Author: Big Mama

Not even a pedicure can help me now

I am writing this with a Disney Princess ice pack on my foot.

Why?

Because we are big fans of the Disney Princesses around here. That Princess Jasmine is a ball of fire.

Oh? The reason for the ice pack?

Because I’m about 92% sure I broke my toe around 2 a.m. on Sunday morning. There is 8% of me that’s not entirely sure it’s actually broken but mainly because when I showed it to P before church on Sunday morning and announced it was broken, he glanced at it and said, “Doubtful”.

It’s easy to be a skeptic when it’s not your toe.

Caroline slept in our bed on Saturday night and P slept in her bed because we are big fans of musical beds at our house. She was really congested and woke up asking for a Kleenex so she could blow her nose. I got out of bed, threw on my robe (because I have an 80 year old woman inside of me who likes a robe to ward off the chill), and started to make my way to the bathroom to get the aforementioned Kleenex.

Apparently, I was still a little groggy because I forgot about a chair that has been in our room since the dawn of time. I ran right into it with my ring-finger toe bearing the brunt of the impact. I wish I had it on video because I went down like I’d been shot. In fact, I think I might have blacked out from the pain.

I hobbled into the bathroom to get the Kleenex, fully expecting to turn on the light and see my toe at a 90 degree angle to the rest of my foot. Mercifully it was in line with all my other piggies, just slightly red and angry. And who can blame it after what I’d just put it through all for a lousy piece of tissue?

Caroline had no idea I’d sacrificed my metatarsal health just so she could blow her nose and immediately went back to sleep while I laid in bed with my throbbing toe. I kept thinking I should get up and take some Tylenol or maybe a shot of tequila with an Advil chaser, but that would have required me to get up and walk.

I must have finally passed out from the pain because next thing I knew it was morning. I limped my way into the kitchen to discover that my toe now looks like a big fat organic purple grape. It’s every bit as attractive as what you’re imagining. I’d take a picture but I’m going with the assumption that there are some things that need to remain hidden beneath a sock.

Anyway, you can imagine how thrilled I am to have a broken toe (it’s totally broken according to the internet, otherwise known as the gospel diagnostic truth) a mere week before I leave for the Dominican Republic.

In other weekend news, it was the big debut of the Wonder Woman costume and the spray-painted red boots.

The good news is that Caroline LOVES her Wonder Woman costume. The bad news is that spray paint doesn’t really adhere to synthetic pleather boots. They looked great for about thirty seconds. I’m just going to call it a crackle finish and pretend it was intentional unless I can figure something out by Friday.

In other bad news, she didn’t win the costume contest. I’m not the kind of mother to talk about how my kid was robbed but, between you and me, she was robbed. Apparently the judges had no appreciation for red boots with a crackle finish and a golden lasso of truth made out of drapery tiebacks from Bed, Bath and Beyond. The important thing is that she thinks she won because they gave all the kids a bag of candy and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her any different because why would I do that to myself?

Sometimes the lasso of truth is better as a lasso of you don’t need to know the truth.
Edition 43: Fashion Friday

Yesterday I received an email from Sophie’s sister, otherwise known as Sister. She informed me that she was in Paris and asked if I might need some insight for Fashion Friday.

Naturally, I seized the opportunity to live vicariously through her fashion experiences since I haven’t been to Paris in like…well, never. I’ve been way to busy going on field trips to the local pumpkin patch, although I do try to eat French fries at least a few times a week because I believe it is important to embrace other cultures.

Anyway, here is the report from Sister.

Live from Paris: No joke – black is the color in all the windows; solid black, black with gray, black with purple, black & white, black & cream, black, gray & purple plaid. Animal prints: black/white cheetah(!) with purple design – black/white animal prints paired with black/gray. When gray is showcased, it is with black, lavender, or purple. There are lots of purple/grape/wine colored scarves…with black or gray outfits. I’ve also seen purple/grape jackets.

The only colors I’ve noticed in windows have been used as an accent – there’s a wonderful rusty orange (not tu longhorn) {Note from me: Do you see why I love Sister? She knows me. She really knows me.} that has a hint of melon in it, that’s been in a few displays. Hermes has a FABULOUS window with a “parakeet/asparagus” (France has robbed me of my adjectives) green that made me stop in my tracks. They had it with the rusty melon orange, & I’ve yet to see anybody wearing those colors.

Another shop in Marais today had a gorgeous green paired with, you guessed it, black. Good looking combo, though. Parisian women really have a sense of style – rarely do you see one without a wrap and/or scarf of some sort. There are NO bare legs here. All legs have either dark hose, opaque tights, leggings, or patterned hose/tights with their boots or shoes. The only toes I have seen have been mine own, especially on the day of my arrival, when I was the only person in all 20+ arrondisements of Paris with open-toed shoes on their feet. I was, however, wearing a black ensemble with both a scarf & a wrap, so I wasn’t a total fashion faux pas.

Oh Sister. I do love you and your on the street fashion report from Paris. Muchas gracias or whatever it is they say in France.

Now for a few quick questions.

1. Lori asks: “Where can I find LONG tee shirts. I know Old Navy has long tank tops and they are divine. I need some long, long-sleeved tees to go under sweaters and such this winter. Any thoughts?”

Today is your lucky day!

Old Navy has these long-sleeve crewneck tees in longer lengths in a bunch of different colors. Best of all, if you buy two or more they’re only $10.00 each.

And my personal favorite is the Timeless Tee from Banana Republic. They are a little pricier, but they last forever and don’t shrink or fade. Plus, they are unbelievably soft.

2. Musings of a Housewife asks: “What the heck does ‘dressy casual’ mean?”

I’ll tell you what it means. It means that people like to send out invitations with arbitrary dress codes, such as “dressy casual”, “cowboy formal”, or “breakdance chic”. And then you spend a sweet forever trying to figure out what on earth “breakdance chic” means and you finally end up wearing some parachute pants and Vans, only to realize that everyone else knew to bring their own piece of cardboard to help them perform their breakdance moves.

But it’s the world we live in, so I will share some examples of what I believe to be “dressy casual”.

You could go with something like a sweater dress with tights and boots or maybe a velvet blazer with a great pair of jeans and heels. Another good choice would be a silk blouse and nice pair of pants.

The key is to make sure you have on a dressy shoe and a dressy top or jacket. If you have those key pieces, then you can pair them with a skirt, pants, or some good jeans. And by good jeans I mean that they need to be a darker wash in a stylish fit.

No faded mom jeans allowed in the dressy casual world.

Or in the breakdance chic world.

And definitely not on the streets of Paris.

One last personal note, I want to wish my daddy a happy birthday. Everything I know about style I learned from him. It is a rare man that can wear the same rust-colored velour jogging suit for the better part of two decades and keep it looking fresh. Dad, you are a fashion maven. I love you.

Y’all have a great Friday!
Famous in her own mind

When Caroline got home from school last Friday she told me there had been a little bit of trouble at lunch. It seems that the boy she sits next to every day threw some food.

“He threw some chicken at me and I told him to stop. And then he THREW SOME MORE!”

“What did you do?”

“I told him he better stop or how would he like to get one of my FAMOUS PUNCHES or maybe a BIG SLAP?!”

I had no idea her punches were famous.

And I’m frightened by the big slap.

Truth be told, I’m a little suspicious that she might have exaggerated the truth for comedic effect.

I have NO IDEA where she gets that.
I love it. I totally love it.

Later today I am heading to the polls to cast my early vote since I will be in the Dominican Republic on Election Day. Gulley asked me yesterday if I was sad I was going to miss out on all the excitement of November 4th and I told her that not only am I not sad, but even if I were in the U.S. I would spend the day pretending like I had no access to the news. Wake me up when it’s over.

But I don’t want to talk politics. I want to discuss something much more important and controversial.

What are y’all watching on T.V. these days?

I’m going to make a BOLD statement and say that, by and large, I have found the new fall television schedule to be highly disappointing.

In fact if it weren’t for “Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team” and “The Rachel Zoe Project” I might give up T.V. altogether.

Right. Like that would ever happen.

But seriously? “The Rachel Zoe Project” is the light in the midst of mediocre television. I am completely fascinated by the fact that she has built an empire by convincing a few celebrities to wear sunglasses that rival the size of any safety goggles I have ever worn. And I have worn many a safety goggle in my life.

I also love the way she says, “I am freaking out. I am totally freaking out” or “I love this dress. I absolutely love, love, love this dress. It makes me want to burst into tears” in a completely monotone voice. It fascinates me. It totally fascinates me. (Imagine me saying that in a monotone voice.)

As for “Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders”, there is no horror movie that could instill fear in me like the water scale they used to measure their percentage of body fat versus their weight. One of the girls averaged 20% body fat and girlfriend looked like all she’d had in the last three days was a Tic-Tac.

That doesn’t bode well for those of us with PMS and houses filled with large bowls of M&M’s and iced sugar cookies.

And maybe I should be ashamed to admit that I am such a fan of reality television, but if loving it is wrong I don’t want to be right.

Honestly, there just aren’t many good shows on T.V. right now and scripted television is leaving a lot to be desired in my opinion. Give me some Bravo TV and a bag of Sour Patch Kids and get out of my way.

The only network show that I still consider a must-see is “The Office”. Oh, and “Chuck” and “Ugly Betty”. Other than that, I’m over it.

Of course that will totally change when “Friday Night Lights” returns to NBC in January. Seriously, the fact that I’m so excited about it may mean I need to pursue some sort of hobby.

So what are you watching these days? What am I missing?

I hope it’s nothing great or I will freak out. I will totally freak out.
Sliced and iced

Did I mention that Caroline and I baked Halloween cookies on Sunday afternoon after we got home from the grocery store? And by Halloween cookies, I mean that I bought a roll of Pillsbury Slice and Bake sugar cookies while we were at HEB along with a tub of Duncan Hines frosting.

If you thought for a moment that I meant homemade sugar cookies, then I feel compelled to ask what part of PMS you don’t understand. I was hanging on by a very fine thread, my friends.

When we got home I realized that I don’t own any Halloween-themed cookie cutters so we ended up just cutting the dough in slices and baking round, boring cookies. By the time they cooled enough for us to ice them, she had forgotten they existed. However, she conveniently remembered they existed about three minutes before bedtime.

I told her that we’d ice them when she got home from school on Monday.

Which explains my horror when I walked in from running errands yesterday morning and found only an empty Ziploc bag and a few stray sugar cookie crumbs. Apparently P missed the sugar cookie conversation and helped himself to eight or two dozen un-iced sugar cookies.

Obviously he’s on a diet again or he wouldn’t have left the crumbs.

My life is hard.

Fortunately, I still had to make a run to the new Fancy Target (oh all the additional stoplights make me tired!) and was able to purchase not only a new roll of Pillsbury Slice and Bakes, but also found fall-themed cookie cutters on the dollar aisle. Needless to say, it was a triumphant moment.

When Caroline got home I announced we were making new and improved Halloween cookies. I will be forever grateful that she didn’t seem to care where the other cookies had gone, not because I would have had any problem completely ratting out her daddy, but because somehow it still would have been my fault.

Anyway, we got to work rolling out the slice and bake dough.

Please note that the outfit she has on is an indication of how worn out I was from the weekend. I meekly submitted three outfits yesterday morning and they were all dismissed. I didn’t have the will to fight, so I pulled this one out. The rastafarian look is always the ace in the hole.

The cookie dough wasn’t providing enough sugar, so she began to dig into the Halloween candy.

We live by the belief that less is never more, especially when it comes to sprinkles and frosting.

And we also feel strongly that we need to taste our finished product.

I’m pretty sure that bare feet in the midst of the baking area violates about 132 health code laws, but it’s really a minor thing compared to the fact that she licked most of the cookies before she iced them.

Here’s our finished product.

In case you can’t tell, they are in the shape of ghosts, pumpkins, bats and the occasional acorn.

Have I mentioned I’m the ghetto Martha Stewart?

I think I gave myself too much credit.
Weekend warrior

This weekend was full of big fun and fall festivities around here.

And, I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so glad to see Monday.

P was out of town so it just Caroline and me for most of the weekend. I could tell she was tired and not necessarily feeling all that great. The constant runny nose and the endless whining about the cruelty of life clued me in. The problem is that she will never admit when she doesn’t feel good, if anything it just makes her go into some kind of frenzied overdrive as if to prove that she is okay and feeling fine.

I assure you she doesn’t get this from me. All it takes is a couple of sneezes and I’m in the bed waiting for someone to bring me some chicken noodle soup. Which usually turns out to be a long wait.

On Saturday I decided that we needed to get out of the house, plus we had to go buy a birthday present for a party on Sunday afternoon. Clearly I had some sort of mental lapse because you know what’s a bad combination? A tired, cranky five year old in a toy store, especially when you tell her that you aren’t buying her anything.

As we left the toy store, I attempted to put my brain back in my head so that I could drive to Sonic and get a Route 44 Diet Coke. Mama needed some caffeine because our day wasn’t nearly done. I had already told her that we could go to a Fall Festival at a local church because unfortunately I am not clairvoyant.

The good news is that once we got to the festival she forgot about her harsh existence as a pampered only child whose mother endlessly strives to ensure she doesn’t have to wear faux red boot covers on Halloween, and she actually began to smile and have a good time.

She jumped in the bouncy castles, got her face painted, decorated some trick-or-treat bags, and participated in the cupcake walk. I’m not going to lie, I totally convinced her to do the cupcake walk because I thought it meant we’d get to take home some kind of chocolate iced cupcakes and I was suffering from raging PMS. However, this was some kind of lame cupcake walk and all you got was one cupcake when you won. So I made her do it until we had an even dozen to take home.

We waited until right before we left to pick out a pumpkin because I didn’t want to tote around a big pumpkin the whole time. My hands were full enough with all those cupcakes. So we walked over to the pumpkin patch where she tried to convince me to buy what can only be described as a pumpkin on steroids. I had to explain that Mama isn’t some freak of nature and can only lift things that weigh less than me. And then the whining began because her life is hard and why can’t I sacrifice my spinal health to allow her to have the biggest pumpkin in the history of the universe?

By the time we got home we were both exhausted. My goal was to get us both in our pajamas and heat up some dino nuggets for her dinner as quickly as possible. I figured I’d just eat the cupcakes because, hello, PMS.

However, she had different plans. “Can we order some food to be delivered, Mama?”

Oh no. Think fast.

“Baby, Mama doesn’t have any money. We’re just going to eat something here.” (I know. But, technically, it was true because I didn’t have any cash.)

“Okay. I’m going to put on my pajamas.”

That was easy.

About five minutes later she comes walking in wearing her pajamas, holding money that she has gotten out of her piggy bank. She hands me a $1.75 and says, “Now can we order some food?”

Bless her sweet heart. I am the worst mother in the world. Plus, she’s probably going to tell her whole Kindergarten class that her mama doesn’t have any money to buy food. We’ll end up being part of some fundraising effort.

Oh the guilt and the hormones are a deadly combination. I ended up helping her put her money back in her piggy bank and we headed to Whataburger (her choice) to pick up cheeseburgers for dinner because I was so filled with guilt. I really wanted to end the day on a good note, but I think we were both too tired. There was more whining, some crying, and finally I got her to bed.

On Sunday morning, she cried all the way to church because I had the audacity to put her hair in pigtails instead of a ponytail. And her legs were cold and I forgot to feed her breakfast even though I did feed her breakfast and she just didn’t remember it.

By the time we got home from church it was time to go to the birthday party. I’m not a big fan of the birthday party even on my best day but my PMS was in full swing, not to mention that I was wearing the most uncomfortable bra that I own. Sadly, it’s the only bra that I’ve ever been professionally fitted for and it wasn’t cheap so I feel like I need to wear it every now and then to justify its existence. It makes me feel a little like Scarlett O’Hara after she had her baby and Mammy is trying to pull in her corset. Either my ribcage has expanded or that saleslady at Nordstrom took some bad measurements.

Or maybe it’s just my hormones. Or the cupcakes.

Anyway, we survived the birthday party and capped off the day with a trip to HEB because I like to push myself to the very brink of insanity and peer over the edge. What better way to do that than to take a tired, whiny child all hyped up on My Little Pony icing to the grocery store?

The weekend. It beat me.

Did I mention I’m glad it’s Monday?