Author: Big Mama

  • Everyone in the audience is getting a post about OUR BOOK CLUB!

    After school yesterday Caroline and I went to the library. And before you think I’m a wonderful mother for taking my child to the public library, I need to confess that when we pulled up in the car she said, “Oh yeah. I remember this place.”

    And while we were looking at all the books and trying to make some selections, I remembered that I’d said I was going to announce my choice for our first (and maybe last) book club just like Oprah.

    Everyone in the audience is getting a 2011 VOLKSWAGEN BEETLE!!!!

    Except I’m not Oprah. So no one here is getting a 2011 Volkswagen Beetle unless you buy one for yourself.

    However, the book club thing is legit.

    After much debate and reading of summaries and reviews, I’ve decided on Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel by Jeannette Walls.

    It first called to me where most of my true loves do. The shelves at Target. The title drew me in and then I was almost completely sold when a partial review on the back cover billed it as “Laura Ingalls Wilder for adults”. And I do love me some Little House on the Prairie.

    Here’s an excerpt from Publisher’s Weekly:

    For the first 10 years of her life, Lily Casey Smith, the narrator of this true-life novel by her granddaughter, Walls, lived in a dirt dugout in west Texas. Walls, whose megaselling memoir, The Glass Castle, recalled her own upbringing, writes in what she recalls as Lily’s plainspoken voice, whose recital provides plenty of drama and suspense as she ricochets from one challenge to another. Having been educated in fits and starts because of her parents’ penury, Lily becomes a teacher at age 15 in a remote frontier town she reaches after a solo 28-day ride. Marriage to a bigamist almost saps her spirit, but later she weds a rancher with whom she shares two children and a strain of plucky resilience. (They sell bootleg liquor during Prohibition, hiding the bottles under a baby’s crib.) Lily is a spirited heroine, fiercely outspoken against hypocrisy and prejudice, a rodeo rider and fearless breaker of horses, and a ruthless poker player. Assailed by flash floods, tornados and droughts, Lily never gets far from hardscrabble drudgery in several states—New Mexico, Arizona, Illinois—but hers is one of those heartwarming stories about indomitable women that will always find an audience.

    So there you have it. Here are the details if you’re not afraid to dive into a novel that features life in Texas before there was air-conditioning.

    1. Go get a copy of the book or download it on your Kindle like all the cool kids are doing these days. Amazon has it on sale for $6.63 right now.

    2. Read the book. I feel that this is probably self-explanatory but I have a need to over-explain everything.

    3. On Thursday, February 17th, I’ll write a post with my thoughts on the book and some discussion questions. Everyone is welcome and encouraged to leave your thoughts, comments, insights, etc. in the comment section.

    4. We can respond to each other there in a polite, civilized way that doesn’t include comments like “YOU’RE AN IDIOT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK”.

    5. If all goes well and we have a good time, I’ll take suggestions and pick another book on Thursday, February 17th and we can start all over again.

    6. If it doesn’t go well then I will retire to my home in California, enjoy my rose garden, and start my own television network.

    7. Or I will just continue to blog about things that don’t involve discussing books.

    Y’all have a great day.

  • The girl that turns my world around

    One morning last week I got out of bed. This isn’t any different from what I do every morning. I got out of bed, made my way into the kitchen, fixed Caroline a healthy breakfast of Lucky Charms served dry in a bowl, and packed her lunch. Then I walked to her closet and picked out three different outfits for her to choose what she’d like to wear to school that day.

    As I made my way back to the living room, holding three different outfits on hangers, the absurdity of the situation dawned on me. And it only took three years.

    Maybe it’s because I’d just finished reading The Other Boleyn Girl, but suddenly I felt very much like Mary Boleyn. Except without an affair with a power hungry king and the corsets. I have become Caroline’s very own lady-in-waiting. I pick out her clothes, I fix her hair, and I make sure she has everything she needs before she walks out the door.

    And I don’t mind doing any of these things. I’m a mom. It’s what I do.

    But on this particular morning as I humbly offered the three outfits carefully chosen from her closet, she looked at me and said, “The problem is you and I don’t have the same taste. I don’t like any of these choices.”

    And I might have become slightly unhinged. Don’t mess with a woman recovering from Christmas vacation who has just slaved over a dry bowl of Lucky Charms and cut the crusts off a ham and cheese sandwich.

    “Well, if you don’t like what I’ve picked out then you can go look in your closet and choose your own outfit. It doesn’t matter to me.”

    It’s true. Yes, there was a time when I desperately wanted her to wear certain outfits with matching bows in her hair and all the right accessories. But then she started first grade last year and I looked around and realized that every child at her school dresses in a style that can only be described as HOBO CHIC. And, honestly, that’s probably an insult to hobos all over the world.

    So she walked into her room and I waited to see what she would choose. And I waited.

    And I waited.

    After ten minutes had passed I walked in her room to find her twirling around in front of her mirror. Still wearing her pajamas.

    I WAS A DONKEY ON THE EDGE.

    “WHY AREN’T YOU DRESSED? WE HAVE TO LEAVE IN TWO MINUTES!”

    “I don’t know what I want to wear.”

    So I made a few more suggestions that she greeted with, “Or what else?” And I wished that I could do something simpler, like broker a deal for peace in the Middle East.

    Finally P came in the room to intervene and told her to put on a shirt with a pair of jeans. He might have also told me I needed to settle down. I can’t remember because I had to put my head between my knees to keep from blacking out.

    After the madness of the morning, I decided that Mary Boleyn needed to come up with a better solution. Our mornings have become increasingly filled with wardrobe drama after about a year of respite and I’ve been tempted to homeschool just so we can stay in our pajamas all day.

    When she got home from school that day I announced she was now responsible for picking out her own clothes the night before school. If she forgets to do it, then she has to wear whatever I pick out with no argument or debate about the unfairness of life and how it relates to your mom making you wear leggings.

    Leggings that you begged for only two months earlier.

    As it turns out, our new system isn’t that much less painful than the old system. It just takes place at 6:30 p.m. instead of 7:30 a.m. and I have the comfort of knowing I can send her to bed shortly after we debate the merits of a plaid skirt versus a tie-dyed dress.

    Which brings us to last night. The weather forecast indicated it was going to be the coldest day of the year so far. I reminded Caroline to go pick out what she wanted to wear the next day. She asked me to help her so I obliged. I’m not a heartless tyrant in spite of my penchant for leggings.

    As we stood in her closet she asked, “What would you wear if the weather was going to be cold and you wanted to be toasty warm?”

    I pointed out a few sweater dresses and some fleece-lined tops with leggings or jeans.

    And she asked, “What else besides any of those things?”

    Seriously. Netanyahu needs to call me. We can figure this Middle East thing out.

    I said, “You find something. I need to go finish cooking dinner.”

    About three minutes later I heard her sneak into the kitchen. She threw a folded up piece of paper at me and loudly whispered, “Open it”.

    I opened it.

    It read, “I NEED HELP”.

    Don’t we all, sister. Don’t we all.

    So, because I am a glutton for punishment, I walked back in her room to give it another try. I showed her a few more outfits that she found unacceptable until I finally channeled my inner fashionista and asked, “What’s your goal? What are you envisioning?”

    “Well. I definitely want to wear my legwarmers. And two shirts. And a skirt. Maybe with some tights. And a hat.”

    Done.

    And that is how I sent Punky Brewster off to school yesterday.

  • I should write a book about what I don’t know about technology

    I have never been more grateful that my daughter got a Snuggie for Christmas than I am at this moment. Mainly because I have commandeered it for my own personal use. And while, yes, I still believe that it is nothing more than a backwards robe with a clever marketing campaign, it’s hard to deny the warmth it provides while sitting on the couch and typing a blog post.

    (Oh, my twenty-something self would be so sad at that entire paragraph. Writing a blog? On the internet? While draped in a zebra-print blanket that’s nothing more than a backwards robe? There is a queen of the nerds and it is me.)

    (I also need to disclose that my Snuggie and I just got off the couch to glare out the back door at our neighbor who has been loudly revving the engine of his vintage Mustang in his driveway for the last ten minutes with no regard for children who may be sleeping. Apparently the queen of the nerds lives next door to the king of the idiots.)

    And speaking of nerd, Sophie and I have been trying for weeks, WEEKS, to record a podcast. This used to be something we could do without much effort at all, which kind of makes me wonder in hindsight why we only recorded them about once every six months. But lately there have been all sorts of technical issues and I won’t bore you with all the intricate details. Largely because I don’t really understand the problems in spite of spending at least five minutes on various message boards attempting to troubleshoot and ultimately realizing that I don’t really know much about the internet.

    However, yesterday, we decided to give it a go one more time since she was stuck at home in the middle of ICE STORM 2011 and I was at home because that’s what I do. Sure enough, after about thirty seconds of conversation, the iChat kicked us off. I suggested that she call one of our friends in an attempt to pinpoint the origin of the technical issue. In other words, I was hoping she’d have the same problem and I wouldn’t have to shoulder the blame all alone.

    Alas, she had no problems with the iChat. Which could only mean that the internet issues are on my end. Which meant that I was forced to call AT&T customer service and spend an hour of my life in utter frustration as I reset my modem and waited while they ran diagnostic tests on the internet.

    (Is this the most boring post ever? Because it feels like it from this end.)

    To make a long story short, two hours later we were still unable to get the podcast to work and I can no longer access our home email.

    Perfect.

    Like I haven’t suffered enough at the hands of AT&T and their Cotton Bowl.

    If anyone has any idea what the issue may be, I’d appreciate your input. The error messages keep saying something like “Remote ip blah blah blah trying to connect to remote ip blah blah blah” and I’m about to suggest that we get out one of those old-fashioned cassette players and just record something on a tape.

    In the meantime, my podcast microphone has been turned into a device to secure balloons to the floor.

    At least it’s good for something.

  • I am now focusing my sports enthusiasm on basketball

    The Cotton Bowl.

    That’s all I have to say about that.

    Well, except for this. I immensely enjoyed the first twenty minutes. The first twenty minutes were glorious and filled me with hope and joy.

    Caroline and I went over to Gulley’s house to watch the game with them and eat a little barbecue for dinner. (If you live in San Antonio and have never had the creamed corn from the Barbecue Station then I feel bad for you. Your life is a shadow of what it could be.) I’d brought lunch to Caroline earlier in the day and was telling Gulley that she’d requested Subway and how I am not a fan of Subway but I’ve discovered that I can tolerate a Veggie Delight on wheat bread with spicy mustard. Gulley remarked that I seem to be into my vegetarian dishes lately and I agreed that I could probably give up meat altogether. However, I feel the need to disclose that I was piling my plate high with brisket at the time. And didn’t really even get the irony until about five minutes later.

    So, probably not going to be a vegetarian as long as cheeseburgers and brisket exist.

    Anyway, we all gathered around the T.V. in all manner of Aggie paraphernalia with great big maroon high hopes. We yelled and cheered and texted our various LSU acquaintances with a little good-natured smack talk. And then, midway through the second quarter, the game and the kids all came crashing to the ground at the same time. Jackson was close to passed out on the couch because he was so tired, while Caroline and Will began to request that Gulley and I referee their argument over some sort of Bakugan toy because they can’t just accept that they’re exhausted and feel the need to fight over minutiae.

    By half time it was clear that Caroline and I should just head home for the second half of the game. This proved to be a good decision as evidenced by the fact that she began to cry over the death of my Nanny’s cat, Rascal, during the drive home. It seems less tragic in light of the fact that Rascal has been dead for about three years now. That’s what you call MANUFACTURED DRAMA.

    I put Caroline to bed and finished watching the game even though I was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. I held out hope for a comeback long after logic would have said to just go to bed already. Gulley and I texted back and forth and ultimately agreed that watching the Aggies lose the Cotton Bowl in the comfort of our homes was far preferable to January 1, 1992 when we were actually there to watch them lose the Cotton Bowl to Florida State and nearly froze to death and had to share one hot dog between six friends because we were a bunch of idiot college students that had spent most of our money on New Year’s Eve festivities which resulted in having to pool together our remaining cash to purchase one community hot dog.

    (I know what you’re thinking. One hot dog? Freezing cold? Six friends watching our team lose while suffering the after effects of too much New Year’s Eve fun? What’s not fun about that?)

    On Saturday we stayed in our pajamas almost all day. It was cold and dreary and the perfect day to listen to Caroline read some classic literature aloud to me while we sat by the fire. Or maybe we just watched way too many episodes of Phineas and Ferb. I can’t really remember.

    P got home from hunting by mid-afternoon and then it was time for our big event. Caroline’s first basketball game. I don’t know when anything has brought me more joy. She’d never really mentioned basketball, but then several of her little friends all decided to play and now it appears that we are into basketball. Her first practice was last Thursday and she came home and announced, “I already know everything about basketball.” Which is so impressive considering she’d never even dribbled a ball until about two weeks ago. She’s a basketball prodigy.

    The game was hilarious. In large part because none of the girls have ever really played before and it took them a while to get the concept. For her part, Caroline moved around the court and guarded her opponents in a manner reminiscent of Anthony Michael Hall trying to dance with Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles.

    In the end our team won 12-8. So I take comfort in the knowledge that at least one of my teams won this weekend.

    And I didn’t have to share a hot dog with six people.

  • Fashion Friday: Edition all I care about right now is the Cotton Bowl

    Those of you who are Aggies are probably well aware that there is a very big game tonight. And the rest of you may or may not care. But I can’t pretend that it’s not all that’s on my mind.

    I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon piled up in some message boards as if they can predict the future and tell me if the Aggies will be able to beat LSU and Les Miles and his pure brand of crazy. No one seems to know that answer. Although I did find this video that I’ve watched 942 times.

    But I don’t want to let down those of you who are here for the fashion and not for the football. So here are a few things I’ve found this week. And almost all of them are on sale.

    1. the nouveau copenhagen cardigan

    Okay. So this isn’t on sale. But something about it really appeals to me. The colors? The Fair Isle knit? The fact that I’m cold right now?

    I don’t know. I just like it.

    2. killington stevie bag

    Yes. This is still a pricey purse. However, it is significantly less pricey than it was a week ago. And still just as cute.

    There are some Les Miles crazy deals at Kate Spade right now if you have some Christmas money or a trust fund burning a hole in your pocket.

    3. line of latitude cardigan

    I really like this and can picture it just thrown on over a t-shirt with a pair of jeans.

    4. tuxedo shirt dress

    I featured this before but I like it even better now because it’s on sale.

    5. precocious plaid scarf

    Love this scarf in all the different color variations. I may need to get myself one before the alleged ARCTIC BLAST hits next week.

    6. tulle ruffled coat

    I’ve loved this coat all season and it’s on sale.

    7. orla kiely classic shoulder tonal trim

    Orla Kiely bags always get me. There is just something about them that I adore.

    8. ruffle trim henleys

    Saw these in Old Navy last week and thought it might be the kind of thing I’ll want in multiple colors. A great basic but with a little extra flair.

    I don’t like to talk about my flair.

    9. slim fit corduroy pants

    These are a question mark. On one hand, love the idea of a skinny cord tucked into boots. On the other hand, need to know that they won’t give me a bad case of mom booty with their nondescript pockets.

    Of course that could be alleviated by wearing a long sweater over them.

    10. sperry rainboots

    Do I even need to tell y’all that I still don’t own a pair of rainboots? And now we’re in the middle of a drought and I can’t bring myself to buy a pair. However, these may convince me to just go ahead and take the plunge already.

    That’s it for today. Y’all have a great Friday.

    And beat the hell outta LSU.

  • Because books are your friend

    I returned the Emerson microwave to Target yesterday and replaced it with a Panasonic model with maximum wattage because I don’t want to listen to P talk about how it takes him six minutes to heat up his coffee every morning. Not that it’s not a perfectly delightful way to start the day.

    My trip to Target also resulted in an economy-sized container of cheese balls, a new sweatshirt and some blocks that spell out LOVE that I found in the dollar aisle. I don’t know how this happens every time I go there but WELL PLAYED, TARGET. WELL PLAYED.

    Later I picked up Caroline from school and we went to HEB because we were officially out of all the major food groups and I was begging to catch a bad case of tetanus if I didn’t invest in some new razors. And that’s when it happened.

    P had written Zyrtec D on the list. In fact, he writes Zyrtec D on every grocery list I start. Zyrtec D is the York Peppermint Patties of 2010-2011. So I stopped by the pharmacy to purchase the Zyrtec D since you have to jump through hoops to get the real decongestants in these litigious times.

    I requested the large box and the pharmacy tech asked me to scan my driver’s license. And then, AND THEN, I was denied. Thanks to P, I have exceeded my maximum allotment of products containing pseudoephedrine and am possibly being investigated for running a meth lab in my spare time.

    So there I stood, denied and Zyrtec D-less in the pharmacy line, feeling the need to loudly proclaim that I am not running any sort of meth lab but that we live in South Texas and the cedar allergies are through the roof and we are just looking for a little relief from all the histamines.

    And I think you and I both know that there is a great likelihood that P didn’t really even need a new box of Zyrtec D right now and is merely trying to create a massive stockpile in case of a decongestant emergency.

    But let’s talk about a more pleasant topic.

    The book club.

    I’m so excited that at least four of y’all think it might be fun. And I’m also glad to see that many of you share my feeling that it needs to be something fun and light. My thought is that there are great opportunities online to participate in discussions about serious books that really make you think and contemplate life and I’m not going to reinvent that wheel. I just know that I’d like to read more books this year and this might motivate me.

    So here are my thoughts:

    1. I think we ought to allow 4-6 weeks to read the first book. I know everyone is busy and I don’t want this to become a source of stress. Not to mention that I am also very busy with my meth lab.

    2. On the appointed day, I’ll write a post with my thoughts on the book and a few discussion questions. Everyone can participate in the comments. Or you don’t have to participate. Whatever. I’m easy.

    3. I kind of have a book in mind for our first venture into book club territory but I’d love to hear any suggestions y’all might have. (I don’t want to read any books about vampires that sparkle in the sunlight.) I’d prefer for it to be a book that’s already in paperback because it will be more affordable and will keep anyone from having to wait for it to become available at the library or shell out $25.00 for a hardback book.

    4. If I choose a book that doesn’t interest you in the least then you don’t have to read it. In fact, you can mock it endlessly and decide that book club is dead to you unless we choose a better book next time.

    5. I don’t know that there will be a next time. We’ll just see how it goes.

    I’ll announce the book selection sometime next week after I worry and stew about it for a little while. This all makes me feel a little bit like Oprah, but without the house in California, the tea room that looks out on my rose garden, and the massive media influence.