Family

The big apple

Well, all I can say is if you’re one of those people that loves to look at slideshows of other people’s vacations, then today is your lucky day.

Of course if you like to look at slideshows it may also mean you like to time travel back to 1984 when people still watched slides on those little carousel things. I can still hear the “CHA-CHOO” that my Nanny’s slide carousel made when you hit the remote control to advance to the next slide. Now that was technology.

Way back when Caroline was only about four years old, she began to talk about how much she wanted to go to New York. I have no idea why except that Bops used to fly to Newark for business trips all the time and brought her back a little Statue of Liberty. I guess at that moment a dream was born. A dream to see the big city.

So Mimi and Bops decided this was the year and told us way back in early September that they wanted to take us all to New York for Mimi’s birthday/early Christmas present. This works out since Mimi’s birthday is in December. P declined to go because he isn’t a fan of the big city and, also, it’s hunting season in South Texas. But Caroline and I jumped at the chance along with my sister, her husband and daughter, Sarah. They left Luke at home because he’s just three and would probably whine and cry and be bored and cold.

Which are really the same reasons that I was glad P decided not to go.

We decided we could always just photoshop them in to any important family photos we took while in New York. And that right there is why slide technology is almost obsolete.

On Wednesday morning we had a 6:55 a.m. flight. Which meant we had to be at the airport by 5:30. Which meant we had to wake up at 4:30. Which meant that I didn’t sleep at all the night before because that is what I do when I have to get up at an hour that I still consider to be the middle of the night.

We made it to the airport in plenty of time, got through security and made a necessary stop at Starbucks for caffeine. Except Caroline and Sarah had hot chocolate because kids don’t really need caffeine for extra energy. Even at 5:30 a.m.

When we arrived in Newark, a Good Times van picked us up to drive us to our hotel. (Not really, but how awesome would that have been? Maybe a brown one with a scene of a sunset on the side.) It was actually a very tasteful, roomy black van that wasn’t heated to the surface of the sun like the flight we’d just been on.

As we drove into the city we pointed out the Statue of Liberty and Brooklyn Bridge to the girls. And Caroline was fascinated by the Lincoln Tunnel even though she was sure she could see it leaking.

We made it to the city by mid-afternoon and immediately walked down to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree.

I decided it was a good day to do my impersonation of a member of Fat Albert’s gang. Note to self: NICE HAT, LUCILLE.

And then we just walked up and down Fifth Avenue, looking at amazing store windows, until we realized we were all starving and needed to eat dinner.

It was 4:15 p.m.

We party like rock stars.

Or senior citizens. I can’t remember which.

But after some good Italian food, we had renewed energy and made our way to Times Square. That’s where the girls discovered the M&M store and I accidentally bought $20 worth of M&Ms because ALL THE COLORS. And then we saw Johnny Manziel’s billboard and discovered that New York isn’t like Disney World and if you take your picture with Mickey and Minnie Mouse they expect a tip.

And, finally, we went in the Toys ‘R Us store where a kid can be a kid or suffer some kind of sensory overload because they’ve been up since four in the morning and there is a FERRIS WHEEL IN THE STORE.

Caroline looked at me after we’d been there about thirty minutes and said, “Mom? My head kind of feels like blelrlsh shiflenth flvuen”. I felt like that was a sign it was time to head back to the hotel and get some sleep.

So that’s what we did.

At 7:30 p.m.

In our defense, it felt like midnight.

(On a side note, the Toys ‘R Us in Times Square is open twenty-four hours a day now through Christmas. I bet that’s just how the shepherds who visited the manger envisioned future generations commemorating the birth of our Savior.)

The next morning we were up and out early because that’s how Bops does vacations. Time is money. We went to the American Girl doll store so Sarah and Caroline could get their dolls ears pierced and hair styled. This was a precious time filled with running commentary by Bops about how the economy can’t be that bad if the American Girl doll salon still exists and wondering how you keep a straight face while you give a doll an exfoliating treatment.

But the girls loved it and the hairdresser who styled Caroline’s doll’s hair marveled at what good condition it was in. And it took everything in me to say it’s because that doll has spent its entire existence sitting virtually untouched in the playroom.

We made our way to St. Patrick’s Cathedral after that. With freshly coiffed dolls in tow.

And then walked until we got to Central Park. Where Caroline discovered the beauty of climbing every single rock in the park and causing me to hyperventilate.

Eventually I gave up the fight and climbed up there to join her. And I’m so glad I did because this may be one of my favorite pictures ever of the two of us.

We also ice skated, and by we, I mean my brother-in-law and the two girls. And I’m also playing fast and loose with the term “ice skate”. It was more an “awkward ice walk”.

Afterwards we visited Eloise at The Plaza.

Right after this we learned you’re not supposed to take your picture with Eloise.

And then we played the giant piano and visited Zoltar at FAO Schwarz. Caroline also ended up getting some kind of mini-facial from a salesgirl who told her that she needs to take good care of her skin because “most damage occurs before the age of seventeen”. And Caroline proved that she is her mother’s daughter because she was immediately ready to own the entire beauty set. This is a child who complains about having to brush her teeth so I didn’t feel bad about turning down the purchase of skin care regimen that would make Victoria Principal weep.

But she has reminded me a million times that “most skin damage occurs before the age of seventeen”. Yes. Let’s start with remembering to shower every day.

Later in the day (Are you exhausted yet? Because I am just reading all of this.) we rode the subway down to Chinatown and Little Italy. Caroline bought a cool bag, we ate some delicious homemade pasta, and made our way back to the hotel to crash.

And I think that has to be it for today because MY WORD at the lengthiness. Good news for all of you who love a good slide show. There’s a sequel.
The end of an era

My grandmother, Nanny, passed away yesterday. She was 93 years old. And so I felt like it was appropriate to re-post something I wrote on her birthday several years ago.

A few days ago, Caroline and I drove to Beaumont to visit my Nanny. She has more energy and enthusiasm than people half her age. All of her friends are at least fifteen to twenty years younger than she is because as she will tell you “I don’t like to spend time with old people”. In fact, the week before we arrived she had hosted a Bunco party at her house, you know for all her young friends in their seventies.

She has always known how to stay young. I remember being in high school and walking down the street to borrow her clothes and her jewelry. I bet not too many grandmothers have a wardrobe that their granddaughters would like to wear. You don’t see a lot of fifteen year olds wearing SAS shoes with a nice paisley polyester blouse. But Nanny has always had style.

She was the first person I knew that owned a video camera, a VCR and an answering machine. In fact, Nanny called me the other day and asked “What is an iPod and do I need to get one?”

When we walked through the door of her house, it was all so warm and familiar. I can’t identify what it smells like, but it’s a part of my life. Even when we got home on Sunday, I could smell it on my clothes and in my hair. It’s the smell of home and comfort, a combination of Sir Walter Raleigh pipe tobacco, fresh cinnamon cake out of the oven and perfume. If I could buy it in a bottle, I would.

Caroline was in complete awe of Nanny’s house. There are more things to look at than you could possibly see in just one visit. She still has our old toy closet filled with toys from our childhood and books that bring back so many memories. Caroline walked into that closet, found a huge box full of more jewelry than you can imagine and said “Oh Mama, this is interesting”. It’s like a little piece of heaven on earth for a little girl, and I know because it’s where I spent so much of my childhood.

At one point, I was on the other side of the house and heard a familiar noise that made me laugh out loud. It was the sound of Samba music coming from the electric organ that Nanny has in her sitting room. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Caroline discovered it and once she did, she was hooked. I spent a lot of hours playing that same organ with my sister making up variety shows and musicals that would rival the Sweeney Sisters. We’d put Nanny’s nightgowns on our head for our hair and drape ourselves in anything we could find in her jewelry box.

One Thanksgiving when P and I drove seven hours to get to the lake house, I walked in the door and she said “Oh it makes me so sad that you don’t wear makeup anymore”. She always wants us to look our best even for seven hour car trips through East Texas. I have always thought she’s kind of like a mama cat, she likes to take all her babies and get them cleaned up just right.

The biggest thing (literally) she worries about is everyone’s weight. Gulley said she knew she was officially part of the family when Nanny told her she’d put on a few pounds. But here’s the kicker, anytime you visit she will always have your favorite dessert fresh out of the oven. It’s like she wants you to look good, but she also wants to indulge you in your favorite food. In fact, one of the first things she said after I walked in the door was that she had made my favorite banana pudding. It was so good I could’ve eaten the whole bowl. And her sweet tea is like no other you’ll will ever taste. I’d be willing to bet that the sugar to tea ratio errs high on the side of sugar. It’s like heaven in a glass.

After Caroline finally passed out from the sheer exhaustion of looking through all that jewelry, Nanny and I stayed up talking. This has always been one of my favorite things about Nanny, she’s a night owl like me (or at least like me before I had a three year old that likes to wake up when it’s still “darken” outside). When I was little she always let me stay up late with her to watch The Tonight Show, in fact the night that Johnny Carson did his last show I was off at college, but I had to call Nanny on the phone because the sound of Johnny’s voice will always remind me of those renegade nights at her house where I was allowed to stay up until 11:30.

Nanny always knows how to make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world when you’re with her. She listens to everything you say and even when I was little, never made me feel like my thoughts didn’t matter.

As she used to tell me before bed at night, “Parting is such sweet sorrow, but we will meet again on the morrow.”

I love you, Nanny. So glad you’re home.

Give Big Bob a kiss and a hug for me.
The things they handed down

Today is my Pa-Pa’s birthday.

But he’s been gone a long time now. Almost fifteen years. I can always remember how many years because he died a month after P and I got married. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t make one last trip to Beaumont to see him before he died, but I guess I was busy getting settled in to my new life as a married woman.

And I also believe there was a part of me that was in denial that he was going to die. I’d never lost anyone close to me at that point and I kept believing he was going to be okay. Especially since he’d spent every Christmas of my life gathering all of us around and saying, “This might be Pa-Pa’s last Christmas with y’all.” It became a family joke for twenty-five years.

Then he was gone.

I think about him all the time. Caroline will do something I know he’d think was funny or my dad will make a comment that sounds just like something Pa-Pa used to say to me. And my mind can picture him as if I just saw him yesterday, standing in his backyard with a cigar in his mouth.

Last week while we were in Houston, we invited my cousin Lisa to go out to eat with us one night. I hadn’t seen her in almost four years. Which is so interesting considering that my Me-Ma and Pa-Pa never lived more than a few miles from most of their family. To them, family was the most important thing, the only thing. But that was back in the days before life sent families in all different directions.

Anyway, I keep up with Lisa through Facebook but we hadn’t all been together in a long time. I was the oldest grandchild on my dad’s side of the family so in my mind all the cousins are a lot younger than me. It caught me by surprise when Lisa said she was thirty-two. I would have said twenty-six. But I guess I just felt older than them because I was a very mature eight year old who had moved on to playing with my Donny and Marie dolls complete with soundstage set while they were all just toddlers who still wore diapers.

So we spent a few hours catching up on life and what we’re all doing now, but eventually began to talk about old memories. And we laughed in that way that you can only laugh when you’re reminiscing over shared experiences. Because as many people as God brings into your life over the years, there remain a small handful that know exactly what you’re talking about when you reference your Me-Ma’s spaghetti sauce or turquoise polyester pants with the elastic waistband.

We talked about the formal living room with the sliding door that Me-Ma always kept barricaded except for the most special occasions. And how it was always a special privilege to be allowed to go in that room with Pledge and a dust-cloth to polish the dining room table until you could see your reflection. Or to play with the little porcelain figurines on the built-in shelves.

And how sometimes Me-Ma would call you over in a loud whisper to show you that she had a stash of Little Debbie oatmeal pies that she’d been hiding from the other cousins but was going to let you have one. Looking back, I think she used that same line with all of us to make us feel special. Food was one of her big love languages.

We laughed about how we’d all eat in the garage on Christmas Eve and how Pa-Pa kept the windows of the garage covered up to hide his Friday night poker games from any nosy neighbors. We remembered the picture of the dogs playing poker hanging on the garage wall and the statue of Mary that had a place of honor in the center of their patio. And how the floor of that patio was composed of a mosaic of colorful tile.

There was the white flocked artificial Christmas tree with the snowballs made out of styrofoam and the gray couches that were made of some kind of fake leather. Pa-pa’s black leather chair that he sat in all the time and how he could swivel it around to open the front door without having to get up. The pink bedroom in the back of the house that we thought was the most beautiful bedroom ever.

We remembered Me-Ma’s spaghetti and how no one can make it quite like she did. The black Lamar University windbreaker that Pa-Pa always wore. The way he’d wrap a banana in a piece of white bread, call it a banana dog, and eat it. The Christmases and Easters and just normal weekends when a steady stream of family and friends would walk through the door to visit and everyone would get hugged and kissed whether you were interested in being hugged and kissed or not. It wasn’t optional.

Later on that night, after Lisa left, I couldn’t sleep. I laid awake and thought about how funny it is that things from so long ago can be remembered in such vivid detail. Especially considering that I can’t even remember what time I’m supposed to be at the dentist on Monday morning.

I can recall every corner of Me-Ma and Pa-Pa’s house and the way she used to climb into bed with me and read The Little Match Girl until I fell asleep because she knew it was my favorite. I can remember every bedroom and all the smells and what they had in their closets. I can remember all the lipsticks in Me-Ma’s drawer and the picture of Jesus that hung in Pa-Pa’s bedroom. And I can remember walking through their back door with my sister and our rainbow duffle bags every other weekend when my dad came to town to visit.

What I don’t know is why I thought it would never end. I thought we’d always walk up their driveway and Pa-Pa would swivel around in his chair to open the door while Me-Ma hurried toward us from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. I know that sounds silly. But when you’re young, you take it for granted that things and people will just always be there.

In a way, I guess they always are. Caroline has Me-Ma’s bedroom furniture in her bedroom. My sister has their furniture in her living room. We all have bits and pieces of the things that belonged to them. And, more than that, we have the lessons they taught us, the memories they gave us, the stories they loved to tell, and the way they loved their family. The things they handed down when we we didn’t even know we were paying attention.

For that, I am forever grateful.

Happy Birthday, Pa-Pa. You loved us well.
All she wants for Easter are her two front teeth

Here’s what you need to know about our weekend. We experienced the mythical and elusive Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy exacta on Saturday night. (I wish I could say trifecta because that sounds better, but that would have required Santa Claus or our door guy showing up.) The Easter Bunny even left a note letting us know he ran into the Tooth Fairy in the hallway of our house. What are the odds?

(The Easter Bunny also signed his note, “Hoppy Easter!” because he/she is hilarious. It was a real crowd pleaser. And by crowd pleaser, I mean Caroline thought it was the best thing she’d ever read.)

It all started on Saturday morning. We were on our way to Caroline’s soccer game when she mentioned that her remaining front tooth was bleeding. P and I kind of blew it off because the tooth hadn’t seemed that loose the day before and he told her to leave it alone since “the middle of a soccer game isn’t the best time to lose a tooth”.

And then she lost her tooth in the middle of a soccer game.

I noticed that she kept messing around with her tooth during the first part of the game as opposed to, oh I don’t know, trying to score goals. Then right after half time, she was running down the field when she suddenly stopped and yelled to P, “DADDY! MY TOOTH JUST CAME OUT!”

He sent her over to me. She looked as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, but ultimately handed me the tooth and ran back on the field to the cheers of the crowd. After the game she told me that she was running down the field, put her tongue behind the tooth, it popped out of her mouth and she caught it in her hand. I so appreciate her cat-like reflexes even though I can assure you that she doesn’t get them from me, especially considering that I watched a wooden cutting board fall on my foot yesterday and couldn’t get out of the way.

(My foot appears to be fine, by the way. Bruised, but fine. I did, however, have to ask for forgiveness for my thoughts toward the cutting board and the cookie sheet that propelled it onto my foot. And the white hot fury that tempted me to throw it across the kitchen.)

After the soccer game/tooth drama we came home and dyed Easter eggs.

We took it very seriously this year. As opposed to years past when the goal was to dunk each egg in as many different colors as possible until they all were a color that can only be described as tie-dyed mud.

On Saturday night we spent time with some friends and got home a little late. Fortunately, the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy had indulged in plenty of caffeine throughout the day so they could complete their appointed rounds. Just like the postman, but without the slew of Boden catalogs I get in the mail EVERY SINGLE DAY.

And ALL THE EXCITEMENT resulted in a Sunday morning wake up call at around 6:00 a.m. But if Jesus can rise from the dead bright and early on Sunday morning, certainly I can make myself get out of bed. Especially since I was being dragged by a toothless seven-year-old.

She had already found the money left by the Tooth Fairy and ran into the living room to see what the bunny had delivered.

That’ll do, Pig. That’ll do.

Also, please notice the freaky shadows cast on my walls by the animal mounts. Nice.

And then the search was on for hidden eggs.

It required some thought and effort. The Easter Bunny upped his/her game this year.

After all the eggs were found, it was time for a nutritious breakfast of chocolate bunny ears.

We all got dressed and headed to church. Unfortunately, in my rush to get Caroline and I both looking presentable, I forgot to zip up the side zipper on my dress. A fashion faux pas I didn’t notice until AFTER Easter brunch. Classy.

And now, a million pictures of the day. You can be like Caroline and ask, “WHEN IS THIS GOING TO BE OVER?”

Look how cute they are.

And look at what I had to endure before I got that picture.

Also, I discovered it’s not as easy to hold Caroline as it used to be. I’m seconds from falling over.

My delicate Easter flower.

Mimi and Bops and my sister and her family came over for Easter brunch. And guess what? We took more pictures.

Do you know how hard it is to get a picture of all three kids looking at the camera at the same time? If it had been a test, I would have failed.

Then the cascarones (confetti eggs) came out.

It was shortly after this picture that I found myself with a hair full of confetti. It should all be out by sometime in July.

Not even Luke was safe.

The day ended with some high level Easter egg negotiations.

It was such a fun day. I totally understood when Caroline said last night before bed, “I WISH IT WERE EASTER AGAIN TOMORROW.”

While she’s at it she may want to wish for her two front teeth.
My pancake was a broken heart

Yesterday morning as I got Caroline ready for school, I told her, “Tonight we’re going to have a special family Valentine’s dinner and there might even be a present!” She said, “Okay, but I thought I usually get my Valentine’s presents in the morning.”

Yes. Yes, you do. But only when Mama actually remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day.

I should have remembered. I spent a good portion of our weekend helping her make homemade cards for all her classmates while practicing the art of glitter management. Which is just a fancy way of saying I tried to limit the spread of glitter to one small patch of the dining room. Although based on the fact I just walked to the kitchen for a glass of water and came back with a bedazzled foot, I may have failed at my task.

But I procrastinated on a Valentine’s gift all last week and, thus, had to make a run to Target before attending Caroline’s class party later in the afternoon. I secured a gift and made a quick swing through the Whataburger drive-thru line because I was in need of lunch before all the cupcakes. The girl at the window informed me it’s FREE JALAPENO WEEK at Whataburger and asked if I’d like my jalapeno on the side or on my burger. It seemed like too much to think about and so I made the decision to forgo my free jalapeno. And, may I just say that FREE JALAPENO WEEK seems like kind of a lame marketing strategy.

Once I arrived at the class party, I helped set up the tables and the party craft. All of Caroline’s classmates began to file back in the room after recess and I was immediately greeted by my child and a little girl I’ll call Mabel. Mabel wrote Caroline a Valentine’s letter that read, “Dear Caroline, You are a nice friend that is wite” which is ironic because Caroline just asked last week if we could please adopt a kid with dark skin so she’d have someone in the family that looks like her. Apparently the fact she tans well has caused some racial confusion.

Anyway, Mabel also told me, “I really like the way you talk. It sounds like a cowgirl.” In other words, MA’AM, YOU SOUND LIKE A COUNTRY BUMPKIN. It made me so happy.

I decided it might be fun to cook breakfast for dinner and make heart-shaped pancakes because I am nothing if not a culinary optimist. You’d think the Gingerbread Man Pancake Fiasco of Christmas 2009 would have made me own my inability to properly cook pancakes in a specific shape. But you would be wrong.

(On a total tangent-y sidenote, the mention of heart-shaped pancakes reminds me of the time in college when one of my roommates decided to make a Valentine’s Day gift basket for her boyfriend. She put in things like a mix CD, a new t-shirt, and a pack of his favorite gum or whatever. And, last but not least, she lovingly made a giant Rice Krispie treat in the shape of a heart and wrapped it in foil. She came home later and told us that he named each item as he took it out of the basket. “A pack of gum, a t-shirt, a CD…” and when he pulled out the foil-wrapped Rice Krispie treat, he said, “A big pork chop”. I think about it every Valentine’s Day and laugh because, seriously, a pork chop.)

The first error of dinner occurred when I looked in the refrigerator and discovered I only had three eggs left in the carton. That’s the kind of thing that tends to put a damper on a dinner consisting of eggs, sausage and pancakes. So I headed to HEB to procure more eggs. Like I told Gulley on the phone on my way there, nothing says I HAVE HOT VALENTINE’S DAY PLANS like a trip to HEB at 6:00 p.m. to buy a dozen eggs and some cake flour while wearing a pair of faded yoga pants and an Old Navy t-shirt that reads “St. Patrick’s Day 2003”.

But eventually I managed to make at least two out of six pancakes look remotely like hearts. And P cut me some slack and said he’d be content with just average round pancakes.

And, let’s be honest, that’s what real romance looks like.

We had a great time, drank milk out of the crystal stemware I only use once every three years, and laughed a lot. Or maybe just P and Caroline laughed at me. Especially when I asked her if someone played the guitar during worship at Sunday School or if they played the music on a tape player.

A tape player.

Yes, they magically transport all the children back to 1985 each Sunday and play Petra songs on the tape player.

If that church existed, I would totally go.
Let it snow

Guess what?

It totally snowed here on Friday. 0.4 inches to be exact. A veritable blizzard.

And then it was 70 degrees yesterday and we were outside in our shorts and t-shirts. Welcome to Texas.

I’ll give y’all the full rundown tomorrow after I’ve recovered from all the appetizers I consumed during the Super Bowl.

But, in the meantime, here’s a little video I captured of some of the fun.

South Texas Sledding from Big Mama on Vimeo.

Obviously, Caroline videotaped the part where I’m on the “sled”. Which explains why it is slightly reminiscent of The Blair Witch Project.

____________________________________

On an entirely different note, my friend, Lysa Terkeurst, has written a new book called Made to Crave.

(Yes. All my friends write books. I told Gulley the other day that it’s just a matter of time until she gets her own book deal. And she’s not even a writer.)

Anyway, Lysa’s book has hit the NY Times bestseller list for the last 3 weeks in a row. Which is kind of a big deal. The premise of the book is how God created us all to crave Him, but we often turn to other things, like food, in an attempt to satisfy those desires. And how we continually feel guilty for the number on the scale, or the hours we don’t spend clipping coupons for our family, or the ways we feel like we fail as wives and mothers. It’s a great book and reads just like you’re talking to a friend across the table. And it’s on sale at Amazon right now for $8.99.

You can also tune in for a Made to Crave webcast at 7 p.m. (central time) tonight or watch the replay all day Tuesday. Click here for the webcast link. Tonight’s special guest is Mandisa.