I believe I may have mentioned Caroline has been a little under the weather. The official diagnosis given by our pediatrician is the croup. Which I’d pretty much already figured out by virtue of the fact that my baby sounded like a seal hoping for a dead fish. I guess I could have saved myself the co-pay, but I knew we needed steroids. Because that’s what I really need now that I’m completely sleep deprived, Caroline on steroids.

Sunday night is when I knew we were dealing with more than just a cough due to cold. She couldn’t get to sleep and I could hear her hacking away in her bedroom in spite of the cough medicine I’d given her earlier that evening. She finally came out of her room in tears because she felt so bad and couldn’t go to sleep.

And so began a marathon of every home remedy I knew and some I didn’t know but learned thanks to Twitter which is a better resource than WebMD because it’s filled with mothers.

I sat with her on the front porch to breathe in the cold night air, rubbed Vicks VapoRub on her feet, sat with her in the rocking chair, gave her a teaspoonful of honey, sang her lullabies in spite of my bad voice and finally ended up turning on the hot water in the bathroom so we could sit in the steam.

I carried her in there and sat down on the toilet lid with her snuggled on my lap while the thick steam enveloped us. She seemed so little and delicate and my heart just hurt because I could tell she was miserable. I rubbed her feverish back and encouraged her to breathe in the steamy air to help loosen up all the “fungus” (as she calls it) in her lungs. After a few minutes she pulled away from me, put both her hands on either side of my face and looked at me closely.

“Mama?”

“What is it, baby?”

I thought maybe she was going to tell me she still didn’t feel good. Or maybe tell me that she loved me.

“Mama?”

“What, Love?”

“I’m not saying this to be mean, but it’s time for you to do something about your mustache. I just thought you might want to know.”

And that pretty much sums up motherhood.

Last Monday I was driving Caroline to school when she announced that she didn’t want me to park and walk her in to school like I’ve done for the last two years. Her exact words were “Mama, drop me off by Mrs. J.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want me to walk you in?”

“Mama, I need to tell you something. You know I’m a big girl now.”

Yes. I know.

I drove through the carpool line and watched her get out of the car with her tote bag in one hand and her lunchbox in the other. She walked with a little extra bounce in her ponytail that made me smile at the pride she felt with her new step of independence.

And then I started to cry.

You would have thought I was dropping her off at her dorm room knowing that I wouldn’t hear from her until she’s out of money or clean clothes. Or both.

I wiped my tears, told myself I was being dramatic even for me, and wrote the whole thing off to some kind of estrogen surge.

Then Wednesday morning as we drove to school I asked her if she wanted me to walk her in or drop her off again. Without a moment’s hesitation she said, “DROP ME OFF!”

So I did.

And I cried again.

I’d like to think it was due to PMS, but since I made it through the day without eating my body weight in M&M’s I don’t think that was the problem.

I’ve never been a mother that mourns all the passing signs of babyhood. Sure I’d love to have one more day with Caroline as a newborn or a toddler, but for me motherhood has just gotten better as I’ve survived breastfeeding, weaned her off the pacifier, pulled all my hair out throughout our potty-training marathon, and watched the terrible threes turn into the charming fours.

But something about watching her walk into school by herself made me think of all the ways I’ll have to let her go over a lifetime. The truth is I don’t want to let her go, yet I’m so proud that she is self-confident enough to take the steps away from me.

I also realized that this fall when I drop her off at Kindergarten I might need a surplus of Kleenex and Valium. And perhaps a choir to assist me in singing “I Hope You Dance”.

Even though I’d actually never sing “I Hope You Dance”. It’s too much of a cliche’. I’m much more likely to sing Carly Simon’s “Love of My Life” or just sob silently in my car while eating a chocolate donut.

Last Wednesday morning as I walked the dogs and thought about my reaction to merely dropping her off in a carpool line, I realized that it’s all a small part of letting go. It’s a small step of independence at the beginning of a lifetime of steps that will get bigger and bigger.

I thought how nice it would be if I could just protect her forever, shield her from hurt feelings, broken hearts, dreams that may not come true. But I realized that it’s all those things in my own life that have been a part of making me who I am today. And had I been protected from all the unpleasant moments that life can bring, I wouldn’t have learned who I really am. Her character will have to be built and shaped by the joys and heartaches she will face over her lifetime.

It’s the realization that motherhood is about training them up and then letting them go a little at a time, hoping and praying that we’ve done everything we can to equip them for life.

I have to say it’s a little frightening. And a lot gut-wrenching.

On Mother’s Day, one of our worship leaders was the guest speaker. She talked about motherhood and one thing she said has stuck with me over the last few weeks, “When we loosen our grip, He tightens His”.

I know I’ve made some mistakes with Caroline and I’m sure I’ll make more, but He doesn’t make mistakes. He loves perfectly. His plans and purposes are perfect. He created her with a purpose and a plan for this time, for this generation.

My job is to lead her to Him in everything I do. To show her that even though there are times I can’t be there and times (like from the ages of 12 to 18) that she won’t necessarily want me there, God is always there. Watching, catching, loving, and molding her into the person she was created to be.

And when I think about the way her ponytail bounced as she walked into school by herself last week, I believe that God has created more personality in her little body than should be allowed. I can’t wait to see what He does with it.

Even if there are times I’ll need to cry a little bit in my car.

While eating a chocolate donut.

Last Monday my friend AJ called and invited P, Caroline and me to spend Saturday at her family’s ranch. I told her we would love to because we always love spending time with her, plus she’s leaving in two weeks to go to Africa for three months to work on her book project called Lahema’s Legacy.

So on Saturday we headed down to the ranch for a day of fishing, swimming and just hanging out. Of course I packed so much for the trip that Caroline asked “Are we spending the night?”

No, baby. Your mama just has a fear of being caught anywhere without at least three changes of clothes. Some might call it a symptom of OCD.

We arrived at the ranch around noon and I made Caroline eat lunch before we did anything. I told her she’d need energy for the day. And somehow I didn’t feel like those two Cheerios she ate for breakfast were going to tide her over.

I would live to regret the decision to load her up with Fritos and ham.

As soon as lunch was over Caroline wanted to put on her swimsuit and get in the pool, and seeing as how it was 104 degrees we all decided that was a great idea. So we coated ourselves in SPF 50 and headed out to the pool.

I pulled up a lounge chair on the sundeck part of the pool next to AJ and her daddy. We sat and visited while Caroline and P jumped off the side and played in the pool. Good times.

About thirty minutes later, Caroline swam over to me, curled up in my lap and said, “Mama, my mouth feels funny.”

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“No.”

“Well, here drink some of my water.”

Here’s where I need to tell y’all that the pool is a saltwater pool and I thought her mouth probably just felt kind of salty.

I was wrong.

She drank a sip of my water.

Then she stared at me for about ten seconds.

And in a scene that has replayed about a hundred times in my mind, she threw up all over me.

JUST KILL ME NOW.

I held out my hands in a futile attempt to catch it.

It didn’t really work.

Fortunately for the pool but unfortunately for me, my body and my new bathing suit caught the rest of it.

There is nothing that makes you feel quite as good as being someone’s guest, lounging by their pool, and watching your child throw up everywhere.

AJ’s daddy ran to get the hose and I spent the next ten minutes hosing Caroline and myself down.

Too bad I can’t hose down the memory in my mind.

Or AJ’s mind. I mean she’s twenty-five. She doesn’t have kids. I think she may be scarred for life.

She kept marveling that I tried to catch it with my hands.

Instinct, pure maternal instinct.

I wrapped Caroline in a towel and sat with her while she drank a few sips of water. And then two minutes later she was as good as new, begging to go jump in the pool.

So she did.

And swam for the next three hours. I finally had to drag her out because I was afraid she was going to sink like a stone from sheer exhaustion.

Really, other than the whole throw up incident, it was a lovely way to spend the day.

Although I kind of feel the need to bleach my swimsuit.

And perhaps my entire body.

P spent much of the day mocking my hat. Say what you will, but octogenarians and hillbillies everywhere would kill for that hat.

Sunday morning, P let me sleep in a little late but Caroline woke me up in time for church by bouncing into the bedroom and gently yelling, “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!”. She made me a darling zebra-print photo plate at school. I told her how much I loved it and then she asked, “Now where’s my present?”

I told her I gave her a gift almost five years ago.

It’s called the gift of life.

Not to mention the times I have served as some sort of receptacle for her bodily functions.

It was sometime around Easter when it dawned on me that April was right around the corner and I knew deep in my soul what was looming on the horizon.

So it was with fear and trembling that I opened Caroline’s school bag during the first week of April. Sure enough, there it was.

The note announcing it was time to make the shoebox Fiesta floats for the Fiesta float parade at preschool.

Joy.

The note gives parents the option of just sending a shoebox to school and letting the teachers make a float for your child.

Right.

I wonder if they offer some kind of complimentary therapy session for that poor kid? Hey kid, your mama doesn’t love you enough to spend hours slaving away with a hot glue gun and some glitter mixed with sand to create the perfect beach scene for Ariel the Little Mermaid.

It’s not like we have lives of our own. Lives that don’t normally involve using a hot glue gun.

The note also included a little reminder that this is a preschool project and your child should be involved in the process. Which is so nice.

In theory.

So I involved Caroline by asking what kind of float she wanted to do this year (y’all may remember that last year we did the Wizard of Oz float) and she answered without any hesitation, “Barbie Island Princess”, which worked out since we actually own Barbie Island Princess, her monkey and two little Island girls that came with an elephant named Sagi who raised Barbie Island Princess from an infant when she was shipwrecked on a desert island and before she was rescued by Prince Antonio.

What has happened to my life?

Anyway, I managed to put the project in the back of my mind for the next few weeks because I am nothing if not a procrastinator, but I finally realized the due date was quickly approaching so I headed to Michael’s to pick up float making supplies.

I loaded my basket with silk flowers in various colors, some greenery, glue sticks for my hot glue gun, and some bright Fiesta ribbon. While standing in line at the checkout, the woman in front of me looked at my basket and asked if I was making something for Fiesta. She was very perceptive.

I replied that my daughter had to make a shoebox float for school so I was buying materials. And she looked at me as if I had just announced that I was about to help my child cheat on the SAT’s and said, “My kids had to do those when they were little. I just had them put a few stickers on a shoebox and called it a day.”

Well good for you, lady.

Clearly you are very healthy and have your priorities in order. I happen to suffer from chronic OCD and the need to do simple craft projects in excess. It’s who I am.

My reasoning is that there will come a day when Caroline will come home from school and need help making a project for the Science Fair.

And she’ll be out of luck.

In fact, just the mention of Science Fair is enough to make me want to homeschool so that I can avoid all science-related homework. I know enough to teach Caroline that the Earth is flat and if she doesn’t listen to her parents throughout her teen years there is a good chance she will fall off into the abyss. That’s all the science she needs to know.

On a side note, when I was in tenth grade we were required to participate in the Science Fair even though it was clear that some people, who don’t need to be mentioned, were having enough problems just memorizing the periodic table of elements without having to come up with some sort of hypothesis and solution.

(By the way, thank God I spent all that time memorizing the periodic table because it has been ever so useful throughout my adult life)

I finally came up with an experiment that involved buying six goldfish with the goal of keeping three of them in total darkness and three of them in normal conditions and seeing which ones lived the longest. They all died within the week because I’m pretty sure I forgot to feed them on a daily basis due to the fact that I was very busy deciding what to wear to Junior/Senior Prom. Thus, my Science Fair exhibit consisted of six empty fish bowls and a piece of posterboard that said, “I Murdered Six Goldfish Due to Negligence”.

And then PETA came and hauled my Science teacher off to animal cruelty prison because he was an accessory to goldfish murder.

Not really but that would have been an awesome end to that story.

The real story is that I got a C – on my project which was basically a sympathy grade because I was scientifically impaired.

Anyway, the point is I am much better with Barbie Island Princess Floats and hot-gluing silk flowers.

Which is quite the marketable skill.

Caroline and I spent a Tuesday afternoon pulling flowers off stems and deciding where to glue them on the shoebox. The biggest challenge was figuring out how to secure Barbie Island Princess to the float without hot-gluing her bottom directly on the float because that seemed cruel. However, in the end, I had to hot glue her bottom directly to the float.

What do you expect? I hot glue bottoms and murder innocent goldfish.

Here’s the finished project.

And here’s Caroline in the parade.

I don’t need to tell y’all that this turned out so much better than my tenth grade Science Fair project.

At least so I thought.

Until I saw a little girl with a float that consisted of an electric horse that actually moved pulling a wagon made completely of popsicle sticks painted hot pink with Western Barbie riding in the back.

I bet her mama made a D on her Science Fair project.

So, yes. The blog is undergoing some renovations. It’s still a work in progress, so what you’re seeing isn’t the finished product. Right now it’s the beauty equivalent of having on some foundation, but knowing you’re going to look better once you have on a little bit of lipstick and perhaps some mascara.

And, no, the staff at Big Mama, Inc. is in no way involved in writing any html, or css, or what-have-you for the new look. Well, other than completely outsourcing the entire project to Jules at Everyday Design.

We here at Big Mama are big fans of the outsourcing. Stay tuned for the finished product.

In other news, thank you all for your well wishes for Caroline. The little midnight hacker is doing much better today and a trip to the pediatrician found her lungs clear and healthy.

She is no worse for the wear.

I, on the other hand, after three different steam baths in the wee, small hours, feel much like I have been run over by a very large truck. A truck that after running over me, backed up to do it again.

On the bright side, my pores have never been clearer.

And as I sat on the toilet (LID DOWN) last night and rocked my baby girl, the thing that worried me the most was that I couldn’t get the theme song from “Diff’rent Strokes” out of my head. It’s like I have opened some type of Pandora’s box that will ultimately cause my friends and family to abandon me one by one because they won’t be able to take the constant repeating of “it takes diff’rent strokes, it takes diff’rent strokes, it takes diff’rent strokes to move the world”.

Or is it “rule the world”? I couldn’t really remember last night at 3:00 a.m. while I was sitting on the toilet (LID DOWN) with sweat running down my forehead, watching beads of condensation trickle down the tiles due to the high humidity.

Anyway, last night before Cough Fest ’07 began, I planned to take Caroline with me to Bible Study over at Gulley’s house. P had to leave on an emergency hunting trip, the babysitter was sick, and so I told Caroline she could just go with me with the stipulation that she and Jackson had to QUIETLY and CALMLY watch movies in Gulley’s bedroom while we had our Bible Study.

The fact that this announcement was met with yelling and jumping up and down should have been an indication of how well this plan was going to go.

I got Caroline bathed and in her jammies. Then I noticed she was packing up her Hello Kitty! purse with a variety of things that didn’t seem to go hand in hand with QUIET and CALM. So I said, “Caroline, I don’t want you bringing a bunch of toys over there. The deal is that y’all will rest and watch T.V.”

She replied, “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m just taking the things Jackson and I will need. Guns and jewelry.”

Which is so weird because that’s exactly what J.Lo used to take on dates back when she was still with P.Diddy.

It just proves that it does, indeed, take diff’rent strokes to move and/or rule the world.

Last but not least, Happy Birthday, Mimi. We here at Big Mama hope you have a wonderful day complete with some good Italian food and a nice bottle of wine.