Author: Big Mama

On Monday, Caroline had her 4 year old checkup at the doctor. And with the checkup came the 4 year old vaccinations.

Four, to be exact. We are now safe from measles, mumps, rubella, chicken pox, polio and diptheria.

Does anyone even know what diptheria is?

The shots were awful, but it’s over. We’re done until she’s 12 and really, by then, she’ll probably be in the middle of such massive pre-teen angst, it won’t break my heart nearly as much to see her get a shot.

Anyway, I promised her that after the appointment was over we could go to EZ’s to get a milkshake, and then to Target to pick out a little treat.

Because buying things fixes everything. It’s important that she knows that.

We strolled into Target, post-milkshake, and made our way down all the aisles. And Father forgive me, but I told a lie in the shoe aisle because Caroline wanted these hideous (HIDEOUS!!) shoes and I told her they didn’t have her size. I can deal with a lot of things, but I’m just not equipped to deal with my daughter wearing shoes that can only be described as cute-free.

So, as we’re walking through Housewares, I look up and see this in the distance.

Honestly, my first thought was that’s the ugliest lamp I have ever seen.

Then, I looked closer and realized it’s not a lamp. It’s a barstool.

When was the last time you thought it was a good idea to put your bottom in a large plastic bowl?

And on an entirely different note, there will be another podcast coming soon. Boomama and I tried to cast on the pod today and experienced some technical difficulties. Let’s just say at one point she sent me an email and the subject line was “Can’t get microphone to work”.

Then, at another point, I clicked on something (technical term) to try to troubleshoot and all of a sudden my face was up on the computer screen bigger than Dallas and equally as frightening.

We really are setting the podcast world on fire with all our sophisticated technological skills.

So, if we can get the microphones to work, we’ll have a podcast up in the next day or so. But it won’t be a videocast unless we can get some folks in here to do some hair, makeup and wardrobe.

Or if I click on that thing again.

I know y’all will be on the edge of your seats. And hopefully, your seats aren’t shaped like giant salad bowls. Because that would just be painful.

Yesterday morning, we picked up Caroline’s friend, Emily, and brought her back to our house to spend the day. Emily has a brand new baby brother at home, her mama has a sinus infection, and her daddy’s job requires him to be out of town every week.

Honestly, just thinking about all of that makes me feel like I need to take some Zantac.

Or a tequila shot.

So, we had Emily at our house all day and it was great. The girls built tents, played Polly Pockets and, basically, destroyed the playroom. But they entertained themselves ALL DAY LONG. It made me wish Caroline was a twin. I’d take another 4 year old tomorrow, it’s just the stuff you have to go through to get to 4 that makes it all a little less appealing. You know, the no sleeping, and the spitting up, and the blocked milk ducts.

Plus, the crying. All the crying. And Caroline cried alot, too.

Before I took Emily home, I bathed and fed both girls because Emily’s mama mentioned that bathtime is the hardest time to be alone with both kids. She told me that some nights she ends up losing her temper a little, which causes Emily to yell, “OH NO! Here comes the monster!” while she goes and hides in her bedroom. And if y’all knew Emily’s mama you’d know that, even at her worst, she is still one of the sweetest people I know.

I told her not to feel bad because the monster comes out at our house around 6 p.m. most evenings and I can’t even blame it on sleep deprivation. It’s just part of my charm and gentle nature.

Anyway, I loaded up both girls in my car and drove Emily home. We dropped her off and then Caroline and I headed back to our house. I turned onto my street and, all of a sudden, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw flashing lights.

It was the POLICE.

Dang.

Caroline immediately starts in with “WHAT’S HAPPENING, MAMA?!! WHY ARE THE POLICE HERE? WHAT DID YOU DO?!!” I try to assure her we’re not about to get hauled into county lockup, as I fumble around for my driver’s license and proof of insurance. I found them and watched the cop walk up to my window. Thus began my internal debate.

Male? Female? Male? Female?

Y’all. I couldn’t tell.

Officer Pat asked for my license and registration, then said, “You just live right down the street?” And, without thinking, I responded, “Yes Ma’am”. I just rolled the dice and let it fly. I immediately regretted my decision to play gender identification roulette.

The Officer nodded and walked back to the car. I spent the next 5 minutes wondering if I’d made the correct assumption. It looked like a man, but it had highlights in its buzz cut. It walked like a man, but the voice leaned more towards female.

It could have gone either way.

Much to my relief, I was let off with just a warning. In fact, Officer Pat even overlooked the fact that my driver’s license expired a few weeks ago. I was all prepared to launch into my sob story about my husband’s recent back surgery, and the fact that my child isn’t in school and there is no way I can take her to the DPS office and spend 14 hours waiting in line. Tuppence for the poor, officer. Tuppence.

I was going to leave out the part about not wanting to get a new driver’s license picture taken until I get my braces off. I didn’t feel it would convey the best law-abiding citizen image.

I happily signed my warning and thanked the officer for her leniency. And yes, I’ve decided it must have been a she because, first of all, she let me off with just a warning, which seems unlikely had I said “Yes ma’am” to a man that has probably spent many years filled with insecurity over his high pitched voice.

Secondly, she seemed to take pity on the fact that I had a whiny 4 year old in the backseat who kept repeating, “I just want to GO HOME”. And also, kept loudly saying, “MAMA, PLEASE DON’T TELL DADDY ABOUT THIS! HE’LL BE SO MAD, MAMA! YOU’LL BE IN BIG TROUBLE, MAMA!”

Which cracks me up because P isn’t one to get worked up about me getting a ticket. After all, it’s not him that would have to spend 8 life-draining hours in some defensive drivers’ course with a half-baked instructor who teaches these classes for fun and welcomes multiple questions from the class after the showing of “Blood Runs Red on the Highway”.

P’s just not really the kind of guy who gets mad very often.

As opposed to me, who has been known to throw a cordless phone in my day.

Anyway, P was in the shower by the time we got home and then she had to go to bed. But I’m betting she totally rats me out tomorrow.

**Edited to add: She ratted on me by 10:00 a.m. It was a total sellout.