Author: Big Mama

Okay, so where did I leave off?

(And, by the way, I wrote yesterday’s post and then totally forgot to hit publish and didn’t realize it until about nine hours later.)

(I blame the heat.)

(Which is going to be my standard excuse for everything between now and sometime towards the end of September.)

After our three hour road trip/Spanish Inquisition about hamsters and Star Wars, Caroline and I arrived at Honey and Big’s house. I knew Caroline was tired from the sleepover the night before so I had already warned her that if she started to feel tired and grumpy she should separate herself from the rest of the herd and have a little down time. It only took about thirty minutes before that happened.

Fortunately, she emerged from her few moments of alone time with a better perspective on life and tattle-telling because we still had a big night ahead of us. Around 5:00 we all ate some barbecue and then headed to Olsen Field to watch the Aggies play Seton Hall.

And that’s when I discovered that an early barbecue dinner and excessive heat don’t really mix so well. I had to mind over matter myself to not revisit the brisket I’d eaten earlier. We were sitting in the same seats Gulley and the boys had sat in the night before and she’d warned me that Will spilled an entire Dr. Pepper. And then while we were watching Saturday night’s game, he spilled another one. And then knocked over a bucket of popcorn. I thought for a moment that one of my flip-flops was permanently stuck to the ground. I have new sympathy for those poor little mice that get stuck in glue traps. Our section of the bleachers was one large glue trap. With popcorn for texture. The good news is they’re tearing down Olsen Field in the next day or so because there’s no way that spot of the bleachers could ever be clean again.

The Aggies won Saturday night’s game which meant they were one game away from winning the tournament. We bought our tickets for Sunday night’s championship game and felt certain that we’d get to watch them wrap the whole thing up and head home on Monday morning. Because twenty-five years of being an Aggie fan has taught me nothing.

On Sunday we took the kids to a neighborhood splash pad to burn some energy. We lasted for about an hour before Gulley and I wanted to find the nearest deep freeze to hide in. Instead, I ran to the grocery store to buy stuff to make this Southwestern Black Bean dip that I’m currently addicted to and will continue to eat until I never want to see it again.

And while I was at the Kroger’s in Bryan, I experienced all the reasons I love that town in one five-minute period. I saw a man wearing a gold sequin shirt with a huge gold cross hanging around his neck and gold shoes walking through the produce section. Then the cashier called me “Honey”, “Darling” and “Baby” as I checked out. And then a man named Skeeter, wearing his visor upside down in a jaunty, redneck way, yelled out “No harm, no foul darlin’!” as I apologized for accidentally cutting him off with my shopping cart. Finally, as if a gift straight from God, I heard a loud “MOOOOOO” as a trailer full of cattle was being pulled through the parking lot. God bless small town USA.

After I got back to the house, the skies opened up and it began to rain. We were thrilled with the hope that the rain might cool things off before the game later that evening but only because we are idiots and didn’t think that afternoon rain plus excessive heat equals a whole new meaning to the term SULTRY. By game time the whole outdoors was like one gigantic sauna but not as refreshing.

We arrived at the field and walked up to our own personal glue trap, otherwise known as our section of the bleachers, and waited for the game to start. And by the time the first pitch was thrown I immediately regretted my decision to wear jean shorts because denim? It does not breathe. I felt like I was going to pass out.

At one point I went to the bathroom and totally had a Ross Gellar moment. Remember that episode of Friends when he wore those leather pants on a date and then went to the bathroom to cool off and couldn’t pull them back up? There but for the grace of God and a lot of pulling and tugging at belt loops go I.

We’d been at the game for a little while when Gulley got a text on her phone from an unknown number that read, “These new Diamond Darlings aren’t nearly as good as the old ones”. (Gulley and I were Diamond Darlings back in the dark ages of the early 90’s) She texted back and asked, “Who is this?” It turns out it was an old friend of ours from college who happened to be at the game.

(The new Diamond Darlings are darling. But they have a cushy existence. Back in our day we had to drive the tractor to smooth out the infield and chalk the field and we DID NOT have some sort of fence that protected us from stray foul balls. Rumor has it that they even have their own dressing room. We had to get dressed at home and then walk uphill in the snow BOTH WAYS to get to the baseball field. It’s a wonder we survived.)

Anyway, our old friend came over to visit us in section 216 and we caught up on the last twenty years. But what astounded me was when I introduced him to Caroline and she not only shook his hand, but looked him in the eye and said, “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Caroline.” We’ve been talking about the importance of good manners and looking grown ups in the eye when you speak to them, but I had no idea she’d actually been listening. I just throw these things out there constantly and hope some of it sticks.

So when he left, I said, “Caroline, I am so proud of you. You just used the best manners and made me so proud. Good job!”

And she asked, “Is that the kind of thing that’s going to get me a hamster?”

See what she did there? She didn’t let it lie.

In the end, the Aggies lost the game and Gulley and I decided we couldn’t bear to sit through another stifling hot baseball game. We’d reached our limit. And that turned out to be the best decision because Monday’s nights game got called because of rain. I don’t really remember what rain looks like but, if memory serves, it’s wet and falls from the sky.

They played the final game yesterday. And the Aggies won. Which means they’re headed to Tallahassee to play Florida State in the Super Regional. Gig’em.

I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be cheering them on from Texas. There’s no way we could survive a road trip to Tallahassee.

I can’t bear the thought of a sixteen hour hamster sales pitch.

Listen.

I have lived in Texas my whole life, MY WHOLE LIFE, but over the last few days I have constantly thought that I can’t ever remember it being this hot this early in June. Then our weatherman confirmed it earlier tonight when he announced we broke the record high temperature yesterday that was originally set in 1948. And I felt vindicated to know that I can legitimately complain about the heat. It is sucking the soul right out of me.

But enough of the complaining about the temperature.

For now.

This is also where I kind of want to put it out there that I am committed to enjoying this summer. I want us to relax and make the most of it and therefore I am giving myself permission to not feel like I have to blog every single day. That doesn’t mean I won’t blog every single day because there are several factors at work:

A. I am compulsive.

B. I’ve been doing this for five years and have developed quite the habit.

C. I actually enjoy writing at the end of the day 99% of the time.

D. There is no D.

It just means that I may take the occasional day off because sometimes the summer feels like a steady stream of IT’S SO HOT combined with WE WENT TO THE POOL combined with IS IT EVER GOING TO BE COOL OUTSIDE AGAIN.

And on that note, have I mentioned that it’s hot?

Anyway, Thursday was Caroline’s last day of school and we celebrated by, SURPRISE, going to the pool. We ate some victory nachos and paid $5.00 for a pizza that was smaller than the majority of bagels I’ve eaten throughout my life. And then the kids all swam until we shut ‘er down around 8:30 p.m.

We slept in until a glorious 9:15 on Friday morning and then got up to wait for the AT&T guy to show up sometime between his appointed 8-noon time slot. He must have heard that all the good repairmen play hard to get because he didn’t actually arrive until around 2:00 p.m. I wanted to be irritated but the truth is it was a good excuse for Caroline and I to spend the day at home cleaning the house. The dust was embarrassingly thick and there were so many blue toothpaste remnants on her bathroom counter that it looked tie-dyed. Not to mention that the playroom had been overrun by half-naked Barbies and sparkly horses and was a little too reminiscent of Lady Godiva.

The good news is I think AT&T fixed our problem. The nice repairman gave us some super high-powered modem and the internet appears to be all better.

(I realize you probably don’t really care about our new modem but I felt like I had to tell you how the whole thing was resolved because I’ve complained about it more than several times.)

(Also, no one will ever be able to hijack our wireless access because our new code is approximately 124 characters long.)

Late Friday afternoon Caroline went to a sleepover birthday party for her friend Sadie. I wasn’t sure if she’d actually stay the whole night because she isn’t a big fan of sleeping away from home, but she’s known Sadie since birth so I thought she might make it. And she did. They’d gone to get pedicures and I’m sure you want to know that neon nail colors appear to be all the rage for seven and eight-year-old girls.

I picked her up on Saturday morning because we were heading to College Station to meet Gulley and the boys to watch some Aggie baseball. But before we could get on the road, she insisted that I meet Sadie’s new pet hamster. Personally, I’ve never been a big fan of hamsters. Or anything that is small and rodent-ish. But I faked some enthusiasm since it seemed like the polite thing to do.

(I also need to point out that Sadie is my friend Julie’s daughter.)

(Julie is my friend that had Johnny Cash in a shoebox.)

(Johnny Cash was a baby bird. She didn’t have the real Johnny Cash in a shoebox.)

(What I’m trying to explain is that Julie appreciates having a menagerie of animals whereas I just sort of prefer a dog.)

But as Caroline and I hit the open road for College Station, it quickly became apparent that it was going to be one long three hour sales pitch for a hamster. Actually it vacillated between a pitch for a hamster and wanting to know all the reasons I won’t let her watch the third Star Wars movie. (Not the third one from the old movies, the third one from the new ones.) And I had to explain that hamsters have cages and they poop and scratch and are eerily similar to rats and also that Anakin Skywalker turns to the dark side and gets thrown into a fire and burns up and it’s all very disturbing.

The hamsters and the burning in the fire. Just to clarify.

And she hasn’t even watched the first two Star Wars yet and her beloved pet fish has been dead for over a month and she has yet to notice. I know this because I am conducting a very unscientific experiment to see how long it takes her to realize Scissors (that was the fish, God rest his soul) is no longer with us.

The bottom line is we spent three hours in the car debating about things that are irrelevant at this point and time because A) she can’t even watch the third Star Wars if she hasn’t seen the first two and B) if, and that’s a BIG IF, I even consider a hamster it would be a birthday present and her birthday isn’t until August.

However, when I explained all this to her about six different times throughout the car ride, she’d look at me and say, “Oh. Okay.”

Which was immediately followed by, “But if you had to guess if you were closer to a yes or no, which would it be?”

And then I couldn’t even remember if we were talking about the hamster or Star Wars.

But I do know that she plans to name her VERY HYPOTHETICAL hamster, Princess Leia.

Now I’m 1047 words into this post and I haven’t even gotten to the part about College Station and Aggie baseball. And so it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.

This is why I really need to write something every day.

Otherwise I have too many words stored up inside my head.

Oh have we had ourselves a weekend.

In fact, we are still in the midst of our weekend and that’s why there will be no real post today.

But I’ll tell you this, we have watched A LOT of baseball in 104 degree temps.

And since the Aggies lost last night, I think we have more baseball in our immediate future.

I’ll be back tomorrow after I’ve recovered from a possible heat stroke.

I wasn’t even sure if I was going to write anything because these last two days of school have worn me out. I’m not entirely sure why but I think it has something to do with my list of 853 things I’m trying to accomplish before Caroline is home for the entire summer. But today is officially the last day of second grade. Cue the hallelujah chorus even as I sit here slightly stunned that my baby is about to be a third grader. The only thing I have left to do is figure out how to get two gallons of Blue Bell ice cream up to the school in 106 degree heat for the end of the year class party without it turning into sweet milk soup.

On an entirely different subject, I wanted to clarify that, yes, that was an artichoke in the pot of crawfish in my post on Tuesday. Our friend William had the good sense to marry a girl from Louisiana and they are big believers in putting anything you can find into the pot of crawfish; oranges, whole garlic cloves, mushrooms, artichokes and the occasional squirrel. Except not really on the squirrel part. Although I bet it’s happened. And if you disagree with me it’s only because you’ve never been to Louisiana.

The bottom line is the artichoke was delicious. I ate it until I felt like my lips were going to burn off from the spice which is always the prime indicator of MMM, MMM GOOD when it comes to Cajun food.

Anyway, I just wanted to clear up the whole artichoke thing because several of you asked about it and I hated not to tie up that loose crawfish boil end.

In other news, Sophie and I tried to record a podcast yesterday. But remember last Monday when we posted our other podcast and I said I was going to call AT&T and get to the bottom of our internet issues? Yeah. I never actually did that because I suffer from an astonishing lack of follow-through on those types of things.

So since I couldn’t connect to any sort of bootleg wireless connection here at the house, I told her I’d just podcast from my car outside of Starbucks while I connected to their internet. Except when I got there the signal was too weak. And then I tried Borders, but there was too much feedback or something. Not to mention that I underestimated how conspicuous a person might feel wearing headphones and talking into a microphone in a very public parking lot.

Ultimately, it finally dawned on me that I was going to all this effort solely to avoid having to deal with the customer service department at AT&T. And it probably isn’t too much to expect for the wireless internet we pay for every month to work, but I just dread all that “Have you reset the modem? Have you jumped up and down three times and changed the flux capacitor on your computer? Have you danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”

But I’d put it off long enough. I told Sophie I was going to head back home and face the music. Or Muzak as the case may be considering how long I might be on hold.

I called and pressed a myriad of buttons until I finally got a real person on the phone. She was very nice and tried to be very helpful as I explained that our internet goes out several times a day and I can’t connect to Skype or iChat for more than three minutes at a time before being cut off. I told her this was problematic because I need the iChat to do my job. However, I left out the part about my “job” being a podcast I do with my friend in Alabama where we talk about our hair and Friday Night Lights. I felt like I might lose some credibility.

We went through the whole reset modem/flux capacitor/change wireless channels/serial number of the modem and then she said, “Okay! I see you’re connected to the internet! Your problem should be fixed! Call us again if you continue to have problems, but it should all be better now!” The use of all those exclamation points left me skeptical, but I reluctantly hung up the phone and then I called Sophie so we could try out the iChat and see if it worked.

It did.

For forty-two seconds.

I wanted to call AT&T a bad name.

Instead, I googled the names of other internet providers in San Antonio and called AT&T back. After I re-entered all my information and pushed all the right buttons, I had another real life person on the phone. She asked me what the problem was and, bless her heart, was greeted with a tearful plea for assistance that lasted almost four and a half minutes and included the ultimate threat of breaking up with them unless they sent someone out to my house before the week is over. It ended with me whispering in a desperation, “Ma’am, I am sorry that you had to hear me like this but, please, I need someone to HELP ME. I JUST NEED HELP.”

Which probably explains why she talked to me throughout the duration of the phone call like she was a hostage negotiator. And I know ALL ABOUT hostage negotiators because I saw The Negotiator starring Kevin Spacey and Samuel L. Jackson back in 1998.

She realized the time for resetting modems and changing wireless channels was over and so she offered to send out a repairman on Thursday morning. They had a window available from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m. Really? Can we not narrow it down to perhaps, OH I DON’T KNOW, six hours instead of twelve?

Just for fun I think I might start scheduling appointments with people and telling them I’ll be there sometime between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. and would they mind just waiting on me?

I opted for the 8 a.m. to noon window that was available for this Friday. We’ll see what happens.

But I have the names of four other internet providers on speed-dial just in case.

And I’m not afraid to use them.

I never want y’all to think my life is all glitz and glamour. Which is why I hesitate to tell you that I went to Discount Tire yesterday to get the tires of the stay wag rotated and balanced. Apparently it was vibrating. Of course I drive it every day and had never noticed that it was vibrating, but P drove it to church on Sunday morning and claimed that he could feel the vibrations in his legs.

Honestly, I was a little skeptical, but he insisted I needed to have the tires balanced and rotated since that was probably the culprit of the vibration. And so I drove there right after I dropped Caroline off at school yesterday morning and, I KID YOU NOT, the first question the tire guy asked me after I told him my husband claimed it was vibrating was “Are you feeling the vibrations in your legs or the steering wheel?”

I explained that I wasn’t feeling anything anywhere, but my husband felt it in his legs. This all seemed to make complete sense to the tire guy as he marked something on his chart. It must be some kind of super secret man knowledge.

And as exciting as I’ve found it to be to sit in Discount Tire and ogle all the displayed tires for an hour while they fix my car, I asked Gulley if she would pick me up and take me to Starbucks while all the tire magic happened. So she picked me up and we went to Starbucks and to get pedicures.

(My new favorite color is OPI’s Do You Think I’m Tex-y?)

(Yes, at least partly because of the name)

Then we went to lunch for good measure. We are way behind on our conversation time this month because they just spent a week at Disney World. I couldn’t mention they were at Disney World before because I operate under a heightened state of disclosing whereabouts and empty house paranoia. But now I can tell you they were at Disney World and Gulley will gladly admit that she researched this trip more than she researched having her first child.

Anyway, we ate lunch and then went our separate ways because it was almost time to pick up the kids from school. I stopped by my house and laid down on the couch for about ten minutes because going to Discount Tire is EXHAUSTING. (Actually, I’m in the midst of a bout of insomnia and haven’t slept well in about four nights) Well, I managed to fall into, as Caroline would say, DEAD SLEEP in those ten minutes and woke up with that WHO AM I AND WHERE AM I AND WHAT DAY IS IT kind of thing going on.

I headed to pick up Caroline from school and called Gulley on the way to tell her I didn’t think I could stay awake long enough to go see a movie later on. (The movie had been all my idea because I’m dying to see Bridesmaids, but then I saw our option was 9:55 AT NIGHT and what am I? A vampire?) While we were on the phone we continued a conversation we’d started earlier about our kids and their friends and wanting them to have a close group of friends as they grow older.

I said, “Well, they’re still so young. And, really, once they get to junior high it’s probably like that game where you throw a deck of cards into the air.”

Gulley was quiet for a minute until she asked, “What are you talking about?”

And I said, “I mean they’ll change and friendships will change and it will be like that card game or that thing people say about fruit.”

Gulley said, “Are you talking about a fruit basket turnover?”

“YES. THAT’S IT. Or maybe fifty-two card pickup. I couldn’t decide.”

This is why I need my best friend.

And also why I need to get some sleep tonight.

I’ll see y’all tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll have something more exciting to talk about than a trip to Discount Tire, although that’s hard to beat.

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If you don’t read anything else today, you have got to read this post by Shaun, A Magic Trick for Kristen. It will blow your mind.