I know. I have disappointed even myself.

Maybe Big Mama, Inc. needs a billion dollar bailout to get things going again.

I’ll even settle for a half billion.

The good news is I’ll be back before lunchtime with a post about a little contest that I’m working on that involves fashion or the lack thereof.

And in the meantime, I’ll leave you with this little gem courtesy of Google search. Someone found the blog today using the search phrase “Will Virginia ever get to eat Blue Bell Ice Cream?”

I’m not sure if they meant the state or a particular person named Virginia. Either way, I hope Virginia has a chance to try some Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla. It is delightful.

If I had to compile a list of my talents it would probably be a short list. However, chief among my gifts would be my ability to compartmentalize certain things. If there is something I don’t want to think about or talk about, then I just go all Scarlett O’Hara and decide I’ll think about it tomorrow.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak to a group of high school students about Compassion and my trip to the Dominican. I’ve spent the last few days reading back over the posts that all the bloggers wrote about the trip and then this morning I googled “Everett Swanson” who is the man that founded Compassion back in 1952.

The last night of our trip, Shaun told us the story of how Compassion came to exist. The short version is that Everett Swanson was an American evangelist who went to Korea during the Korean War to minister to the troops. While he was there, he began to notice all the orphans everywhere. They were huddled in doorways trying to stay warm and starving to death.

One morning he saw a sanitation truck driving down the street. The workers would jump off the truck, kick what appeared to be piles of rags and then throw them in the truck. It turns out they weren’t just piles of rags; they were orphans who didn’t make it through the night being thrown away like garbage. Everett Swanson knew he had to do something.

Because of his commitment, Compassion is now in 24 countries and sponsors over a million children.

I shared that story with the high school students, along with my personal experiences from the trip.

After I was done there, I drove out to my church to record a short video where I was interviewed about the difference Compassion has made in countless lives.

Needless to say, yesterday was like the Big Mama Compassion Tour ‘08. (Not coming soon to cities near you!)

Last night, as I drove to meet some friends for Mexican food, my heart was so heavy and I could feel tears right below the surface. I don’t know if it’s because I had talked about it all day or if it’s just taken this long to sink in, but I just felt a heavy weight of sadness settle over me.

It’s a strange experience to see everything we saw that week, the extreme poverty, the sadness, the presence of hope in spite of the bare minimum of material possessions, and then come back to America at a time when everyone is freaking out about our economic crisis and big industries are requesting multi-billion dollar bailouts.

We’re a week away from celebrating Thanksgiving, which should be a time to reflect on our many blessings, yet we’re inundated by Christmas catalogs with the sole purpose of making sure we want more than we already have.

Caroline and I look through the catalogs while she picks out what she wants Santa to bring on Christmas Eve and then I’ll feel guilty because do we really need any more toys in her already packed playroom?

Do I really need any more clothes in a closet full of things?

What’s the balance between my reality and the reality of the kids in the Dominican Republic?

Why do I have moments where I fully realize I’ve seen the worst and yet still have moments where I feel discontent with what I have?

Am I an idiot?

Don’t answer that. It’s intended to be hypothetical.

Most of all, I can’t get this precious girl off my mind.

Because the one question she asked me was, “Can I go home with you?”

And two weeks later I’m still wishing I could have said yes.

She’s always been a high energy kid, but I’m talking about levels of activity that defy any relation to my gene pool. I tend to think of napping as a neglected art form.

Maybe it’s the cooler weather or maybe it’s because the Christmas Toy Syndicate has ramped up their campaign to make sure your child’s Christmas isn’t complete without a Barbie Jammin’ Jeep, but we have reached new heights of enthusiasm for life.

In fact, last night as I attempted to wrestle her into her pajamas, she suddenly exclaimed, “WAIT! I NEED TO GET SOME KICKS OUT!”

And then proceeded to move to the middle of the living room floor where she kicked the air with great gusto for the better part of four minutes until P told her she needed to take it down a notch.

It’s like living with a five-year-old version of Salley O’Malley. She can kick. She can stretch. She can kick.

But in spite of the fact that all the activity is about to kill me, I still have moments when I look at her and can’t believe she’s mine.

I had no idea I could love someone this much.

I believe I have mentioned that P has been the recipient of three back surgeries due to a herniated disc that insists on continuing to re-herniate (Yes, that is the technical medical term.) Fortunately, the first two surgeries were performed when we still had my sweet pharmaceutical rep insurance, which would basically pay for anything and everything, including having the Clemson Tiger band march through your living room to dispense your pain medication.

I’m not totally sure on that last part because P told me it happened after his second surgery while he was recovering on the couch. He was pretty jacked up on pain pills at the time so it might not be an accurate account, especially since Texas is so far from South Carolina.

Anyway, shortly after leaving my job and entering the dark, scary world of private insurance, P needed another back surgery. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth but, short of a back amputation, there wasn’t much we could do. He had the surgery, our insurance fought us to the death to avoid much of the cost, and we switched insurance.

Problem solved.

Except that his back is no longer covered by insurance because insurers don’t like to insure things that may actually go wrong. They prefer to have you pay monthly premiums to protect yourself against realistic scenarios such as having your arm cut off with some plastic cutlery.

But really, I’m not bitter.

The thing is that even after three surgeries, P’s back still bothers him from time to time. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s in the landscaping business, which has been known to require some digging and lifting. However, surgery is no longer an option and, let’s be honest, hasn’t proved to be very successful in the past.

So this summer when he started complaining about his back, I suggested he try acupuncture. I have two friends that had raved about the effectiveness of acupuncture. Plus, it seemed like everywhere I turned I kept hearing about its miraculous effects. (Granted, most of this information was gathered while watching the Summer Olympics in Beijing so it could have just been NBC creating culturally relevant filler between Michael Phelp’s events.)

I asked my friends for the name of their acupuncturists. The first one’s name was Lupe Gonzales. For some reason, Chinese acupuncture practiced by someone named Lupe just didn’t feel very authentic. Something tells me Lupe’s ancestors weren’t practicing ancient Chinese medicine.

When I called my other friend to find out who she went to, she told me she couldn’t pronounce his name but it started with a “T”. Perfect. That’s the kind of alternative medical credentials we need.

P told me if I’d call and make the appointment that he would go. I called Dr. T’s office at 1:30 the following afternoon and explained that my husband needed to come in for a treatment. Dr. T said he could see him at 2:30 and asked if we knew where he was located.

No. No we didn’t.

Dr. T is located right under the Wendy’s Hamburger sign. Look for Wendy’s Hamburger!

Aww, honey. Good news! You can get acupuncture and then stop for a Frosty on the way home. I don’t know if anything says “Medical Professional” like close proximity to Wendy’s Hamburger.

Except for maybe a medical degree purchased through an institute of learning that advertises on television.

I called P to let him know he needed to be by the Wendy’s Hamburger in an hour and that Caroline and I were headed to the pool. Have fun and enjoy your nice, relaxing acupuncture.

Truth be told, I felt a little envious as I headed to the pool loaded down with various swim paraphernalia. P was probably lying peacefully in a candlelit room while basically getting a massage. Maybe I could come up with an ailment that requires acupuncture followed by a delicious Frosty.

By the time Caroline and I traipsed in from the pool, P was already home sitting on the couch. I walked through the back door and asked, “How was it?”

And at that moment I saw the look in his eyes.

He looked a little like Jack Bauer after that season of “24″ when he was tortured by the bad guys. Of course, technically, that’s every season of “24″ but you get what I’m saying.

I looked at him and asked, “Did it hurt?”

“It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.”

“Seriously? The worst pain? Worse than when you had that deviated septum and your nose was packed with cotton?”

(P and I have enjoyed many medical adventures in eleven years of marriage.)

“Yes. It was torture. I’m never going back.”

“Wow. Kristie and Heather didn’t say anything about it hurting.”

“Did you ask them if it hurt?”

“Ummmm. Welllll…..no.”

“Call them and ask if it was supposed to hurt. I knew we should have gone with Lupe.”

I picked up the phone and called Kristie and Heather. Apparently, yes, acupuncture can sometimes hurt. Especially when you’re dealing with chronic pain and nerve issues.

That probably would have been a good question to ask BEFORE I scheduled the appointment for P.

Oh, hindsight. You are funny.

Thankfully, we can laugh about it now. And truth be told, I kind of laughed a little bit about it then. Not because my husband was in pain, but because I fancy myself to be some kind of pseudo-medical expert since I sold cough medicine for ten years and didn’t ask what was probably the most important question.

I was much more concerned about an unpronounceable last name that seemed to scream credibility and a Frosty. Oh, P is so lucky he gets to grow old with me by his side.

Dr. T told P that for the acupuncture to really work he’d need to come in for about four or five sessions. I think that’s how long it takes to unblock your chi.

Needless to say, P’s chi remains blocked.

Unless I can convince him to go visit Lupe.

But I’m thinking it will be a day in South Texas that’s colder than a Frosty before that happens.

And this is where I have to confess that Caroline was originally not very excited about the gift because it wasn’t comprised of hot pink plastic parts and fake blonde hair. (I’m referring to Barbie dolls, not a cast member of the Real Housewives of Atlanta.)

I tried to explain to her what it was, but the words “magazine subscription” don’t really mean that much to a five-year-old.

As opposed to the words “Polly Pockets Super-Fabulous Mall of Cheap Parts Made in China!”

However, Gulley knows my girl and what she likes. The Zoobooks have become a huge favorite around here and Caroline can’t wait to get a new one in the mail. Once a new issue arrives, it becomes part of our bedtime ritual to read all about that month’s featured animal every single night.

Our most recent issue was about bats. I’ll be honest, I’ve never really been a fan of the bat.

I blame it on the movie “Love At First Bite” and the fact that even as a child I knew that George Hamilton was unnaturally tan. Oh, and that I was always told that bats carry rabies, which is pretty much a deal-breaker for any animal. Just ask Ol’ Yeller.

Anyway, night after night, we’ve read all about bats and, frankly, I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know. For instance, did you know that the smallest bat in the world is the size of a bumblebee? It’s true. And yet incredibly freaky.

A few nights ago, Caroline and I had the following conversation.

“Mama, why are the bats extinct?”

“Well, they’re not extinct. They’re just endangered. That means they are dying and there aren’t a whole lot left.”

“Why are they dying?”

“Well, the book says it’s because they are getting this white fungus on their wings from caves and it’s making them sick.”

“Yeah. Or maybe they’re dying because people are stabbing them in the wings with scissors.”

Oh my.

“Well, no. It’s because of the fungus.”

“Or maybe it’s because people are stabbing them with forks.”

“No, I don’t think people are stabbing them with anything.”

“Well, I think it is.”

I can’t believe I’m raising a bat enthusiast with a penchant for conspiracy theories.

Amanda and her Bible study group came up with the idea to collect 2000 Christmas cards to send to the families of deployed soldiers from Fort Sill. They are calling the effort “Dear Army Family”. They are hoping that each family will receive a card that reminds them that someone across the country values their sacrifice and is remembering their family through this Christmas season.

This is an excerpt from the letter she sent me that outlines the program.

“Our goal is to send an extra Christmas card to each family of a deployed soldier on our post. We are hoping to encourage those that are walking through a particularly difficult time of deployment.

5. Please mail the cards to the following address:

Dear Army Family
Fort Sill – PWOC Frontier Chapel
4121 Thomas Road
Fort Sill, OK 73503

Thank you,

“Like cold water to a weary soul, so is good news from a distant land.” Proverbs 25:25

These families will be without their spouses, mothers, fathers, brothers or sisters this Christmas season and I think this is such an incredible way to say thank you for the sacrifices they have made on our behalf. It’s a simple way to say we don’t take the sacrifice for granted.

Oh, the shopping. I do love it.

Anyone, we have a winner.

Random Integer Generator

The winner is Shana at Our Farmer’s Almanac.

Congratulations! And have fun shopping!

If you liked the stuff at CWDKids, you can also check out their blog, Kidbits. It’s a great place to get the scoop on sales and special offers.

Sure, count me in. By the way, what exactly is Nordstrom Rack?

Turns out it’s a fancy name for a Nordstrom outlet, otherwise known as the store where dreams come true.

So, yesterday after breakfast, we headed to the big grand opening.

Apparently we weren’t the only ones who decided to attend. There were women everywhere grabbing clothes off racks, waiting in long lines just to get in the dressing room, and balancing four boxes of shoes and eight handbags at the same time.

It was a sight to behold. Honestly, it brought a tear to my eye to see the dedication to shopping excellence.

Gulley, Steph, and I started off as a merry little band of shoppers.

We went straight to a rack full of Ed Hardy t-shirts and True Religion jeans. That was our first clue that we were in the midst of some seriously discounted prices.

Pretty soon, we all went our separate ways as we searched the store for bargains.

This is where I need to let y’all know that I am a fabulous shopper. Truly, I am like a bird dog in a field full of quail. (P will be so proud of me for that analogy, even though I really don’t know what it means other than I have skills for finding things.)

I have a sense of what will look good, what is truly a good deal, and the ability to skim merchandise quickly to ensure someone else doesn’t beat me to the last of anything. Honestly, I am a little prideful when it comes to my shopping ability and am even a little picky about who I shop with because I don’t need any dead weight holding me back.

And I mean that in the most loving way.

Steph left me in the dust.

From the moment we walked into the store, Gulley and I watched her eyes glaze over. She handed us each a Nordstrom Rack bag and began barking orders like a drill seargant, “DON’T OVERTHINK ANYTHING. JUST FILL THE BAG AND MAKE FINAL DECISIONS LATER!”

While I was standing by a rack full of sweater dresses, marveling at the incredibly low prices, she had already made her way through half the store and abandoned her tote bag for a full-on shopping cart.

Every now and then, she’d circle back to where we were with her cart full of things she thought we needed to see. Scarves, t-shirts, boots, and handbags. With dizzying efficiency, she’d say, “Gulley, you need this jacket because you can wear it to an Aggie football game! Mel, I found this pink shirt that will go with the scarf I showed you earlier! Girls, you need to get to the shoe department IMMEDIATELY and check out these boots! GO! GO! GO!” It was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

And just when I thought I’d seen the height of shopping excellence, I glanced up and saw her standing next to a rack of coats while talking on her cell phone. Not only was she simultaneously looking for bargains for Gulley and me, but she was on the phone with her mama describing various items that she thought she might like.

By the time we stood in a twenty minute line to check out, she had finished her Christmas shopping, bought three jackets for her mama and her mama’s best friend, found incredible sale items for Gulley and me, and become friends with most of the sales staff. She’d even befriended a lady whose shoes got stolen after she took them off while trying on a new pair.

I humbly bow to her shopping prowess. It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever witnessed.

Sadly, I didn’t have my camera to document any of this in photos. P had the camera because he needed to take some photos for his landscape portfolio.

Whatever, like that’s important.

I desperately needed to take photos of all the mass shopping chaos and the cute scarf I bought. Oh, AND I saw Tony Parker (San Antonio Spurs? Married to Eva Longoria?) getting out of his white Ferrari. But the important thing is that P was able to take photos of someone’s Southern Wax Myrtles.

So while I can’t show you photos of my bargain purchases, I can tell you about them. I bought a JWLA shirt very similar to this one for just $30.00. I found a darling multi-colored scarf with a ruffled edge. I bought a long, plaid tunic-type shirt that will look great with a belt and a beautiful sweater coat that was 75% off its regular price, otherwise known as dirt cheap.

It was one of the best shopping experiences of my life. The savings! The clothes! The realization that I am friends with the most proficient shopper in the San Antonio area and perhaps the southern United States!

My point is that if you find yourself in San Antonio, you need to head out to The Rim shopping center and get yourself to the Rack. There are some serious bargains to be found.

You might even see Tony Parker. And maybe you’ll be fortunate enough to have your camera with you.

Okay, don’t I usually answer some questions or something?

1. Heather asks: “Am I allowed to wear leggings if I’m 36? I’m wondering if I could pull off leggings with my boots? Obviously, I’d wear a long sweater or whatever on top, but are they too trendy?”

I may be slightly biased because I am 37 and don’t think I’m too old for leggings.

Yes, it’s a trendy look but I am a fan. It’s all about finding the right pieces. A good pair of leggings, a nice sweater dress or tunic top and boots. Plus, I think you need to be a little tall so that the look doesn’t overwhelm your figure.

You can find leggings everywhere right now, but these are really inexpensive. I’ve also seen these at Target.

For the top, you could do something like this. Or this. Or this from Old Navy is cute and affordable.

When it comes to boots, you can find them in all colors, sizes, styles and price ranges. I really like these. Or these because I have been dreaming about them for the last year or so.

And don’t forget, even skinny jeans are okay if you wear them tucked into boots. It’s like the boots are miracle workers that redeem even the worst fashion travesties.

2. Hollie asks: “I just bought these UGGs, they are really tall or you can fold them over. What would you wear with them to look like you bought them with some sort of clue? Please help.

Hollie, please see answer to question 1. Those boots would be perfection with leggings or over skinny jeans.

And I’m only about 98% envious that you own them.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll find my very own pair for 150% off next time I go to the Rack.

Which may be tomorrow.

Y’all have a great Friday!

In fact, much of my childhood was spent dining at Casa Elena Restaurant in Houston where my sister and I both grew to believe that we were speaking Spanish when we said, “HOT PLATE! HOT PLATE!”

Honestly, I don’t remember if the food was any good or not, but I do vividly remember that it was where I experienced chips and salsa for the first time.

Another childhood favorite was The Monterey House. The women in my family would order the “Summer Special” which consisted of a scoop of guacamole, a round queso chip, and a crispy beef taco. All I cared about was the candy made out of brown sugar that was always buried in the chip basket.

Then, when I was in high school, I discovered Casa Ole. To this day I will order the Dinner El Paso, which is two cheese enchiladas covered in queso and is truly a culinary disaster on a microwaved plate. However, old habits and addictions to processed cheese die hard.

As will my arteries.

College was filled with midnight trips to Taco Bell or Taco Cabana depending on how much money I had left in my checking account. It was during this time that I discovered two things:

1. Taco Bell hot sauce will take the tarnish off a penny

2. My daddy had automatic overdraft protection on my checking account

Who says college doesn’t equip you for the world?

After graduation I moved to San Antonio. Honestly, I wasn’t that excited about it, in spite of the fact that it is the home of the best Mexican food in Texas. There are seriously over 800 Mexican restaurants in this city.

Thanks to San Antonio, I discovered there is more to a breakfast taco than the folks at Whataburger would have you believe. The Taquito is just a cheap imitation that really only tastes good at 3:00 a.m. after two or eight beers. (That’s actually a third thing I learned in college.)

After I moved here, there was an unfortunate period of time where I was employed as a door salesman.

True story. I sold doors. And cried a lot.

And wondered why I decided to major in Speech Communications.

The only thing that kept me going during that dark career day was when one of the other salesmen introduced me to the Taco Feo (Ugly Taco) from El Milagrito. The Taco Feo is refried beans, beef fajita meat, and scrambled eggs wrapped in a homemade flour tortilla. Add a little spicy green chile sauce and your life will never be the same again.

Colors will be brighter. The air will be crisper. Angels will sing.

Sure, you’ll have horrendous heartburn but you won’t care.

In the fourteen years I’ve lived here, I’ve discovered what I believe to be the best crispy tacos (Teka Molina) and the best puffy tacos (Patty’s Taco House).

By the way, a puffy taco is like a crispy taco on steroids. Think big puffy shell filled meat, cheese and lettuce.

However, it’s only been in the last year that I made the discovery of my life. The Taco Norteno.

A Taco Norteno, which I believe translates to “Taco of the North” or perhaps “Yankee Taco”, consists of beef asada (thinly sliced beef), refried beans, shredded cabbage (this is crucial, no lettuce allowed), serrano peppers, Monterey Jack cheese, and a slice of avocado all wrapped in a lightly fried corn tortilla.

Let’s give a handclap of thanksgiving for the corn tortilla.

And the Monterey Jack cheese.

And the serrano peppers.

My tastebuds will never be the same.

In fact, I may never be able to eat another Dinner El Paso, which will cause my arteries to rise up and call me blessed.

(Hey! Have I mentioned my trip to the Dominican? My word, it’s overkill at this point and I apologize.)

I still can’t really say for sure but Dominican food seems to involve various unidentifiable meats fried into a ball-like shape, vegetables steamed beyond all recognition and color-definition, plantains, some kind of fried chicken (Please God, I hope it was chicken.) and something called Monfogo that involved pork-cracklings.

Mmmm…just like mama used to make.

And really nothing made me feel better before a meal than when our leader Brian would say, “You can eat the fruit. It SHOULD be okay.”

The difference between SHOULD and DEFINITELY is a big gamble. And losing means you might find yourself doing the walk of shame to the airplane bathroom about 152 times. In ten minutes. I believe I’ll take a pass on the papaya.

Thank goodness for beans and rice. They were the light in my darkest culinary hour.

Needless to say, since returning home, I’ve been on a bit of a food binge.

I’ve eaten untold quantities of Mexican food. Seriously, if you hear rumors of a worldwide avocado shortage, it may be my fault. I’ve had breakfast tacos, tacos nortenos, puffy tacos, crispy tacos and quesadillas. And that was just yesterday.

Thank you. I’ll be here all week.

I made chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner last night and washed it down with an iced sugar cookie in the shape of a turkey that I’d bought (and HID from my beloved family) earlier in the day.

Gulley invited me over for lunch because she’d made chicken salad and she knows I love her chicken salad. What she didn’t know was that I would eat 3/4 of the bowl by myself.

The eating isn’t the problem so much as my lack of activity over the last two months. My morning exercise regimen has basically consisted of multiple reps of lifting a Starbucks Grande cup to my mouth.

When Caroline started Kindergarten way back in August, I had the best of physical fitness intentions. Mimi and Bops have an elliptical machine, so my plan was to drop Caroline off at school every morning and then go work out on the elliptical.

I have executed that plan exactly NONE times. Really, I blame my car and its obsession with the parking lot outside of Starbucks.

I told myself that I was just enjoying my free time for a little while, but would really get serious in September.

But then it was still so hot.

Then I got bronchitis.

And then I broke my toe.

Clearly, I have been the victim of some kind of mass anti-cardiovascular health conspiracy.

But after evaluating my intake of cheese, tortilla chips, and refried beans over the last several days, I realize it’s time to step up my exercise game.

Which is to say I’m actually going to do some.

I think the lowest point came yesterday morning when I attempted to adjust the strap on my bra and my deltoid and pectoralis major totally cramped up from the over-exertion.

Sadly, that’s a true story.

And even more sad, I just shared it with the internet.