Author: Big Mama

  • Adventures in grocery shopping

    There is something that’s been going on in my personal life that I have been very reluctant to discuss. It’s been more than I can bear and has altered life as I once knew it.

    It’s about my HEB.

    For those of y’all who don’t know, HEB is a grocery store chain based in South Texas. The founder’s name was Howard E. Butt, thus, HEB. You have to admit HEB rolls off the tongue much better than, say, The Butt Store.

    Unless you only sell hemorrhoid cream.

    I spend over half my life at HEB. It is like my home away from home.

    It all started about two months ago when I realized that my favorite manager, Dwayne, had been transferred to another store. I kind of knew it would happen eventually because Dwayne was the Michael Phelps of grocery store managers. (See how I just worked in an Olympic reference?)

    Losing Dwayne was like losing a member of my family. He had been there for me since Caroline was a newborn baby, doling out Buddy Bucks and handing out balloons. Every time we went to the store, Caroline would look for Dwayne and run to give him a hug.

    But Dwayne had to move on to greener HEB pastures.

    The next thing I knew, HEB decided to quit carrying Tyson skinless boneless chicken breasts, which has required me to completely cut poultry out of my family’s diet because just the thought of raw chicken, or even cooked chicken with skin, makes me want to systematically rid the world of all chickens.

    So, I’ve had my struggles with HEB as of late but, due to their South Texas monopoly, my only other option is to shop at Walmart and, frankly, I’d rather hoe my own garden.

    Two weeks ago, I walked into HEB and noticed they had taken up all the linoleum. I figured we were getting some stained concrete floors and I was cool with that. I can handle change in reasonable increments, especially if it’s fashionable change.

    However, over the last two weeks I have been to HEB about twenty-six times and each time the store is in a bigger mess than it was the last time I was there.

    There is motor oil where the bread used to be, toilet paper where the Diet Coke was, and cereal in the middle of the produce department. I haven’t been this confused since I accidentally took twice the recommended dosage of some prescription cough medicine last winter.

    I wander aimlessly around the store hoping I’ll find at least a few things I actually need. At times I stop and ponder why the wine is on the same aisle as the diapers and baby food, but then I remember Caroline’s first year of life and realize it’s just a clever marketing ploy.

    The worst part is that every time I go back, the whole store has been completely rearranged again. So just when I figure out that the ice cream is across from the tampons (there’s that clever marketing!), they go and change it all around.

    I kind of think they’re messing with me.

    Yesterday, Caroline and I went to the store to load up on groceries. I was hot and tired because we’d already run about fifty-eight errands that morning and I just wanted the store trip to be over. Naturally, Caroline sensed this and decided she wanted to ride on one of the bench carts that create more navigational challenges than the Queen Mary in a swimming pool.

    I knew it was going to be a special trip when I managed to knock over an entire display of Pecan Sandies before we’d even been there for five minutes. In my defense, it wasn’t really my fault since they weren’t on the cookie aisle but rather next to the charcoal and lighter fluid.

    We went through the whole store like we were on a bad scavenger hunt while Caroline provided running commentary for everything. “WOW MAMA! YOU REALLY KNOCKED OVER A LOT OF COOKIES!!”

    Finally, I had almost everything I needed, but couldn’t find the bottled water. I was desperate to find bottled water. Please, OZARKA, help me out.

    I couldn’t find any HEB staff to assist me in my quest. They were all too busy unpacking boxes and arbitrarily moving around the stock. I was tempted to head back to the diaper aisle and load up a case of wine for immediate consumption.

    About the time my blood pressure was about to shoot off the charts, I located the bottled water. On the dog food aisle.

    Naturally.

    We headed to the shortest checkout line I could find and just when I thought I was safe, Caroline yelled, “LOOK MAMA! THAT LADY IS SHOWING HER BOOBIES!”

    I was too embarrassed to look around to see what she was talking about, but honestly I can’t blame that woman. She was probably hoping to attract the attention of an HEB employee to help her find the bottled water.

    Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  • Behind the blog

    Oh, by the way I’m going to join Melanie and Karen as a guest on their online show Behind the Blog. It airs tomorrow (Tuesday) at 12 noon CST, and you can click here to listen. You can call in with your blogging questions or listen later to the podcast version.

    I have no idea what I’m going to say, but let’s hope I don’t embarrass the family.

  • I’m back

    You know what happens when you don’t write for a few days and decide to do reruns like you’re “Sanford and Son” or “Joanie Loves Chachi”?

    The portion of your brain that generates mediocrity on a daily basis shrivels up to the size of nothing, rendering you completely incapable of composing even your usual brand of okay.

    So you will sit and watch women’s gymnastics for hours while trying to come up with something of interest to share and become completely distracted by all the various hair clippies that gymnasts use to hold their hair back. Why all the different colors? Why is there not more hair accessory coordination?

    I think I may have just realized why I was never a serious athlete.

    Anyway, last week Gulley and I took the kids on a little road trip to Bryan/College Station, but without the College Station part. We had every intention of visiting the A&M campus in our continuing quest to ensure that we are sufficiently brainwashing our children to become members of the Fightin’ Texas Aggie classes of ’24, ’25, and ’27, but there were too many obstacles in our way.

    We were initially a little concerned about making the trip because we were heading right in the path of Tropical Storm Edouard. There were predictions of torrential rain and fifty-five mile an hour winds that turned out to be a light mist and a slight breeze.

    Oh meteorologists. You kill me with your enthusiasm and predictions of Armageddon.

    Fortunately for us, but not for the credibility of any meteorologist in Texas, Edouard turned out to be a big fat nothing.

    We arrived at Gulley’s mama’s house just in time for dinner on Tuesday night. She had made us a home cooked dinner of barbecued brisket, baked beans, and twice-baked potatoes. I wanted to cry from all the happiness. There is nothing in the world I like more than a good home cooked meal that I didn’t have to cook.

    Caroline had a cough that started on her birthday and, by the time we got to Bryan, it had turned into a full-blown cold. She had a low-grade fever and just didn’t feel that great, plus Jackson was getting over strep. Basically, our energetic bunch was content to hang out at the house and play with Gulley’s mama’s new puppy.

    So that’s what we did.

    And, actually, it was really nice.

    We headed back home on Thursday and accomplished something heretofore unattainable. We made the entire three hour drive without making one stop.

    Do you hear what I’m saying? Three hours. Three kids ages six and under. No stops.

    Gulley and I both later admitted that each of us had to go to the bathroom about twenty minutes into the trip, but there was no way one of us was going to be the reason we had to stop.

    Neither of us could endure that kind of shame.

    The failure would have caused us to feel like a meteorologist.

  • The big gulp

    Gulley and I lived on the convenience store diet throughout college. We would stop at 7-11 on the way to class in the morning and start our day with a Big Gulp. Dr. Pepper for her. Real Coke for me. Most days we would each buy a package of powdered donuts to go with our 72 oz. beverage.

    After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

    We’d head to our Intercultural Communication class and daintily sip our carbonated drinks and eat our powdered donuts while we listened to Professor Gonzales lecture about you know, culture and communication. Obviously, all that sugar and caffeine was causing my brain to short circuit, because I actually made a 13 on a test in that class.

    A 13.

    I’ll never forget that he was about to pass out the graded tests and gave some lecture about how most people did pretty well, but there was one person who made a 13. Gulley laughed and wrote a note on my paper that said, “Maybe it was you. Ha. Ha.”

    It was me.

    Ha. Ha.

    And after I got that test back, I gathered up my donuts and industrial-sized beverage and headed to my academic advisor’s office to let her know I was dropping the class. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t recover from a 13.

    Anyway, after a hard morning of academic achievement, we would drive back to our apartment and then go back to 7-11 with our roommates to get another Big Gulp. Everyone needs a little afternoon pick me up and what says pick me up better than 144 oz. of caffeine and sugar?

    As we talked about our Big Gulp consumption, I had a few thoughts.

    1. Did I drink even a sip of water throughout my college career?

    2. Why could I not figure out that maybe part of what was contributing to my ever increasing weight was the fact that I was easily consuming 2000 calories a day in beverage alone?

    And that’s not counting the Zima.

    3. Do college students still drink Big Gulps or have they become extinct with the advent of the Grande Mocha Latte with extra whip?

    4. It’s interesting that these days, unless I’m on a road trip, it would never even occur to me to drive to a convenience store for the sole purpose of purchasing something to drink. Sonic, yes. QuikMart, no.

    I realize I have rambled enough about this entire subject, but during our Big Gulp conversation, Gulley brought up a memory that I had long forgotten.

    Big shock there.

    During my first senior year in college and Gulley’s junior year, we lived in a duplex right around the corner from a Quikmart. Needless to say, we were frequent customers making around 4-5 visits a day. It was our standard stop. We even knew all the cashiers.

    One night, Gulley’s mama called and asked her, “Do you know somebody named Al?”

    Gulley thought about it and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

    Her mama said, “Well someone named Al called here looking for you and said he knows you from the Quikmart.”

    It was then that we realized that Al was one of the cashiers at our favorite stop. It seems he had gotten Gulley’s phone number off of one of her checks and wanted to ask her out. And no, Al wasn’t exactly date material for a variety of reasons, but first and foremost because he was about 35 which, of course, is ancient. Fortunately, the number on her check was her parent’s home phone number, not ours.

    As were laughing about this story this week, I made the comment that, looking back, it’s kind of scary that Al got her phone number off her check.

    And Gulley said, “I’m not sure what’s scarier, that he got my number off my check or that I wrote a check for 94 cents to pay for a Big Gulp.”

    Hope y’all have a lovely weekend.

    **Originally published March 30, 2007**

  • Like the Sopranos, but without the violence

    One of my favorite things as a mama is sharing things that I remember from my childhood with Caroline. I love experiencing it all over again through her eyes, whether it’s reading We Help Mommy (which I knew word for word when I was little) or taking her to the zoo, it just makes me so happy to share these moments with her.

    This past weekend, we loaded up for a road trip to Beaumont to see relatives that I haven’t seen in years. My dad was born and raised in Beaumont and since his mama was one of eight children, we have all kinds of family there. Some of my favorite memories are from the huge get togethers that we would attend. About once a year they’d get the whole family together for a big family gathering that was always held at either the local Knights of Columbus Hall, the fellowship hall at Assumption Catholic Church, or at my Mema’s house.

    Just stop and think of any stereotype of a large Italian family gathering and y’all will pretty much have the right picture in your mind. Well, except that nobody was putting hits out on anyone (at least not that I know of) and there wasn’t necessarily a Godfather. At any given time the room was filled with enough polyester, Aquanet and faux leather from their SAS shoes, that if someone had lit a match the whole place would have gone up in flames.

    There was always more food than anyone could possibly eat. Tables were heavy with trays of lasagna, spaghetti and always some fried chicken which I guess was the Southeast Texas influence. The music was loud and the family was louder. They’d all be telling jokes at the same time and telling old stories that would make better novels than anything on the market. There would be hugging, kissing and lots of face pinching.

    I remember one family reunion that got so rowdy that two kegs were floated and my great Aunt Laura danced so much that they had to call an ambulance to come get her. Turns out that she was okay, just a little out of breath.

    I have always loved that I come from this huge, crazy Italian family because it’s a unique experience. Not too many other people I know had turkey and spaghetti for Christmas dinner.

    There aren’t too many of these relatives left anymore. I mean, yes, there are younger cousins, aunts, and uncles, but most of the original crew has gone on to the big Knights of Columbus Hall in the sky.

    This weekend, everyone got together for a big reunion in Beaumont. It was smaller than the ones I remembered, but the food, the laughter, the loudness, and the kisses were the same and Caroline got to experience it for herself.

    My Mema passed away 5 years ago and she has two siblings that are still living. The first is my great Aunt Fina (short for Josephine). Aunt Fina is one of the more unique people you will ever meet. She has always kept her hair dyed jet black and wears more makeup at one time than most people even own. She is a huge fan of anything polyester and she and my great Uncle Joe drive across the Louisiana border to gamble at the casinos about twice a week. She has never and I will repeat NEVER (because y’all aren’t going to believe this) been to any kind of doctor EVER in her whole life. Not a dentist, not a general practitioner, not a chiropractor. She is in her 80’s and has NEVER been to a doctor. But amazingly this fact isn’t what makes Aunt Fina so peculiar. The most amazing thing about Aunt Fina is that she ends EVERY word with a T. And, y’all are thinking what? Is that even possible?

    Yes, yes it is.

    When she saw me on Saturday, this is what she said, “Oht yourt sot prettyt, andt lookt at thet babyt, she’st sot beautifult”. And the best is if you can get her to say “shrimp” because she pronounces it “strimpt”. I don’t know why she does this or how one even begins to learn this sort of diction, but she has done it my entire life and it is truly amazing. Truly.

    So, here is a picture of Aunt FinaT. And by the way, none of the following pictures have been doctored or photoshopped in any way. These are real relatives.

    She has looked exactly like that for as long as I can remember. HonestlyT.

    My Mema’s other surviving sibling is her youngest brother Paul. Uncle Paul is famous in Beaumont because for years he used to dance to “Don’t Mess with My Toot-Toot” on top of the home dugout during the 7th inning at all the Golden Gators baseball games. Everyone called him the “toot-toot” man and the highlight of many a family reunion was watching Uncle Paul do his dance for the family. Here’s Uncle Paul. He really is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.

    Here’s another picture of someone that I can’t explain, but will show the picture to prove that I am not kidding about the polyester or the Italian stereotype. This is a real person, not someone from the Sopranos and why yes, those are gold rimmed tinted glasses he’s wearing.

    The best thing was that Caroline enjoyed every minute of it. She loved all the commotion, the noise, the candy and the attention. We took so many pictures that by the end of it she said “Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself?” But I wanted to get it all on film because I know the chances of everyone getting together again are probably slim. As my great Aunt Sarah, who is 96 said, “Honey, we need to do this more often because some of these people are getting old.” Here’s Aunt Sarah.

    **This post was originally published in October of 2006**