Author: Big Mama

Maybe tomorrow will be better

I am seriously not kidding when I say that I have absolutely nothing to write about.

If you think I’m kidding, then let me confess that I just wrote an entire post about the fact that I washed the slipcovers on my couch this week.

In fact, the following is the post I just wrote and then, as I proofread it, caused me to fall into a deep sleep. I feel the need to include it as proof that I’m not exaggerating about how little I have to say.

Six years ago, I ordered a couch.

I had just been through the worst summer of my life, which involved a terrible miscarriage that had chewed me up and left me with a footlocker full of emotional issues and somehow I decided that a new couch would make things better.

Interestingly enough, the couch didn’t really help matters.

However, in the midst of all my hormonal weeping over fabric choices, I did have the presence of mind to order a couch with removable slipcovers because it seemed like a brilliant, practical choice in light of all the babies I was sure we were going to eventually have that would spit up all over it.

Yes the couch was expensive, but practicality doesn’t always come cheap. And I sold P on it by declaring that we’d have this couch until our kids took it off to college with them because we’d be able to wash all the slipcovers on a regular basis and keep it looking flawless.

So, on Monday, I washed the slipcovers for the first time.

In six years.

The problem was that somewhere along the way I became frightened of washing the slipcovers. What if they shrank? What if they dissolved? What if they were ruined forever?

But after a six year accumulation of baby spit up, Nilla Wafer crumbs and sticky, dirty Cheeto fingers, I decided it was time to face my fears.

I washed. I dried. I have a spotless couch with incredibly clean cushions.

Honestly, I will count it as one of the great highlights of my life. Or at least my week.

By the way, I was going to title that post “The Couch”.

Sometimes my life makes me sad.

***Edited to add that I’m not really sad. I mean, yes, I’m sad that my wordsmithing abilities have taken leave and all I could think to write about was my couch, but not sad in the traditional sense. I just didn’t want y’all feeling bad for me because it’s not like the heel broke off my favorite pair of shoes or anything tragic like that.
And it beats the old yellow dog

One of my favorite things about Kindergarten, other than all the awesome songs I’m learning secondhand that are teaching me how to spell my colors, is driving carpool.

And let me tell you, people around here take their carpool seriously.

I first heard about the importance of carpool from my labor and delivery nurse at the hospital. Actually, that’s not true. It’s been well documented that my labor and delivery nurse was a minion of Satan and she wouldn’t even let me get an epidural, much less offer helpful transportation tips.

Truth be told, I used to think some of the moms were being a little overly dramatic (something that I NEVER, EVER AM!) when they went on and on about making sure your child was in a carpool. I heard horror stories about the long lines for single child pick up and dismissed them as suburban legends.

However, I decided a carpool wasn’t a bad thing. I mean, who doesn’t want a few mornings a week where you can just stay at home in your pajamas as opposed to driving your child to school in your pajamas?

So my friend Julie and I decided that we would establish a carpool of two. Our reasons for this were two-fold.

1. I drive a Volvo. I can only fit one other child in my backseat.

2. We knew we’d always be running too late to pick up an additional child.

Let me tell you that carpool has been the hand of God in my life. People weren’t kidding about the single child pick up line. I wonder how many mothers have been driven to stash tequila and a stack of US Weekly’s in their glove compartment due to the extensive wait to pick up their child?

Carpool is saving me from a life of wasted time and bad tabloids.

Not to mention it has a high entertainment value because the conversations between Caroline and her friend S. are priceless. Take this gem for example:

S: “There’s this girl in my class who is REALLY BOSSY, like SO BOSSY. But she told me I was bossy and I told her that I’m not bossy, I just like to tell everyone what they need to be doing.”

Caroline: “When somebody tells me that I’m bossy, I just tell them, ‘Well, my dress is prettier than yours.'”

Carpool.

Did I mention it’s also a great time to work on appropriate responses and social skills?
She can bring home the bacon

Here’s Caroline as she prepared to go dove hunting with her daddy after school yesterday.

I guess she couldn’t find the baseball cap with the large bill.

Here’s a little video I took right before she walked out the door.

Going on a dove hunt from Big Mama on Vimeo.

I think she wonders on a daily basis why she has to deal with people who are so dense.

And here she is after a successful hunt.

It appears that dove attempted to trade liberty for security and found neither.
Lady liberty

Last Thursday, P headed down to South Texas with a group of men from our church to help rebuild a church that was damaged by Tropical Storm Dolly.

Or was it Hurricane Dolly?

I can’t remember. Poor Dolly was the second runner-up in the Hurricane race this year and no one ever remembers the second runner-up.

If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who has ever been one.

When P called home on Friday night, he mentioned that they had attended a dinner for the National Rifle Association.

Church group, mission trip, NRA.

It’s like a bad right-wing cliche’.

Anyway, I helped host a baby shower on Saturday night so I was literally walking out the door to go to the shower as P was coming in from his trip. He said he was exhausted and would probably be in bed by the time I got home.

I arrived home a little after 9:00, set my purse down on the kitchen island, looked up and saw this hanging on the wall.

Where am I? What is happening? Did the ghost of Charlton Heston come to call?

Apparently, P failed to mention that he was a big winner at the NRA banquet.

And considering the prize, I am playing fast and loose with the word “winner”.

I walked into the bedroom and he was still awake.

“What is that thing hanging on our wall?”

“I won it!”

“I’m not sure ‘win’ is the word I’d use.”

“I thought I’d hang it in the kitchen.”

“Why do you hate our kitchen?”

We went to bed with the “art” still hanging on the kitchen wall because we’ve been married for eleven years and, clearly, P knew it would be relegated to the backhouse within 24 hours. He even bet our associate pastor that it would take me less than three seconds to notice that he’d hung it on the wall.

He underestimated me by a half second.

Yesterday morning, Caroline woke up and came into the kitchen. She immediately noticed the new picture and started to cry, which gives me great hope for her future in art appreciation.

But the main reason she was upset is because this is what normally hangs in that spot.

So as she began to cry she said, “But where is the beautiful picture of me?”

The good news is she appears to have both liberty and security.

The NRA would be so proud.
Edition 38: Fashion Friday

Well, before we get started I feel like I need to tie up a few loose ends from the week since I just throw all these things out there and then have no follow up.

First of all, Caroline totally smoked those three year olds with her superior dance abilities and celebrated her victory by throwing her stuffed Barney prop to the ground and yelling, “How ya like me now?”

That’s actually not what happened.

In reality, the dance studio called and said Caroline could go ahead and move up to the big girl class without an evaluation. Clearly they just want to make sure they keep my monthly tuition money, but whatever works.

Also, I haven’t decided on a hiking shoe, but am seriously leaning towards the Keens because they seem to be a popular choice plus I can get them free from Cabelas because we have Cabelas Reward Points on our credit card.

This will be the first time I have ever benefited from Cabela’s Reward Points.

In fact, one time I mentioned to P that maybe we could get a card with Reward Points for something more useful like Disney Dollars or Southwest Airline tickets, but he looked at me like he wasn’t sure who I was and yelled, “BLASPHEMER!”

And that was the end of the discussion.

But now, not only will I get my Keen hiking shoes, I’ve discovered that Cabela’s also sells the Frye Harness boots that I adore so it’s just a matter of time and Reward Points before I make them mine.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

Now for the questions.

1. Becky asks: “I need some help with fall shoes. I love these shoes from Boden (Am I wrong to love animal print?), but need something a little more budget friendly. I would love to have the budget to buy them, but girlfriend is trying to put herself through school!!!”

Becky, if loving animal print is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Seriously, it’s become a classic and will never go out of style when used in moderation.

Here are some great leopard print shoes that will be kinder to your checkbook, but maybe not necessarily your feet. Just remember, the important thing is that you look good.

And maybe that you carry a pair of comfortable flip-flops in your purse.

2. Kim asks: “I just graduated from A&M at the beginning of August, and am starting a job in The Real Corporate World but my business casual attire is pretty sad. Can you suggest some places I can go to build a classy wardrobe?”

Congratulations, Kim! Welcome to the Real Corporate World!

It’s probably not going to be as fun as hanging out in the MSC and eating chicken fingers, but we all have to grow up sometime.

At least that’s what my daddy told me back in 1994.

The real key to building a great business casual wardrobe is to spend a little bit more money to buy some good basics. A good pair of black pants, a pair of gray pants, and a few other classic pieces that will last you for years.

Once you have these pieces you can mix in some less expensive, trendy things to keep it fresh and up to date.

One last piece of advice, buy some comfortable shoes. When I first ventured into Corporate America, I made the dire mistake of outfitting my feet in Payless Shoes. Let’s just say it’s hard to practice effective capitalism when you have huge blisters on your feet.

I wish you all the best. You’re going to be great!

3. Elizabeth asks: “Do you have any advice for maternity clothes for the fall and winter?”

The nice thing about being pregnant in the winter is that you really won’t need a coat because the hormones will keep you toasty warm all winter long.

I was pregnant in June, July and August. You know what’s nice about being pregnant in the summer?

Nothing.

Well, other than the fact you get a baby.

The good news is the maternity clothes just keep getting better. I’d suggest finding a good pair of maternity jeans and then I’d go find a few cute sweaters, jackets and tops because how cute is this? And this? And this?

Also, remember that accessories are the pregnant girl’s friend. You can buy some basic maternity shirts and then dress them up by adding a cute scarf or a fun necklace.

The accessories will be the gift that keep giving long after the pregnancy is over.

Oh, and so will the baby.

4. Becky asks: “If you were going to a Presidential rally what would you wear? “

No question.

You have to go big or go home.

Nothing says “I support the democratic process” like taking a hallowed symbol of freedom and turning it into some fine leather goods.

God bless the U.S.A.

One last note, several people have asked how to find a good pair of jeans. I have written about jeans extensively in the past as evidenced by the fact that at least fifty different posts came up when I searched for the word “jeans”. However, this is the best summary of how to find jeans that fit and look good. It’s from last fall so some of the links may not work anymore, but the denim wisdom still holds true.

Y’all have a great Friday!
Prima ballerina

From the time I first knew I was having a baby girl, I dreamed of the day I could sign her up for ballet class and dress her in a pale pink tutu.

So as soon as she turned three years old, I signed her up for a weekly ballet class.

Which, soon after, became known as my weekly beating.

Oh sure, she loved the tap shoes and the ballet slippers. She loved the leotards and the tutus. She loved watching herself in the mirror as she performed all sorts of dance moves, none of which happened to be the same routine the class was actually doing.

But because I had a deep-seated need to see my baby girl perform in a dance recital, and am also constantly searching for ways to make my life more difficult, I signed her up to participate in the recital and wrote a check for upwards of more money than I care to admit to pay for the costume.

What I envisioned was a delicate little pink tutu with yards and yards of tulle. The reality was a hot pink costume with glaring polka dots complete with a huge neon yellow bow to wear on top of her head. It was a costume that would cause Charo to say, “Wow. It’s a little gaudy.”

And then as soon as the recital check cleared the bank, Caroline decided she didn’t like dance anymore.

I barely survived that year of ballet. In fact, it’s hard to talk about even now.

It’s as if some latent stage mother tendencies rose up in me and caused me to act like a crazy woman. Next thing you know I could have found myself sitting backstage saying, “Sweetie, put down the sippy cup and let’s get this eyeliner on before we take out your hot rollers and tease your hair.”

I wept with relief when Caroline announced that she was done with ballet.

But now, after a year off, she has decided to enter back in to the dance arena.

And I will support her because that is what parents do. It’s just like when my mama bought me those new roller skates with green wheels and a stopper because I had set my sights on becoming a professional roller skater.

I blame the movie “Xanadu” for that ill-fated career ambition.

When I went to sign her up for lessons, the instructor informed me that Caroline would have to retake the class for beginners because she sat out for a year.

Of course everyone knows the year you turn four is crucial for proper dance mechanics.

I was okay with it because it seemed to be dance studio policy, but on the day of her first lesson I noticed she was about a foot taller than any of the other little girls in her class.

And also, one of the only ones not wearing a Huggies Pull-Up since the beginner class is really more for three-year-olds, which explains why it was the class she took when she was three.

She thoroughly enjoyed the class the first week because she knew all the music, plus she was kind of the star of the show if for no other reason than that she didn’t tee-tee in her leotard.

But then after last week she told me she didn’t want to be in a class with babies.

Yesterday I called the dance studio and explained that Caroline was the only five-year-old in a class of three-year-olds. Was there any way she could move up to the class with the other five year olds?

They told me to show up for our scheduled class and they would evaluate her abilities to see if she could be promoted.

What exactly are we evaluating? Her ability to hold Barney in front of her while she points her toe out to the side? Or maybe her ability to pretend to be a firetruck as the whole class runs screaming around the room in their little ballet shoes? Or perhaps her proper use of the fake binoculars as they play the theme song from “Dora the Explorer”?

You just know that’s exactly how Baryshnikov got his start.

I gently explained that it’s not so much about her brilliant interpretation of Dora the Explorer leaping through the rain forest as much as the fact that she knows how to go to the bathroom by herself.

And with those kind of ballet goals, it’s just a matter of time before she wins the role of Sugarplum Fairy.