Author: Big Mama

I can always tell when we’ve arrived in Beaumont because, in spite of being in the car, you can feel the humidity rising to levels that will destroy your hair no matter how much Super-Hold Aquanet you’ve applied.

And I know this for a fact because I singlehandedly used enough Super-Hold Aquanet throughout high school to ensure that there was a big hole in the ozone layer right over Southeast Texas, and it still wasn’t enough to help my spiral permed curls defy gravity.

We went straight to Nanny’s house and arrived just as the party started. Caroline informed that she was going to be a “little bit shy” and it actually took her all of thirty seconds to come out of her shell.

However, it only took her eighteen seconds to find the electric organ in the back room.

If I had a nickel for every time I played “Little Brown Jug” on that organ while my sister provided sound effects by hiccuping in the background, well, I would have a lot of nickels. I can offer no explanation as to why my sister and I were so fascinated by a song about a drunk hillbilly.

This party was the first time the entire family has been together in over ten years, so we spent a lot of time catching up with everyone and laughing at old memories. Apparently, this past Christmas Nanny announced at lunch that no one else in the family would live as long as she has because they’re all too soft.

It was just like a moment from one of those sappy Lifetime channel holiday movies.

Here’s Nanny blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. Please note we did not have 90 candles because a house fire would have been tragic since there wasn’t anyone there strong enough to carry out the electric organ.

Also note that half the cake has already been eaten. We take our cake seriously.

Later on that evening, the whole family went out to eat at Casa Ole’. Even though I live in the birthplace of great Mexican food (Well, kind of. I guess technically Mexico is the birthplace of great Mexican food.) there is still something about that Dinner El Paso coming out fresh from the microwave that makes me happy.

I have no explanation for this and I should be embarrassed to admit it, but it’s who I am and I’ll own it. I sometimes enjoy fake Mexican food.

Caroline wanted to sit right next to the birthday girl at dinner because she has an innate ability to sniff out where the action will happen. Sure enough, the waitstaff brought Nanny a dessert while singing “Happy Chimichanga to You”.

Truly, one of the most underrated birthday songs in history.

That’s my child trying to steal a dessert from her great-grandmother. She has no shame.

The next day, Amy and I decided to take the girls to the mall with hopes of providing some type of air-conditioned entertainment. Naturally, Sarah had to bring “tato head” as part of her entourage.

Who knew the mall would be such a hotspot for toddler entertainment? The girls were able to take forty second ride on a mechanical school bus that only cost Amy and me $4.25 in lost quarters before we found a bus that actually worked.

Then, as we made our way down the mall, I saw something way off in the distance that frightened me. I saw children bouncing way up in the air while attached to some sort of harness. Discreetly, I whispered to Amy, “I think we should turn around before Caroline sees this.”

But it was too late. She had spied it with her little eye and was off and running towards all the bouncing. It turns out that there is bungee bouncing in the mall. In Beaumont, Texas. Who knew?

All we have at our mall here is a lame playscape with some hollowed out trees to provide minutes of imaginary play.

The girls were so tired after our big mall adventure that they fell asleep on the way home. Perfection.

We finally arrived back at Nanny’s house where Caroline spent the rest of the afternoon carrying around Nanny’s poor cat.

Between the cat and the electric organ, it was an abundance of riches.

A good time was had by all (well except for maybe the cat) and on Saturday night I sat around with my mom, my Nanny, and my sister while we watched the Miss Universe pageant. It felt like I’d stepped back in time about thirty years.

Except this time the stubborn little girl who refused to go to bed for fear of missing all the fun wasn’t me, but my daughter.

Later that night, I curled up in bed with her, the same bed where I’ve slept since childhood, the bed where I spent so many Christmas Eves’ listening for Santa Claus, where I stayed up reading way too late because Nanny would let me, where I cried over more than one bad breakup with a boyfriend, and I was filled with gratitude for that moment.

The blessing of watching life come full circle.

Before we left the next day, Nanny told us that she was going to have to get her handicapped sticker renewed for her car. She hadn’t realized it expired until my aunt pointed it out, because when she got it a few years ago they told her it was good for life.

My aunt said, “They probably didn’t think you’d live this long”.

And Nanny replied, “I guess I showed them”.

I’m so glad she did.

I believe that since I didn’t finish telling you about the rest of the weekend that I led y’all to believe that I enjoyed a weekend of leisure, sipping martinis and examining my eyebrows in a magnifying mirror, just like I did before Caroline was born.

That was not the case.

My Nanny’s 90th birthday was on July 4th, but the family decided to wait until this past weekend to throw her a party because we were afraid a lot of her friends would be out of town during a holiday weekend. Everyone knows there’s nothing senior citizens like more than to party like rockstars in celebration of America’s independence.

So, on Saturday, my sister, Amy, and her daughter, Sarah, loaded up in the car with me and we headed to Beaumont via Houston where we stopped and picked up Caroline.

The whole flight thing really worked out because Houston is on the way from San Antonio to Beaumont, so Caroline missed the first three hours of a five hour road trip. In other words, it helped my campaign for sanity.

If you have never had the chance to drive down I-10 from San Antonio to Houston, then you are truly missing out on what would be a clear winner in the MOST TEDIOUS DRIVE EVER contest. There are approximately five Dairy Queens between here and Houston, which helps somewhat, but is still like a Care Bear band-aid on a massive wound.

Anyway, I was rejoicing in my initial child-free driving status and didn’t really think too much about the fact that I would still be in the car with my three-year-old niece. We packed up the car and headed out, looking like something out of “The Grapes Of Wrath”. Well, except the Joad family probably didn’t have portable DVD player.

About two miles into the journey, Sarah gives me a big “HEEEEYYYYYY!!!” from the backseat. It was very reminiscent of an Arthur Fonzarelli salutation, and so I was all like “HEEEEYYYY Girlfriend, what’s goin’ on back there?”

But she just kept saying “HEEEEYYYYY!!”

At which point Amy informed me that she actually wasn’t saying “HEEEYYYY!” but rather was saying “HEAAADDDD!!!!”, which in toddler-speak translates to “I do not like you wearing those sunglasses on your face and would rather that you’d please put them on your head.”

Fortunately, this request was directed to Amy and not to me. I was able to keep my sunglasses over my eyes where God and Ray-Ban intended.

However, Amy placed her glasses on her head because we were only four minutes into an arduous journey and we both operate under the child-rearing principle of WHENEVER POSSIBLE, DON’T ANGER IT.

With the sunglass crisis averted, we drove happily along for the next eight minutes until I heard a sweet little voice from the backseat say “tato head?”.

Beg your pardon?

“Tato head?”

“TATO HEAD?”

I glance over at my sister who is staring at the floorboard and whispers out of the side of her mouth, “I’m just going to ignore her.”

“TATO HEAD?!”

“TATO HEAD?!!” (the sweet voice has turned into a little more of a growl)

I try to stay out of domestic disputes, but I look at my sister again. She whispers, “She wants her Mr. Potato Head. She’s trying to make it part of our traveling entourage, but every time a body part falls out she throws a fit.”

“TATO HEAD!!!!!”

“TATO HEAD!!!!!!”

Even three days later, I can still hear the voices in my head.

Then “TATO HEAD!!!” turns into “SAD! SAD! SAD!”

“SAD! SAD! SAD!”

Who can resist “SAD! SAD! SAD!” from a little girl with pigtails?

Not these two suckers.

Amy hands over the Mr. Potato Head, who promptly loses a limb. More sadness ensues.

I think it’s time to take some Super Glue to Mr. Potato Head and his various appendages.

The rest of the trip was actually pretty calm and uneventful. There was one point that Sarah requested that I place my sunglasses on my head, but I followed my sister’s advice and acted like I didn’t hear what she said.

It actually worked.

We finally arrived at Whataburger to pick up Caroline, relieved to have three hours of our trip behind us.

I buckled Caroline into her carseat, we pulled onto the highway and drove along for about two minutes before she asked, “How much longer until we get there? I’m tired of being in the car.”

Oh, so now she’s a jetsetter.

About two months ago, my dad called and told me that he and my stepmom (otherwise known as Mimi and Bops) were planning a trip to Houston. Mimi was going to drive in on Thursday from San Antonio and he was planning to fly into Houston on Friday. And since he knew that Caroline had been talking about wanting to ride on an airplane, he asked if she could fly with him to Houston.

There was also some talk of going to the Children’s Museum or the zoo, but none of that mattered to Caroline because all she heard was the part about “FLYING ON AN AIRPLANE!!”

Do you know what I’ve heard every three minutes for the past two months?

“IS IT TIME FOR ME TO GO FLY ON THE AIRPLANE? WHEN AM I GOING ON THE AIRPLANE? IS TODAY THE DAY I’M GOING ON THE AIRPLANE?”

It was enough to make me think ill thoughts about the Wright Brothers and their dream of mechanical flying machines.

So, lesson learned. Do not tell a four-year-old about big, exciting plans to fly on a forty minute Southwest flight to Houston more than one minute in advance of takeoff.

Hindsight.

When last Thursday arrived I was still a fool with no thought to consequences, or things that might cause me to develop a twitch, and I told her “Tomorrow is the BIG DAY!”

That announcement set in motion a chain of airplane readiness preparation that hasn’t been seen since Charles Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic.

First we had to pack her bag with essentials for her trip. I drew the line when she tried to pack her Hello Kitty! alarm clock and her three foot tall stuffed dinosaur.

Then we had to pick out the appropriate flying outfit. She originally wanted to wear a skirt with a top that went with her Halloween costume from two years ago paired with her turquoise rainbow socks, but I convinced her she might regret her decision to wear a pirate shirt that’s three sizes too small.

And finally, I had to roll her hair in sponge rollers because she wanted to look her “MOST BEAUTIFUL” for the plane ride.

She woke up at 5:30 Friday morning. I took her to the bathroom and then explained she needed to go back to sleep because I didn’t want to punish Mimi and Bops with an overtired four-year-old hyped up on the pure rush of adrenaline and airplane peanuts.

“I’m trying to go back to sleep but I don’t want to miss my plane!”

“You’re not going to miss your plane. Close your eyes and go back to sleep!”

And because God likes to laugh at me, a plane flew overhead at that moment.

“IS THAT MY PLANE?”

Yes, yes it is. And you missed it. You missed it because you were too busy trying to convince me that you need to wear a pirate shirt that restricts blood flow to your extremities.

“No, baby. That’s not your plane. I promise I won’t let you miss your plane.”

Mercifully, she fell back asleep until 8 a.m. She was dressed and ready to go within four minutes of getting out of bed.

I thought the sunglasses were a nice touch.

Since the flight was scheduled to leave at 11:00, I told Bops we’d pick him up at 9:30 to make sure they arrived in plenty of time and so he could have the joy of listening to her ask “HOW MUCH LONGER?” for the remaining hour and a half until departure.

Here they are when I dropped them off at the airport for Caroline and Bop’s BIG ADVENTURE.

Through the rearview mirror I watched them walk hand in hand into the airport and cried at the sweet picture the two of them made. It was a moment I’ll never forget, a moment filled with the sweetness of watching a memory being made.

As soon as they landed in Houston, they called me and put me on speakerphone. The first voice I heard was Caroline saying “Mama, we’re here. I LOVED THE PLANE. WE LANDED!”

But the voice that meant the most at that moment was the voice of my daddy telling me it was more than he could have imagined. He couldn’t have dreamed of her excitement at every little detail of air travel, from the fold-down tray table to the free bags of pretzels to the takeoff and landing. When they finally landed, he said she leaned over and kissed him while saying “Thank you, Bops, for taking me on this airplane!”

He told me later it was one of the highlights of his life. I know for sure it was one of the highlights of Caroline’s life.

And in a weird way, although I wasn’t even there, it was one of the highlights of my life too.