Author: Big Mama

  • Edition 8: Fashion Friday

    Seriously, eight Fashion Fridays? Because it feels more like thirty-eight.

    And if y’all thought yesterday’s post was lame, just wait. Today will probably be worse.

    Caroline has her Thanksgiving program and feast at school today so we spent a good portion of our day yesterday baking gingersnap cookies. It shouldn’t have taken up such a large chunk of our day, but let me let y’all in on a little secret. If you’re making a recipe that calls for shortening and you open your tub of Crisco and notice it smells similar to a pure petroleum-type product, otherwise known as horse’s rear end, then it’s a safe bet that you probably shouldn’t cook with it.

    This realization, sadly, didn’t dawn on me until after I had mixed in the rest of the ingredients and noticed the dough still smelled more like the devil’s armpit than the makings of a gingersnap cookie. I actually had to taste it before I accepted that, yes, Crisco can go rancid.

    Just the memory of the taste makes me throw up in my mouth just a little.

    So, we pitched the entire batch of gingersnap dough and started all over again. And it wasn’t so much the remaking the dough that was unpleasant as it was getting the petroleum-type substance off my Kitchenaid mixer and bowl. It rivaled the Exxon Valdez.

    I kept thinking that something like this would never happen to Ree at Pioneer Woman.

    But anyway, as we were finally rolling the dough into little balls and coating them with cinnamon and sugar, Caroline looked at me and said, “You’re my BEST MOM.”

    I said, “Well, you’re my best girl.”

    She said, “I looked down from heaven and saw you and knew you would be the BEST MAMA EVER.”

    And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me get all teary and weepy at the sweetness of it all.

    Which is kind of how I felt when I saw this dress at J. Crew the other day.

    Except in black. Because, as my closet will attest, I can’t have enough black clothing.

    And do you see what I’ve done? I’ve brought it around to fashion, my friends.

    It’s a gift.

    1. Lora asks: I need sensible, comfortable, yet stylish every day shoes. I wear mostly jeans and khakis. Suggestions?

    Is it possible to wear skirts in the winter? I’m in Alabama, so it’s not like it’s sub-zero temps here. What sort of style would they need to be? Any ideas? I need just a few pieces that I can mix and match and rotate because, let’s face it, I don’t dress up any other time of the week. I prefer skirts on Sundays, although I can appreciate a good dressy pant on occasion.

    This series of questions has been sitting in my inbox for a few weeks now because, frankly, it overwhelms me. But rumor has it that Lora is waiting on my answer before she goes shopping, so now the pressure is on.

    Let’s start with shoes. If you’re looking for comfortable, stylish shoes to go with jeans and khakis, I’d look for a cute flat, a tennis shoe or flat boots. Flat boots are really in this year and that would probably be my personal preference because I enjoy wearing socks in the winter time.

    Here’s an example of a cute flat.

    Or this.

    Here’s a good tennis shoe.

    And here is a flat boot that I would love to have greet me in my closet every morning.

    Hello Lover.

    Remember, these are just a guideline. So, figure out what works best for your lifestyle and adapt as needed.

    On to the next part of the question. Yes, it is possible to wear skirts in the winter. I think a wool skirt with boots and tights is just about the cutest thing going.

    Think about something like this.

    Or this.

    Or how about a sweater dress?

    And definitely go check out Target. They might have some really cute skirts. I wouldn’t know if they do because I have temporarily banned myself from Target because I always leave there at least $100 poorer with nothing really to show for it.

    I definitely like the dressy pants option for church because you can mix and match it with some cute sweaters than can also be worn with jeans throughout the week. Here are a few nice sweater options.

    This.

    Or this.

    Or for a little something different, this.

    God speed as you shop for a winter wardrobe. I hope I helped just a little.

    2. Darlene asks: “I’ve been wondering this for awhile now. How do you feel about sweaters/sweatshirts with characters on the
    front? For example, snowmen, Mickey Mouse, Pooh and such. Are they in or out? Personally, I don’t wear them… anymore. I have been known to sport an occasional Hundred Acre Woods character or two in my time!

    I have never been a fan of character shirts. Well, unless you count those three years in elementary school where I would beg my mom to buy me a new t-shirt at one of those iron-on transfer t-shirt shops.

    Remember those days? A bright blue t-shirt with a unicorn jumping over a rainbow and “Follow Your Dreams” written in cursive?

    People used a lot of illegal substances in the 70’s.

    If a person enjoys wearing character shirts then, by all means, wear on my friend. But I think it’s safe to say that you won’t see any character shirts on Project Runway or Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style.

    Maybe it’s their loss.

    But probably not.

    That’s all I’ve got for this week. If I haven’t gotten to your question yet, I promise I will at some point.

    It’s just hard to keep up, especially when I’m busy trying to live up to my title of BEST MAMA EVER.

    I wouldn’t want Caroline to second guess the selection she made in heaven.

    ***Edited to add: Gulley called and asked me where I found the brown tennis shoes. I realized that many of y’all may not realize that if you click on the colored words in the text that they will take you directly to where I found the sweaters, shoes, etc. It’s usually the word “this” that’s in blue and will take you to the site. Hope that helps.

  • This kind of advice will take her far

    To be filed under the list of things I never dreamed I’d say before I had a child.

    “Don’t eat anything that you’ve picked off your face.”

    Just the memory of that statement and why I had to say it makes me feel a little queasy.

  • Eat oatmeal, it’s the right thing to do

    I woke up this morning with Caroline right in my face. She was looking at me very carefully and finally asked, “Mama, why do you have stripes on your forehead?”

    Because my skin is losing collagen by the day. Thank you.

    We spent the morning going to gymnastics and then invited Caroline’s friend, Emily, over to play. The girls had a great time other than occasional skirmish over Barbie Princess shoes. There is nothing 4 year old girls enjoy more than a chance to tattle on each other.

    And make chalk handprints on your backdoor.

    While Caroline was occupied in a game of tug of war over assorted Barbie jewelry, I spent my time cutting and taping recipes into my recipe notebook.

    What’s a recipe notebook you ask?

    It’s a handy notebook that I bought many years ago and whenever I find a recipe that I like, I cut it out and tape it into my notebook. The only problem is I tend to pile up about six months worth of torn out magazine pages and shove them into the notebook where they fall out all over the kitchen floor everytime I go to look up a recipe.

    It may sound like I’m unorganized and well, I am. The important thing is that eventually they end up in the notebook on a color coded page according to whether they are a main dish, a side dish, or a dessert.

    I’ll just go ahead and confess that the dessert section is by far the most populated segment of the book. It’s not that I’ve actually made an Ooey Gooey Snickers Ice Cream Cake, but I am comforted to know that I could if the need arises.

    For instance, if the writers’ strike continues and all the good shows go off the air.

    Obviously, I am reserving it for a huge crisis.

    So, while I was going through the recipes, I found a recipe I had cut out for Baked Oatmeal and thought hey! a hearty, nutritious breakfast possibility for Caroline. I mean she really needs something in her stomach before she starts in on the Halloween candy.

    And, since I had all the ingredients on hand along with a big helping of delusions of grandeur, I decided it would be fun for Caroline and I to make it together.

    Here’s Caroline with a lemon and frozen blueberries. She can hardly contain her excitement over the lame afternoon activity I’ve come up with.

    Here are all the other ingredients and Caroline, who was asking that ceramic rooster, whom she’s apparently named Carlos, if he would like to marry her.

    Kid, if you’re going to keep baking here you’re going to need to stay off the drugs.

    (Yes, the picture is blurry. Do not adjust your monitor. If you’re looking for good photography, you’re in the wrong place)

    While I’m in the midst of trying to wrangle Caroline before she runs off with Carlos the rooster, P comes in with some new navigation software that he’s purchased and needs to install it on the computer.

    He heads towards my beloved Mac and puts the CD into the drive.

    Nothing.

    Takes out the CD and tries it again.

    Nothing.

    Takes it out and sees wording on label that says, “Not compatible with Mac Systems”.

    So, he tries it on our PC.

    Nothing.

    He enlists my help. So now, I’m a cook and IT support. You do not want me to be your IT support because you know what I know about computers?

    Not much.

    My main tech support move is to just repeat the same thing over and over again to see if maybe it will work on the 143rd click of the mouse. Or maybe if you just put in the CD one more time it will actually work.

    This time I even pulled out the big guns and took the CPU out of the cabinet where it’s housed and kicked it really hard on the side to give it a jumpstart.

    Bill Gates has nothing on me.

    Meanwhile, Caroline is holding an egg yelling, “MAMA, CAN I GO AHEAD AND BREAK THIS EGG? CAN I? CAN I? CAN I? CAN I? NOW?”

    Not yet, Sweetie. Let’s wait and see if you can ask 132 more times and make my head explode.

    And what do you know? She can.

    P is messing with the computer which makes me very nervous because P doesn’t really have my computer skills or finesse. You have to know how to kick it just right.

    Caroline is holding eggs and talking non-stop.

    The phone is ringing off the hook because Buckmasters needs to know if P is renewing his subscription.

    It really was the peaceful cooking moment I imagined in my head.

    But nevertheless, the Baked Oatmeal turned out to be pretty good. And I’ll spare the internet and not tell y’all what Caroline said it looked like as we poured it into the baking dish.

    Just know it tastes better than it looks.

    The real reward is I have a nutritious breakfast that I can reheat and serve to Caroline in the morning which means I won’t have to share my chocolate Pop-tarts.

    In case any of y’all are still reading and interested in the recipe, here it is.

    Baked Oatmeal

    That’s all the ingredients except for the blueberries and lemon shown in an earlier photo.

    2 cups frozen blueberries
    2 tbs. fresh lemon juice, divided
    1 18oz. container regular oats
    3 large eggs, beaten
    1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
    1 cup unsweetened applesauce
    1 tbs. ground cinnamon
    4 tsp. baking powder
    1 tsp. salt
    1 1/4 cups water
    1 cup milk
    1/4 cup melted butter.

    Toss 2 cups blueberries in 1 tbs. lemon juice and spread evenly in a 9×13 inch lightly greased baking dish. Combine oats, next 9 ingredients and remaining 1 tbs. lemon juice in a large bowl. Mix well. Pour mixture over blueberries.
    Bake, covered, at 350 for 30 minutes. Uncover and bake 20 more minutes or until golden brown and set.

    Have a great day and don’t run off with any roosters named Carlos.

  • Someone help me, help me please

    Okay, so I have been at war with myself over whether or not to write this post. But the part of me that cares about what people think has lost the battle. I am compelled to share something with the world wide web that is causing me to swallow my pride.

    Put your hands in the air if you watched (and loved) The Osmond Family on Oprah last Friday.

    I’m so ashamed.

    I wanted to think that I was above Osmondmania. In fact, I almost deleted the entire show off my DVR. But the kind hand of television fate intervened, and since P had taken Caroline to the ranch for the whole day on Sunday and I had time on my hands, I decided to go ahead and watch the first few minutes just to see how The Osmonds were holding up.

    Oh, pride goeth before a fall.

    I have prided myself that I have been above watching Marie on “Dancing With The Stars”, even after hearing she passed out cold on national television. And, really, that’s just good T.V.

    I have even scoffed at Marie selling her dolls on QVC because, really, the whole doll collection thing is just beyond my realm of comprehension.

    Please don’t be offended if you collect dolls. That’s great. I’m just saying that they kind of creep me out. I’m not proud of the fact that I still have to remove all the dolls from the room I sleep in when I visit my Nanny. It’s just who I am.

    I’m a big coward who is afraid of glass eyes that stare off into space and heads topped with unnaturally flipped hair with jaunty berets on top.

    Anyway, The Osmonds. I’m fascinated. There were like over 632 of them on Oprah’s stage and not one of them has an immediate family of less than 26 children or something like that. And they all look alike. And they all have perpetual smiles.

    And I am afraid I am going to be tempted to shell out big bucks to attend The Osmond Family Reunion Tour.

    I know. I’m frightening even myself.

    Oh, I pretend to be above it all, but I AM NOT. I am a weak vessel given to waves of 70’s nostalgia.

    After all, Donny Osmond was really my first love.

    I would spend Friday nights not more than 5 inches away from our huge console television because I believed Donny could see me watching him while I wore my purple socks. I felt connected to him because I understood his love of purple socks and I, too, believed I was a little bit rock-n-roll.

    Sadly, this wouldn’t be the last time I would decide something was my favorite thing because it was also the favorite thing of the boy I liked. Hence, my great love of Dr. Pepper throughout my 7th and 8th grade years because of a guy named Kendall. I was sure our common bond of drinking Dr. Pepper would seal our joy for eternity. But then he moved out of town and I went back to drinking Coke, which at the time was Coke Classic because of a huge marketing blunder by the bigwigs at the Coca-Cola company.

    Where was I?

    Oh, Donny.

    I remember being heartbroken when I found out that Donny couldn’t actually see me through the T.V. screen. I just knew if he could see me he would be immediately smitten with the six year old girl in her Snoopy nightgown, missing her front tooth, re-enacting the entire “Donny and Marie Show” with her Donny and Marie dolls complete with soundstage set.

    And really, I can’t even get into how envious I was of my friend ZZ, who not only had a Donny and Marie lunchbox, but also a Donny and Marie 8-track player. I believe that’s when I learned firsthand what the Bible means when it says “Do not covet your neighbor’s donkey”…or their 8-track player.

    But then, Donny and I grew apart. His show went off the air, he got married, and I was over him. It was a tough transition but, eventually, Rick Springfield came along and I forgot all about Donny.

    I believe it was 1988 when he came back on the scene with “Soldier of Love”.

    Anyone?

    “Soldier of Love”?

    Until now, I have never publicly admitted how much I liked that song, but I did. I may have even bought the cassette tape.

    Oh, the shame.

    So, when I Donny and Marie opened the Oprah show with a medley of songs that was reminiscent of The Sweeney Sisters, I was ready to point and laugh with disdain. I was prepared to roll my eyes and ask no one in particular, who cares about The Osmonds anymore?

    But then, Donny began singing “Puppy Love” and either I had allergies or I might have had a tear in my eye over what we used to have.

    I’ll never tell which one it was.

  • I’ve always suspected God appreciates a good cheetah print

    Last week I was driving over to Gulley’s house to keep her youngest son, Will, while she went to watch Jackson compete in the bike rodeo.

    I had no idea there was any such thing as a bike rodeo. Oh the things that I have to look forward to when Caroline enters the dog eat dog world of Kindergarten next year.

    Anyway, Caroline was talking to me from the backseat of the car and told me that Jackson had told her a scary story about a little boy who went to the bathroom without his mama or daddy and a stranger tried to get him.

    Apparently, they had just finished “Stranger Danger” week in Kindergarten.

    I said, “Well sweetie, you don’t need to worry. Mama and Daddy are always watching out for you. And you know what else? God is always watching over you.”

    “God is always watching me?”

    “Yes, God sees everything. He even knows how many hairs are on your head.”

    “Does He know I’m growing out my bangs?”

    That apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Oh the times I have prayed for deliverance from my bangs.

    “Yes, He knows you’re growing out your bangs.”

    “Does He see my cute cheetah pants I’m wearing?”

    “Yep. He sees your cheetah pants.”

    “OH, I BET HE THINKS I AM REAL CUTE!”

    Yes. I can say with all certainty that He does.

  • Caroline’s guide to style

    Caroline got herself dressed for church this morning.

    Clearly, she has inherited her father’s sense of style.

    One in which a baseball cap makes every outfit better.

    And I will just go ahead and confess that I let her go to church in that exact outfit.

    Y’all have to admit, the mardi gras beads are a nice touch.