Corpus Christi and then that very same week this tenement on wheels showed up at our neighbor’s house?

And remember how I made a lot of jokes about Cousin Eddie coming to visit and ha, ha, ha wasn’t that funny?

And then a week later the neighbors told us they’d actually bought the RV for $2500 on the internet from a man with the worst case of plumber’s crack I’d ever seen who drove it down from Wisconsin or somewhere? (The man drove it, not his plumber’s crack. Just to clarify.)

A few days after that, the metal love shack disappeared and I (falsely!) assumed that they took it to wherever it belonged, like perhaps the city dump.

However, the mobile ghetto showed up again about a week later and it’s been parked in their driveway ever since. It’s essentially the view from our back porch, which makes the high property taxes we pay to live in this neighborhood seem totally worth it.

Between the RV and the raccoon crackhouse next door, it seems like we ought to get some kind of tax rebate.

Anyway, the neighbors walked over yesterday to let us know they are going to be out of town for a few days and asked if we’d mind keeping an eye on the place while they’re gone.

Later I told P, “It would be a crying shame if someone steals that RV while they’re gone.”

To which he replied, “Yes and it would be a bigger shame if I just happened to loan someone my truck to help them steal it.”

I’m not saying it will happen. It’s a purely hypothetical scenario.

I guess I probably knew from the moment I had a daughter that a day would come when the Easy Bake Oven would enter our lives. It’s really inevitable that at some time in a girl’s life, she will be overcome with the desire to make baked goods using nothing but a packet of powder, a teaspoon of water and a 100 watt lightbulb.

So when Gulley and I were in the midst of our Christmas shopping weekend and she asked if I thought Caroline would like an Easy Bake Oven, I laid down in the aisles of Target and cried.

In reality, I told Gulley that I thought Caroline would love the oven so she bought it for her for Christmas.

Two days after Christmas we all exchanged gifts and, sure enough, Caroline was thrilled with her very own oven. Gulley’s son, Will, was so impressed that he quickly informed us that he’d like Caroline to make the cake for his birthday party using her new Easy Bake Oven, which would be such a sweet idea if the cake was larger than one serving size.

And really, even then, it would have to be just one person who doesn’t really care for dessert.

Anyway, the next day we busted out the Easy Bake Oven at the bright, sunshine-y hour of 7:00 a.m., but then tragedy struck when we realized we didn’t have any 100-watt light bulbs. P and Caroline quickly headed to Home Depot to secure the proper wattage because he is much nicer than I am and, let’s be honest, you know he was hoping for some of that cake.

Easy Baking from Big Mama on Vimeo.

There are a few things I’d like to point out about the video.

1. I have always believed that “if we don’t get stirring, it won’t be good”. It’s practically my life motto.

2. Please notice that I had my large whisk at the ready. Clearly, I’d forgotten that those packets produce about two tablespoons worth of batter and the large whisk was an ambitious choice.

3. I love the way she enunciates “CUP. CAKE.” I believe her enunciatory skills may be directly inherited from her great, great Aunt Fina who definitively ended every word with a “T”.

4. Something about the way she tells me “We can share it” seems insincere and totally reminds me of Dwight Shrute on The Office.

5. I adore the phrase “a little jiffy”. I wish I could take credit for teaching her that, but she is completely self-taught.

And speaking of self-taught, I don’t know where she learned to lick the batter of her fingers like that.

Certainly not from me.

Here’s Caroline with Scout before she left for the ranch with her daddy today.

And one more.

I don’t think Scout was sad to see her go.

One of the nice things about having a blog is that I really don’t need to use my memory to remember anything that’s happened in the last two and a half years. So about a week ago, when P and I were trying to remember how we spent last New Year’s Eve, I just pulled up December 31, 2007 from the archives to read all about it.

As it turns out, P had the flu and I was about to get it. I brought in the New Year passed out in our bed after heavy doses of Nyquil. All the scene needed was a giant Swatch watch hanging on the wall and it would have been just like my freshman year of college.

Clearly it was going to be hard to top last year’s festivities.

Over the last several months, P has become involved with a group at our church called The Sportsmen’s Group. This is basically a group of guys who like to hunt and fish. They all get together about once a month, grill stuff they’ve killed, and wear matching t-shirts that say “Meat is Murder. Tasty, Tasty Murder. In Jesus’ Name.”

Not really about the t-shirts, but I like to picture it that way in my imagination because it entertains me.

Anyway, one of the men that P has gotten to know called him on Monday and invited him to go hunting at the King Ranch. If you’re not from Texas that may mean nothing to you, but if you learned about it in 7th grade Texas History then it’s pretty cool. The only problem was that he’d be gone on New Year’s Eve.

I told him I didn’t mind at all if he wanted to go, but he needed to keep in mind that I’d planned an exciting evening involving me wearing my sexiest flannel pajama bottoms paired with an alluring 1993 SWC Champs Aggie sweatshirt and dining on a frozen Tombstone pepperoni pizza. Did he really want to miss all that?

So he packed up his guns and left for South Texas.

Caroline and I went to eat Thai food with Mimi and Bops and then she decided she wanted to spend the night with them. So I was all by myself to ring in the New Year and, honestly, it was just fine with me.

I put on my softest robe, pulled my hair back and gave myself a little mini-facial complete with an overhaul of my eyebrows. Once I settled in on the couch I gave myself a complete manicure, then sat back with the computer to enjoy five or six hundred rounds of Pathwords while I waited for the ball to drop in Times Square.

It was delightful.

But at some point, I couldn’t leave well enough alone and decided I needed to take advantage of this alone time and perform a little more beauty maintenance. I like to keep a little mystery alive in my marriage, so I try to refrain from upper lip hair removal while P is on the premises.

Yes, I said hair on my upper lip. I have olive skin and brown hair. It’s part of the Italian heritage package. And, ladies, if you are of a certain age and/or have dark hair and think you don’t have an upper lip issue, then it might be time to invest in a good magnifying mirror.

Anyway, I went in the bathroom and slathered my upper lip with Surgi-Cream hair removal, like I’ve done a million times before, but this time I immediately felt a burning sensation. I didn’t worry about it until it became apparent that the Surgi-Cream was having some sort of chemical reaction with something I’d already put on my face, so I wiped it all off as fast as I could.

Yet the burning continued.

Y’all, it was so bad that I had to apply ice for the next hour.

So, to recap, I spent my New Year’s Eve giving myself a chemical burn on my lip and repeatedly looking in the mirror to see if blisters were beginning to form before finally taking two Tylenol P.M.’s for the pain and going to bed.

My lip appears to be recovering nicely from the trauma, but here’s hoping next year I just have the flu.

I wish I had something deeply meaningful and profound to say on this last day of 2008, but that would require thought and effort.

Last night I saw an interview with a psychologist on the local news and he suggested that the best way to keep New Year’s Resolutions is to set short-term, specific goals. So, with that in mind, my goal for the New Year is to take down my Christmas decorations at some point over the upcoming weekend.

I’ll let you know how that goes and if you happen to see a Christmas tree in the background of some of my pictures come March, you’ll know it didn’t work out for me.

In the meantime, let’s do a quick look back at 2008 because it’s not a cliche at all to pull out a year-end top ten list. It’s fresh and original.

1. My only child started Kindergarten and I survived, although I did spend a few days walking the aisles of HEB crying a few tears.

2. We learned that acupuncture doesn’t necessarily work for everyone.

3. If you start your New Year with a raging case of the flu, you have nowhere to go but up and a year later you’ll forget how horrible you felt and instead remember it as a lovely week of vacation from all responsibility.

4. The internet is never more supportive than when you share the history of your hair. There isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t experience deep hair remorse at some point in her life.

5. Your own child can often be your biggest fashion critic and even offer up prayers on your behalf.

6. I learned that God doesn’t just generically know me, He really knows me. He knows my name.

7. After ten years of marriage, I discovered P’s deep dark secret. He likes to hoard car wash supplies.

8. I worried that we might have to perform plastic surgery on a homemade puppet.

9. There was a lot of time spent looking for red boots for a Wonder Woman costume.

10. Six days in the Dominican Republic with Compassion International changed my life and my perspective forever. And one little girl in particular just broke my heart and is in my prayers every day.

I believe that’s what those in the industry would call a wrap.

Thanks so much for taking the time to stop by here during the last year. It wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun without y’all.

Happy New Year!

On Saturday, P took Caroline to the ranch for the entire day. That’s right. The entire day.

I stayed in my pajamas until about noon and then decided I should treat myself to a pedicure courtesy of a gift certificate that Gulley gave me for keeping her boys last week. My toes are happy to report that they are now sporting a very sassy coat of OPI’s “I’m Not Really A Waitress”.

Seriously, I would request it just for the name even if it wasn’t a great color.

So I had myself a wonderful, relaxing day filled intermittently with escorting Christmas toys to their new home in the playroom and doing some laundry.

The mighty hunters came home to report that they had managed to shoot two ducks and a coyote. Except Caroline gets coyotes confused with hyenas and told me she’d shot a hyena, which really would have been a feat considering that, last I checked, hyenas are not indigenous to South Texas.

They told the story in great detail and it involved crawling on their tummies in an attempt to sneak up on a pack of wild hogs. Let me pause for a moment to reassure myself that I vividly remember giving birth to this child even though I cannot believe I have a daughter who will crawl through the South Texas dust and mesquite in the quest for a hog.

Anyway, as they snuck up on the hogs, Caroline saw something out of the corner of her eye and whispered, “Daddy? I think I see a baby deer or maybe it’s a fox or a hyena.” It turns out it wasn’t any of those things, but rather two coyotes standing no more than twenty yards from them, staring intently.

You just know those coyotes were thinking, “That little one will be a piece of cake, but if we can pull down the big guy we’ll eat like kings.”

Needless to say, one of the coyotes went to be with Jesus and the other one practiced good common sense and got the heck out of there.

They had so much fun on their little ranch adventure that they went back again yesterday. I decided to be slightly more productive, mainly because I had to go to the grocery store since according to P we were out of “all kinds of things”, even though all he could name was Lubriderm lotion and Vaseline lip therapy.

It’s a wonder we made it through Christmas.

I decided that I’d go over to Mimi and Bops’ house to work out on the elliptical before I went to HEB because, let’s face it, the holidays haven’t been kind to my hips. I was doing so well with my workout regime prior to the week of Christmas but fell off the bandwagon and straight into a plate of sugar cookies.

When I got to their house, Bops was home from work early and suggested I might want to try his pre-programmed workout because I think he is plotting my untimely demise. I knew it was a bad idea, made even worse when I realized my iPod was dead.

There’s no way I’m going to get through a serious workout without Beyonce cheering me on with some “Single Ladies” because it motivates me to remember that P already put a ring on it and the least I can do is make sure he still likes it.

I lasted all of ten minutes on my daddy’s workout regimen. I spent the first five minutes thinking I might die and the last five minutes wishing I would. Finally, I admitted defeat and switched the machine to my regular program which is a decent workout and won’t cause me to drop over dead.

My goal for the New Year is to be able to do the same workout routine as my 63-year-old father.

It might kill me.

But if I had to choose, I’d rather die by elliptical than by coyote attack.

Before I even begin to attempt to sum up our Christmas in a concise, interesting way (like that will happen) that won’t cause this post to become the reason you were finally able to throw out the Ambien, I feel that I need to let you know that the picture of Caroline in the Merry Christmas post was the picture taken by AJ that we sent out on our Christmas cards.

I would never be so cruel as to subject my poor child to wearing all manner of winter fashion festiveness on a Christmas day where the temperature reached 80 degrees.

Although I’ll admit I was tempted.

And if she’d had her way, she’d have shown up at my mother-in-law’s house wearing a navy sundress from Gap that’s about two sizes too small, which is really irrelevant because IT’S A SUNDRESS and it’s Christmas day.

I only had to say that fifty-nine different times on Christmas morning.

Anyway, we started our Christmas festivities by attending church on Christmas Eve. Caroline has been looking forward to her opportunity to hold her very own candle since last Christmas and I drank enough wine before the service to ensure I wouldn’t be too nervous about it. You all know I’m kidding. There isn’t enough wine to make you feel good about your five-year-old holding a candle.

After the service, we went to Mimi and Bops’ house to have our Christmas celebration with them.

This is Caroline with her cousin Sarah. My sister and I both have one daughter so we have a master plan to make them dress alike for the next 4-5 years. It was what our mother did to us and there is no reason why they should be spared just because they don’t have a sibling.

This is what Caroline had waiting for her over there.

To say she was thrilled is an understatement. I knew that’s what she was getting and when we were in Bryan last week, I told Nena that Caroline was getting a pink Barbie Mustang and Nena said, “Honey, listen, who wouldn’t want a pink car?”

I believe the entire Mary Kay sales force has proved that point.

My sister and her husband bought Caroline the board game “Sorry” at my suggestion. It was one of my favorite games when I was little and I just knew Caroline would love it. And I was right; she does love it. However, I now know that the reason it’s called “Sorry” is because whoever invented it was “Sorry” that they had to play it with a five-year-old who likes to make up her own rules as the game goes on.

Later on, we finally managed to get her out of the car with the time-honored threat of Santa passing us by because she wasn’t asleep. When she got home, I let her open her new Christmas pajamas, courtesy of my mom.

The next morning, P and I were awakened with the news that she’d heard the dogs barking at Santa in the middle of the night and could we please GET UP RIGHT NOW.

She was thrilled to see that Santa brought the roller skates she wanted along with the Barbie Diamond Castle, Diamond Castle Barbie, and Diamond Ken, who we like to call Elvis, although judging by the sparkles on his jacket, Liberace might be the better moniker.

When you squeeze Barbie’s hand, she sings some song about how she feels connected and I’m not exactly sure what she feels connected to, but it’s a sure bet it’s not this metrosexual Diamond Castle Ken.

Although I did catch him doing some push-ups on the living room floor.

Santa also brought some incredibly cheap makeup that he found at Walmart and I got quite the Christmas morning makeover.

I haven’t worn that much blue glitter eye makeup since my 9th grade Homecoming dance when I hoped to channel Madonna.

After spending the rest of the morning playing Jenga (HELLO, new obsession), and attempting to permanently sever P’s toes with Caroline’s new roller skates, we headed over to my mother-in-law’s house for Christmas lunch.

Not in a navy sundress.

We ate way too much turkey and dressing, brought home leftovers while vowing we’d never manage to eat them all, and continued to eat ourselves into a stupor over the next few days.

And I can’t even discuss the mass consumption of sugar cookies. It just makes me feel shameful.

Especially when I see Ken/Elvis mocking me with his commitment to physical fitness even during the holiday season.

Hope y’alls was merry.

We got home from our road trip on Tuesday afternoon. After I unpacked our bags and started a few loads of laundry, Caroline and I snuggled up on the couch and I turned on “Polar Express”.

P came in a few minutes later and joined us. Our little family of three spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the movie while a fire roared in the fireplace and the lights twinkled on the Christmas tree. It was one of those sweet, unplanned moments that takes you by surprise, yet is now etched in my mind as one of my favorite memories of the year.

I kind of dozed off as we watched the movie because I’ve seen it a million times, plus I was a little tired from all the travel and festivities. But when the part came on where the kids arrive at the North Pole, I made myself stay awake and watch it because it’s one of my favorite scenes. In my imagination, if a North Pole full of elves and Santa were to exist, it would look exactly like it does in the movie.

At one point the little boy is standing in the midst of all the elves who are overcome with excitement at the prospect of Santa Claus’s appearance. Everyone is cheering, the reindeer are jumping up and down, and the elves come out with these huge reins of solid jingle bells. The little boy begins to look puzzled, he can tell he’s missing something that the rest of the crowd is hearing and experiencing.

About that time, the little girl next to him whispers, “Aren’t those bells the most beautiful sound?” It confirms what he already knows, something is lacking.

When I watched that scene yesterday it made me wonder how many people are out there this Christmas who know something is missing. They have the beautifully decorated tree. They have the wrapped packages tied up with pretty bows. They have a turkey thawing in the refrigerator and family that will gather around a table.

They may even go to church on Christmas Eve and listen as the people around them sing and celebrate the birth of a baby born over 2000 years ago. And they’ll sit there and wonder what’s missing.

I know how that feels because I spent a lot of years feeling that same way. I grew up in church. I was there every time the doors were open, but something was missing. I’d hear people talk about what God had done for them and the difference He’d made in their life and I just didn’t feel it. And it wasn’t because of lack of desire, I wanted to know Him but I just didn’t know how.

Years of listening to sermons and going to church camp gave me glimpses, but I wanted more.

In “The Polar Express” the little boy watches the bells that he can’t hear, he hears the crowd roar as Santa appears, and he stands there and says, “I can’t see him! I can’t see him!”

That’s how I felt for so long. I couldn’t see Him.

Finally, in desperation, the little boy closes his eyes, grabs the jingle bell that has fallen to the ground at his feet and says, “I believe. I believe. I believe.” And at that moment, he hears the bell ring and Santa appears right behind him.

Sometimes it takes a leap of faith.

Because no matter how much everyone around that little boy believed in Santa and saw him clearly, he had to see him for himself. He had to believe even when there was a part of him that wanted to hold on to logic and reason.

Logic and reason don’t require much faith. They may keep you from looking foolish, but they can also keep you from going on the greatest adventure of your life.

Fifteen years ago, I reached a point of desperation. After all those years in church, I had to see Him for myself. It didn’t matter what my preacher said or what my friends experienced, I needed to take a leap and let Him pour out His grace and mercy on my life. Then one night, in the middle of a Bible study surrounded by people who were experiencing something I wanted, I closed my eyes as tears fell down my cheeks and whispered, “I believe. I believe. I believe.”

And life has never been the same.

A virgin birth. Angels appearing to a field full of shepherds. Wise men following a star from the east. The son of God sent to save us from our sins.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6

It doesn’t make sense until you see Him for yourself.

My prayer is that we all see Him this Christmas. In the midst of family drama, bad fruitcake, and attempts to get Barbie dolls out of boxes that have been welded shut, He is there.

Waiting for those who will take the leap and believe.

Merry Christmas, y’all.