I’m going to be completely honest, Kindergarten is crushing my buzz.

All summer long Caroline and I would lay in bed until 8 a.m. which is an hour I only dreamed of for the first four years of her life. I had finally trained her in the art of a leisurely morning only to see it destroyed by the educational system.

So, my point is that I am tired. P has been waking us up awfully early but I think I’ve already figured out that we can sleep at least fifteen minutes later every morning. And those extra fifteen minutes will add up to an extra hour and fifteen minutes at the end of each week.

I just did that math in my head.

Who says you’ll never amount to anything if it took you two times to pass Algebra II?

Anyway, I am totally going with a list format because I have several points I would like to make and no energy to voice them in a narrative form.

1. Back-combing is just a fancy way of saying TEASING. If you were alive in the 80’s and older than six, then you’ve teased your hair.

If you’re from Texas there is a good chance that you received a sterling silver teasing comb at birth.

The one I bought is a fine-tooth comb that comes complete with a pick on the other end. It’s exactly like the comb I used in 1987-1989 to separate each curl of my spiral perm after I doused it in Aussie Sprunch Spray.

2. Hot rollers are intended for use on dry hair only. You will immediately regret any attempt to use them on wet hair. To get an idea, imagine your hair after eighteen days in a tropical rain forest.

Now multiply that by 150.

It’s also important to note that some people will mock you for toting around hot rollers in 2008, but those people are called people with flat hair.

3. I volunteered in the cafeteria at Caroline’s school today and let me assure you that nothing will make you lose your appetite like watching some kids use their straw to slurp up leftover juice from their pinto beans.

Disgusting doesn’t begin to cover it.

But it served as a great diet tool for the rest of the day.

4. One kid actually brought sushi in her lunchbox. Girlfriend sat there and rolled her own sushi in some seaweed wraps.

I just pray Caroline wants to buy her lunch for the rest of the year. I can’t take the pressure

5. Our dryer is broken. I’m supposed to sit at home between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. for the Sears repairman to grace me with an appearance.

It would be a great time to catch up on laundry, except for the fact that my dryer is broken.

Truth be told, the dryer is eleven years old. I don’t have high hopes for a comeback. Do y’all have any dryer recommendations? Is one dryer really better than another? Should I just hang a clothesline across the backyard and go old school? (the neighbors would be so pleased)

Any dryer wisdom would be appreciated.

Y’all have a great day and I’ll try to be back with a coherent thought tomorrow.

So, I’ve been so wrapped up in the start of Kindergarten and crying while looking at Caroline’s baby pictures that I haven’t even talked about what a great weekend I had.

It started out with a little bit of a glitch when Sophie called to let me know that the extremely helpful Continental Airlines had decided to cancel her flight from Houston to San Antonio.

Well done, Continental. Way to establish trust and consumer loyalty.

Sophie was trying to figure out what to do and I just tried to be helpful by continually yelling into the phone, “JUST RENT A CAR AND DRIVE HERE! JUST RENT A CAR! IT WILL ONLY TAKE 2 1/2 HOURS! RENT A CAR! IT’S JUST A TWO HOUR DRIVE!”

Needless to say, she got off the phone with me and went in search of someone who could provide an actual solution.

In the meantime, I was able to spend some time visiting with Amanda and we had more fun talking about life. She’s just starting to potty train her little boy and I offered helpful tips along the lines of “POTTY TRAINING IS SO HARD! GIVING A TODDLER CONTROL OF ANYTHING IS A NIGHTMARE!”

Seriously, I’ll put that pep talk on DVD and make millions.

Sophie finally arrived in San Antonio around 3:30, which gave us just enough time to go in search of chips and guacamole before heading over to the Alamodome for Living Proof Live.

Right as it started, Gulley met us there and I got to see all my worlds collide. Hello internet world, meet real life world.

What ever happened to that sweet girl who was afraid to use the email?

Travis and the praise team were awesome. I mean, ya’ll, they can flat sing. Every single one of them is so incredibly gifted and I could have listened to them all night.

Beth spoke about our inheritance from God and if we would only realize that we are all heiresses of God we wouldn’t give ourselves away so cheaply. It was so incredible and God used it to continue to speak to me about how much He values us. In fact, one of Beth’s points was that not only is God our portion, but we are His. He delights in us.

I love when God uses a theme.

After it was over, several of us went to Mi Tierra to eat some late night Mexican food. It was just like being back in college except I hadn’t spent the evening drinking cheap, warm beer out of a plastic cup.

Throughout the weekend I was able to meet so many sweet women that I’ve met ON THE INTERNET over the last couple of years. It was so great to finally be able to hug people who have been such an encouragement and blessing to me. I loved every minute of it and can’t wait until we can do it again.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the most important lessons I received over the weekend.

On Friday night before the event, I was talking to Beth’s daughter, Melissa, and I asked her exactly how she fixes her hair. We have similar hair but mine is missing something. She told me the trick is hot rollers (which I already use on a regular basis) and then asked me if I back-combed my hair because it looked like what was missing was some back-combing.

So not only did I get a word from her mama, but Melissa ministered to me with some valuable hair wisdom.

Although, Melissa has a backcombing advantage because she was not a teenager in the 80’s. I guarantee she has never used a comb to do this to her hair.

Once you have backcombed your hair to achieve a full, sassy mullet, it’s hard to pick up a fine-tooth comb again.

But I can’t be held back by the sins of my past.

I’m ready to try again. I need some lift and I’ll do what must be done to get it.

In fact, I am so committed that I even purchased a brand new comb yesterday at HEB.

As long as I don’t start carrying it in my back pocket, I think I’ll be okay.

Yesterday morning I woke Caroline up.

That statement alone is something I never thought I’d say.

Anyway, I woke her up with a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “Wake up, baby. Today is Kindergarten!” She immediately sat straight up and yelled, “IT’S GOING TO BE A GREAT DAY!”

I just wish she’d been more excited.

I made her some eggs for breakfast even though I knew I was scrambling chicken embryos in vain because she’d never actually eat them. But it made me feel better to make the effort because it seemed like a first day of Kindergarten thing to do.

After pushing around some eggs on a plate, she ran to get dressed. We pulled her hair back and packed her little school bag. All the while, I managed to hold it together.

Right before we walked out the door, we conducted a marathon photo session.

I tried to shoot some video in the car on the way to school, but she shut me down. Apparently, she needed to “concentrate”.

As we walked into the school, hand in hand, I felt my eyes start to fill with tears. Just about that time, she dropped my hand and said, “I know where to go”.

So P and I just followed.

Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever been so proud of someone.

I also don’t know if I’ve ever felt as strongly that my heart was on the outside of my body.

When we arrived at the classroom, her teacher asked if she’d brought her lunch and Caroline informed her she’d be buying her lunch. The teacher said she could choose between chicken nuggets or a turkey sandwich.

Caroline said, “Meatloaf”.

Because isn’t that what every kid wants?

In the end, she chose the turkey sandwich.

P and I hugged and kissed her goodbye, then walked out of the school and back to the car. We prayed for her and that’s when the tears began to fall. I knew I was on the verge of a full on ugly cry.

But look!

I went to the baby store and bought a new baby!

Oh I kid.

Some of our dear friends lost their grandmother last week and they called me to ask if I could watch their twin girls on Monday morning while they went to the funeral. I had to think about it for a moment because if I kept the girls that would interfere with my original plan of sitting on my bed with a bowl of M&M’s, crying and watching old videos of Caroline.

I think I made the right choice.

Although I will say it is dangerous hormonal territory to drop your only child off at Kindergarten and then go spend four hours with some precious, squishy babies.

It was finally time to pick Caroline up and after navigating the seventh circle of carpool hell, I finally saw my girl. Her smile couldn’t have been bigger. As we drove away, I asked, “How was your day?”

“IT WAS GREAT! I’M GOING AGAIN TOMORROW!”

So I think she liked it.

Apparently she had a very full day playing with new friends whose names she can’t recall, eating a “THE MOST DELICIOUS” turkey sandwich (doubtful) in the cafeteria, and going to “P.E.R.” in the gym which is “BIGGER THAN OUR HOUSE!”

Right before bed last night, she was telling me more about her day. She said, “I saw my friend Catherine in the cafeteria today!”

I asked, “Did you say hi?”

“Yes, I said hi! And then I learned you’re not allowed to yell across the cafeteria.”

God bless her teacher.

I promise I will have a recap of the weekend at some point, but I am sleep-deprived and feel certain illness coming on due to all the no sleeping. It’s not easy spending a whole weekend hyped up on a cocktail of hormones, steroids and emotion.

Plus, underlying everything for the last 48 hours has been the fact that Caroline starts Kindergarten today.

This video will show you why I’m so emotional about it. She’s just so shy and demure.

God bless her, I hope she makes friends.

Untitled from Big Mama on Vimeo.

I especially love the part where she tells me she’s going to “bring her lunch, yo”.

Apparently, the approach of Kindergarten brings out your street side.

She’s just keepin’ it real.

When I went to the doctor on Monday to see about my rash o’ death, he prescribed a four day treatment of oral prednisone, which is a steroid.

It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was heading into full blown PMS at any moment.

I’m literally experiencing PMS on steroids.

And it’s not pretty, my friends.

In fact, a few moments ago, I killed an entire plate of chocolate chip cookies all by myself.

They never saw it coming.

Anyway, things can only get better because at noon today I’m picking up Annie, Sophie and Amy Beth from the airport and we’re heading straight for some of the finest Mexican food San Antonio has to offer.

Then later, we’ll get to go hear Beth Moore and Travis Cottrell at the Alamodome.

And even later, I’ll attack another plate of chocolate chip cookies.

I can’t help myself.

It’s the hormones.

And the steroids.

Oh, and the chocolate.

I’ve had all these things in my head for the last two weeks, but haven’t been able to figure out how to write it all out. Of course being doped up on Benadryl and Zyrtec all weekend probably didn’t help matters.

Anyway, I’m just going to type it all out on the computer and resist my urge to delete the entire thing for fear that it will only make sense to me and the rest of you will read it while shaking your head and thinking “What?”.

A couple of weeks ago, I watched Steven Curtis Chapman and his family being interviewed on “Good Morning America” and “Larry King Live”.

Honestly, part of me didn’t want to watch because the whole story has just broken my heart. The tragic death of a five-year-old girl hits really close to home when you’re the mother of a five-year-old girl.

But I watched anyway.

One thing that came up in both interviews that brought tears to my eyes each time I heard it was when Steven Curtis Chapman said someone later told him that as he was being driven away in the car to get to the hospital where his daughter had just been Life-flighted he rolled down the window and yelled to his devastated son, “Will Franklin! Your father loves you!”

I cried because it is such an incredible picture of how much a parent loves a child. That even in the midst of all that tragedy, he made sure his son knew that he was loved.

But even more than that, I cried because, for the first time, I realized that is how God loves me. How many times have I been crushed by my fears, my failures, my disappointments? How many times have I doubted, questioned, and wondered why things aren’t working out the way I want them to?

He whispered to my heart and let me know that in all those times, when I have been at my lowest points and at my highest points, He has looked at me and said, “Melanie! Your father loves you!”

This shouldn’t be a new revelation to me. But it was.

When I think back to my childhood, I don’t remember hearing much about God’s grace. I’m not saying it wasn’t being taught, it just never really sunk in. Maybe I heard one too many flannel-board Sunday school stories about Sodom and Gomorrah.

Whatever the case, I have struggled with grasping God’s mercy and grace. I struggle with how He can love me so much when I so often feel like I’ve failed. And at the heart of that is a trust issue. Do I trust that His love is stronger than my failures? Can His grace cover my flaws? Do I trust that He wants to pour out blessings on me that I don’t deserve, but He gives them anyway because that’s how much He loves me?

Two days after I watched the Chapman interview, I went in Borders to buy a new book for our beach trip. I looked around and had a couple of different choices in my hand, but then I saw “The Shack” on a display shelf. I knew it was the book I was supposed to buy.

I’d heard great things about it, but had purposely not read it because I knew the story begins with a tragedy involving a young girl. I just didn’t know if I could stand to read it.

I mean, I am the same person who spent the first six months of her daughter’s life watching only two things, “I Love the 70’s” on Vh-1 and “Little Women”. It was all my raw heart could bear.

So I put down my copy of “Such a Pretty Fat” by Jen Lancaster (which I still really want to read by the way) and bought “The Shack”.

It was the right choice. I couldn’t put it down.

At one point early on in the book, the main character experiences his first real encounter with God. And at that moment God picks him up, spins him around like a little child while shouting his name “Mackenzie Allen Phillips!”.

Tears.

After I read it I couldn’t get the image out of my head that God sees me that way, that He feels that way about me. That I am His child and He longs to hold me close the same way I long to hold Caroline close and cherish every single ounce of her, but even more so.

I’ve read Psalm 139 countless times. I know He knows my thoughts, I know He knows my words before they are on my tongue, I know He knows the numbers of hairs on my head (not as high a number as it used to be), and I know His thoughts of me outnumber the grains of sand.

I know it because I’ve heard it all my life. But I felt like in the days following the Chapman interview and reading “The Shack”, He began to really reveal to me the depths of His love for me. Not for all mankind, not for every creation, but, specifically, for me.

At church the following Sunday, I was standing during praise and worship and I felt God say to me, “I know your name. I know everything about you and I adore you. No matter what.” It’s like I could hear Him saying my name. My full name, over and over again.

Just as I was feeling that in my heart, our pastor began to speak. Guess what he said? “God knows your name. He knows everything about you.” And as he spoke those words, the worship team began to lead us in a song I’d never heard before

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And hears me when I call

Is it just me or do you think God is trying to tell me something? His love for the world isn’t general. It’s not an all-encompassing “I love my creation” thing. It’s specific.

Specifically for me. Specifically for you.

In spite of who we are, in spite of how we fail, in spite of all our weaknesses.

Because, here’s the thing. He made us. He knows us. None of our shortcomings and moral failures surprise Him. God doesn’t sit in heaven saying, “Wow. I did not see that coming.”

He sits in heaven, with a deep longing to take us in His arms, spin us around and say “Melanie! Your Father loves you!”

Except He would call you by your name, not mine. Because He’s God.

And He knows your name.

“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” Isaiah 49:16

Look who’s decided to come out of early retirement.

There were some who believed she was all washed up after I had to drag her to the last two months of classes the year she was three years old because we’d already shelled out money for her to participate in the recital.

We only survived that time by the grace of God and lots of bribery in the form of after class dinners at McDonalds.

But she’s assured me she’s older and wiser. She’s in the best shape of her life and is ready to go back into the dance arena.

She is the Brett Favre of Beginner Tap and Ballet.

So I signed her up for fall classes this year, but I am also older and wiser. When they asked if I’d like to go ahead and pay the recital fee, I politely declined.

I’ll pay that bad boy the day it is officially due and not a moment sooner.

Either this will be our year of dance excellence or I’ll be auctioning off several pink leotards, a pair of slightly used tap shoes, ballet slippers and a handy carrying case that says, “DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!”

There is still a part of me that thinks by October she may just want to “QUIT! QUIT! QUIT!”

Yesterday morning I woke up and still had the itch o’ death. Then I began to read comments that discussed things like flesh-eating bacteria and wool pea coat allergies and decided I should go to the doctor to rule out my imminent demise.

The official verdict is I had an allergic reaction to my sunscreen.

Oh Coppertone. You betrayed me in my quest to practice safe sun.

However, I will take the sunscreen allergy over the possibility that I am allergic to my new pea coat. That would be tragic.

The nice doctor offered to give me a shot, but I think the look on my face was the only answer he needed. Umm yeah, I’ll just be taking that prescription and anything you have in the way of a topical ointment.

Anyway, let’s revisit the trip to Port Aransas where I contracted my horrendous skin disease.

We arrived at the beach last Tuesday afternoon, unloaded all our supplies and headed for the ocean. I’ll be honest, the water was dirty even by Texas beach standards which aren’t high.

But our little surfer girl was ready to go.

She and her daddy even managed to catch some fish in their throw net.

And the fish were the perfect addition to the ecosystem I had been feverishly constructing while the Coppertone ate away the top layer of my skin.

The next morning, P and I knew we needed a game plan to ensure we weren’t back in the ocean before 9 a.m. because beach vacations are all about pacing yourself. So we went out to eat breakfast at the Island Cafe because what makes a girl feel bathing suit ready like a short stack of pancakes covered in syrup?

I may have also had a breakfast taco.

After that, we drove over to the docks to see all the fish that the fishermen had caught that morning. I’m telling you there is nothing like the smell of fish and fish guts to make you want to tie some cement blocks to your feet and throw yourself off the dock just to make the smell go away.

But Caroline is her father’s daughter and is not deterred by all the gross.

Here she is checking out the live bait. She really wanted to buy one of the shrimp to keep as a pet.

And here she is with her daddy, watching a man with questionable dental hygiene clean some fish.

Our last stop before we hit the beach was a souvenir shop with a large shark out front. Caroline wasn’t going to rest until she went inside the shark.

Then, it was back to the beach.

And because I am careful about limiting my sun exposure, I continually sprayed myself down with torture in a can.

On Thursday we packed up the truck and began the arduous journey home.

This is Caroline after we’d been on the road for 2.5 seconds.

I wanted to join her but felt like P needed moral support as he drove home. I also thought he might need someone to share the pre-packaged Bluebird Cherry Pie he bought at the Quikmart, but he didn’t even offer me a bite.

I can’t believe I am married to someone who eats pre-packaged cherry pies from a convenience store. They are just not up to the culinary standards of, say, a Grandma’s Chocolate-Chocolate Chip Cookie.

The rest of the way home, I spent my time commenting on the absurdity of all the Hurricane Evacuation Route signs along the way. It makes me proud to see our tax dollars hard at work pointing out common sense. In case of a hurricane you can either drive north or head straight into the ocean.

Thank you, TXDoT for that valuable information.

Too bad they don’t post warnings about potential sunscreen allergies. It would have saved me a tube of hydrocortisone, four bottles of Zyrtec, the shame of wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt to church in the middle of August, and a $35.00 co-pay at the emergency clinic.

Oh, what a weekend we had over here.

Mimi and Bops picked up Caroline on Friday afternoon and I headed straight to the mall because my birthday money was burning a hole in my pocket. Oh sure, I could save it, but why would I do that?

I was halfway to the mall when I remembered that it was tax-free weekend in Texas which translates to MASS CHAOS.

But because I am a fool for shopping, I decided to brave the crowds and take advantage of tax-free savings. I’m not going to lie, I barely made it out alive.

I limped out of the mall in need of fresh air and a weapon of mass destruction. The good news is that my foray into the bowels of hell paid off because I found a really cute pea coat, which is hard to get excited about in the dead of August but will be delightful in January.

Earlier that afternoon, I noticed I had a small rash on my chest. It was slightly itchy and red, but I decided it was a heat rash from all of our beach fun. No big deal.

P and I picked up barbecue for dinner that evening because everyone knows that pork ribs are the traditional celebratory meal for an eleventh wedding anniversary. As we sat at the coffee table, eating our dinner and watching the Olympics, (who says romance is dead?) I began to feel a little itchy behind my knees. And on my arms. And on my back.

I went to look at myself in the mirror and I screamed in horror. Actually, I’m not sure I screamed, but I did mumble a quiet, “What the heck?”

It was not pretty, my friends. Not pretty at all.

So I popped a Zyrtec or six and went to bed in the hopes of sleeping off my rash.

I woke up Saturday morning at 11:00 with a major antihistamine hangover. I kept splashing my face with water and trying to rub my eyes, but everything remained foggy. It was just like I was back in college after a night of too much Zima.

The irony is that I sold Zyrtec for years and always assured physicians that it shouldn’t make their patients sleepy and that it was much more tolerable than Benadryl. And, technically, that is true for 87% of the population.

However, I fall into the other 13%. It knocks girlfriend STRAIGHT OUT.

In fact, when P and I used to take 75 high school kids skiing every Spring Break and had to ride a bus for 17 hours, I would always take a Zyrtec so that I could sleep the entire way.

And then I’d take several more throughout the trip to drown out all the teen angst.

If you are the parent of someone who went on one of these trips, I’m sure someone else was watching your kid. I’m also 87% sure that none of them ever snuck out at night while I was in a comatose state.

Anyway, about my rash.

It continued to spread. I spent most of Saturday coating myself with hydrocortisone and popping any antihistamine I could find in the medicine cabinet.

I’m here to tell you that there is not a more romantic way to spend your eleventh wedding anniversary than all drugged up and slathered in hydrocortisone. That is HOT with a capital H.

I’d use my most alluring voice to say, “Hey baby, why don’t you come over here and put some of that Benadryl lotion on the backs of my knees?”

And for some reason, probably fear of contamination, he turned me down.

I believe the vows say IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH.

I finally decided that I contracted some sort of beach rash from all that moat-digging. P thought maybe I was allergic to something I used to clean the house earlier that day.

Later, I was talking to Sophie on the phone, telling her about my rash and our theories as to its origin and she said, “Well, it couldn’t be Mrs. Meyers cleaning spray because it’s all-natural and organic.”

I told P what Sophie said and he replied, “Well, so is the Gulf of Mexico so that doesn’t mean much.”

He makes an excellent point.

If there is any place in the world where a person is likely to contract a rash, it would stand to reason it might be a place where it’s a common practice to carry your Marlboro Lights in your cleavage.

Eleven years ago today, at a little after noon on the hottest Saturday of the summer, this is where I was.

I’m the one in white at the front of the church.

A lot of things have changed in the last eleven years, but the thing that remains the same is that there is no one else I would rather spend my life with than him.

It’s been fun. It’s been hard. Most of all, it’s been an adventure.

We’ve laughed a lot and cried a little. We’ve learned what it really means to love someone for better or for worse.

It’s been more than I could have hoped for or imagined and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I love you, P.

You’re still the one.