Author: Big Mama

I’m usually not big on ultimatums, but this was different

I can never thank y’all enough for all the hair advice. I’m still weighing all my options and will let you know when I decide the best course of action. Honestly, at this point in the summer, my hair is so fried from all the chlorine that it needs all the help it can get and cutting a few inches off probably isn’t a bad idea. Also, I don’t even want to discuss the fact that I’ve pulled 3 gray hairs out of my head in the last week. 3 gray hairs.

Also, have I mentioned my back pain? I seem to have wrenched my back at some point this past weekend and so I’ve been spending time sitting with a heating pad on my lower back. I mentioned my infirmity to Boomama a few days ago, and she was kind enough to inquire if I might have injured it while doing water aerobics at the YMCA as part of some new geriatric workout program. That’s always a possibility. Or it could be that I jumped up at a funny angle from the BINGO table at the Knights of Columbus Hall.

Anyway, last night we got a babysitter for Caroline and went to see “The Bourne ULTIMATUM”, and, truly, ULTIMATUM needs to be in all caps because it is just that good. I honestly forgot to breathe about 2 minutes into the movie and spent the next 2 hours periodically gasping for air. In fact, at one point, I’m pretty sure I was squeezing P’s hand harder than I did when I was in labor with Caroline. And that is a BOLD statement.

If I am ever in any kind of distress due to an association with corrupt government officials or am needing to go deep, deep undercover because I have secret information about classified things, I want Jason Bourne to come to my aid. Forget Superman and his tights, Spiderman and his sad, little webs, Wonder Woman and her fancy bracelets, The Captain and Tenille…I want Matt “almost as cute as P” Damon to rescue me. He is wily and unstoppable and can kick some serious, serious tail end.

I won’t give away any plot points because that would just be wrong, but, needless to say, it had me on the edge of my seat. I’m not always an action movie kind of girl, but I adore the Bourne series because, in my opinion which is really more of a fact, he is the thinking man’s action hero.

And I am a thinking (wo)man.

In fact, if not for the undeniable truth that Sydney Bristow had better outfits and rocked some serious wigs, I might call Jason Bourne my ultimate action hero.

And did I mention that Julia Stiles has really cute hair in the movie? Really cute. With fun, streaky highlights. I wonder what kind of product she uses?
I probably should spend more time focusing on inner beauty

I started yesterday like I start every other Tuesday morning, with a trip to the orthodontist. The only difference was that yesterday I brought Caroline with me and it really made the whole experience more meaningful to have someone standing right at my head asking, “WHAT’S HE DOING, MAMA? DOES THAT HURT? THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HURTS, MAMA!”

And now is when I usually whine and complain and give my overall sob story about how I didn’t get my braces off. So yeah, I didn’t get my braces off. I got the same old song and dance about how he doesn’t want to take them off until my bite is perfect, and the Earth is in alignment with Jupiter, and the planets of Venus do a dance around the sun. Then, he showed me how to use a variety of rubberbands to create a web that even Charlotte would envy and that seems to have given my mouth the ability to move of its own free will. I am a little bit like a ventriloquist dummy, but without the ventriloquist…which I guess just leaves a dummy…which makes me think of “Sanford and Son”.

Hey Dummy.

As usual, I am firing on all cylinders.

Anyway, my braces should come off sometime between now and never. As I scheduled my next appointment, the receptionist said, “It looks like next time you’re getting your permanent retainer!” I just looked at her blankly and said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” My attitude has taken a serious nose dive to the south.

We topped off the morning of orthodontia with a trip to Target. I can’t really remember what we needed. Oh! We needed a Rubbermaid bin for our new pocket-sized friend Polly and her wee wardrobe. We found a lovely bin with a lid that clicks into place, and then I directed our attention to the childrens’ apparel. They had these cute little capri yoga pants with a matching hoodie in a peppy shade of blue with Super Star written across the front, but instead of spelling out “Star” there was just a little picture of a star. The outfit was 50% off and I have an affinity for anything that says “Super Star” because great is my love for Mary Katherine Gallagher. So, I showed the outfit to Caroline, she looked it over, and announced, “Oh no. I will not wear that.” Apparently, 4 year olds aren’t wearing sassy tracksuits this fall, they are so over.

Finally, our morning of fun culminated in a trip to HEB where Caroline realized, for the first time, that the letters above the store are, in fact, H. E. B. It was a moment filled with awe and wonder at the symmetry of it all. Anyway, we loaded our cart with all the essentials; milk, eggs, cheese, hot dogs and Sour Patch Kids. Then, we headed over to the toiletries section because I needed razors and shampoo.

So, here’s where I have to make a confession. I have broken up with the Schick Intuition. I haven’t been ready to publicly admit that until now because I haven’t been sure if we’re just “on a break” or if we’re actually past the point of reconciliation. Yesterday, in the razor aisle at HEB, I accepted that whatever we once had is gone.

Those little inserts, with the soap and the razor all in one convenient package, were so appealing at first, but I began to notice that the soap part breaks off way too soon. It can’t commit to a long term relationship, and I really need the security of knowing I won’t be left in the shower with nothing to shave my legs with but a dry razor blade. I know I led many of you astray with my earlier glowing review of the Intuition, but it was all so new and exciting. I was blinded to its flaws and I kept giving it chance after chance for redemption, but, yesterday around noon, I accepted it was time to move on and went back to my old friend, The Venus.

We were reunited and it feels so good.

After all that angst amongst the hair removal products, I headed to the hair care aisle. I saved it for the end of the trip because I knew exactly what was going to happen. About a month ago, I ran out of my Biolage Normalizing Shampoo. I accepted it and decided that, given our new budget constraints, I could live with Pantene Pro-V. The Pantene ran out on Sunday. On Monday I was reduced to using Caroline’s Barbie Shampoo and, although my hair was tangle free and smelled like strawberries, I didn’t feel that I was getting the hair care that I need. It was time to buy new shampoo.

I stood on that aisle for a long time, concentrating so hard that at one point I even asked Caroline to “Please, just quit talking for one minute so that Mama can think.” This is important, baby, this is about Mama’s HAIR.

It was a crucial decision and, in the back of my mind, I could hear Gulley’s warning that trying to go cheap on her hair care regimen resulted in damage that she is still dealing with to this day. I gazed longingly at the bottle of Biolage. I even picked it up and put it in my cart because my flesh is weak. Then, as I walked down the aisle, I noticed the $3 bottle of Clairol Herbalessence with COCONUT MILK which, I have no idea what that means for my hair, but it sounded calming and ALL NATURAL. So, I put down my Biolage and picked up the Clairol.

But I’m not sure I feel good about this decision. I mean, I can give up the Biolage, but I need a good replacement. Any recommendations on haircare products?
I need a siesta after all this fiesta

Well, I don’t think I need to tell y’all that we had quite the celebration on Friday. The day started with P and me singing to Caroline as she pulled back the covers and examined her feet. It seems she needed to see if they had gotten bigger in light of her new status as a 4 year old. Those tiny 3 year old feet just weren’t going to cut it anymore. Age 4 requires new, big feet. She also felt certain she had gained 10 pounds overnight, which proves there is actually an age when that kind of news excites a female, as opposed to sending her spiraling downward in a brownie-fueled depression.

Not too many 30-somethings wish for a 10 pound weight gain as they blow out the candles on their birthday cake. Unless of course, the 10 pounds is in the form of a new diamond ring or something like that.

First thing out of bed she ran to the kitchen to open the present from us. Please note the look in her eyes. She maintained that look of sheer raw energy fueled by anticipation and sugar for the rest of the day.

P left for work and so I asked the birthday girl what she’d like for breakfast. Pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. Blueberry pancakes in the shape of a gingerbread man. Apparently, she thought perhaps I had morphed into Martha Stewart during the night. If I had taken the time to take a picture of the purple batter that I eventually formed into a decapitated gingerbread man, you would know for sure that somewhere Martha Stewart wept for my creative culinary future.

I presented my creation to Caroline, she looked at it for a moment and said, “That is one ugly pancake.” Don’t I know it, sister, don’t I know it. However, the dogs were not as discriminating. Remember the scene in “Coalminer’s Daughter” where Doo takes the dinner Loretta fixed and whistles for the dogs? It was a little piece of cinematic re-enactment history here on Friday morning.

Her party started at 3 p.m. so I spent the rest of the day answering the question, “Is it time for my party, yet? Is it time? When will it be time for my party? IS IT TIME YET??” until I finally took two Valium and went back to bed.

Oh, I’m kidding. I continued to answer her until it was FINALLY time for the party and we headed up to the pool to get everything set up. My prayers had been answered and it didn’t rain, even though the forecast called for afternoon showers. P asked me what my backup plan was and I really had no answer other than the possibility of taking tequila shots and letting 4 year olds take over the interior of my home while I sat in a corner and cried.

I think everyone had a great time. They swam, ate cake and beat the unicorn piñata senseless so that they could get all the candy. It was a little bit of a mob mentality as they went after that poor unicorn, but 4 year olds take their candy very seriously. Don’t get in their way…especially if you’re made of papier mache. I’d been a little concerned about whether or not Caroline would be okay with the destruction of the unicorn since she had spent the last week carrying him around and wanting to sleep with him in her bed, but I underestimated her enthusiasm for sugar even if it meant placing her beloved mythical creature in harm’s way.

You have to admire a man that can swing at a pinata while jauntily wearing a Little Mermaid tiara. It’s the perfect combination of style and grace.

After the sugar high from eating all the icing began to subside, the party guests began to head home.? Caroline was thrilled with all her presents and immediately wanted to make snow cones with her new Snoopy Sno-Cone maker. I told her it was too late and promised we’d make them the next day.

Guess who was making Snoopy Sno-Cones at 7 a.m. Saturday morning? Oh yes ma’am, the mama without enough intellect to realize that the “next day” means 7 a.m. Nothing starts the day better than grape sugar poured over ice and, for the second morning in a row, my child started the day with some sort of purple breakfast food. That is a serious nutritional achievement.

And on another note, let me tell y’all, if you’re looking for some kind of workout for your forearms, the Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker may be just the ticket. I didn’t even have a Dixie cup full of shaved ice and my arms were burning with the heat of 100 suns. I’ll be shopping for some shirts with 3/4 length sleeves just to show off my new forearm muscle definition.

Caroline also received some Polly Pockets paraphernalia and, as she opened it, I felt this sense of dread realizing these tiny, little pieces of marketing genius were now, irrevocably, a part of our lives. However, after she spent 2 hours Saturday morning playing quietly with all her new Polly Pocket treasures (2 hours which I may or may not have spent going back to sleep on the couch) I realized that Madison Avenue is brilliant in its realization that, for whatever reason, little girls like to play with rubber shoes that are invisible to the naked eye.

Here is the birthday girl wearing one of her new princess outfits. She had it on all day and even wore it to dinner. She was a little overdressed for pizza but didn’t seem all that concerned about it.

Friday night as she went to sleep, I asked her what her favorite part of the day had been. She looked at me with sleepy eyes and said, “Being 4. That’s the best part of the whole day.” Lucky for her, being 4 will last a whole year which, I guarantee, is longer than any of the Polly Pockets stuff is going to last.
Don’t act like you wouldn’t like to do the same thing at your birthday party

At some point I will compose an entire post about the birthday festivities, but, for now, here are a few captured moments that sum up what a 4th birthday party should be. Many thanks to my dear friend AJ who was able to get these shots while I was herding kids and attempting to light candles that didn’t want to light.

Blowing out the candles.

Why wait for the cake to be cut?

Let’s hope her social etiquette improves before she begins attending more refined social events.

Licking a little more icing off her fingers.

Wait. What is this?

Heaven forbid any of this green icing should go to waste.

Seriously, do I have something on my face?

Nobody said coming down from a sugar high is easy.
I’d like to thank Flex Net and Aussie Sprunch Spray for allowing me to defy gravity

After seeing the pictures from this post I wrote last week, Melanie at This Ain’t New York awarded me the coveted Big Bangs Award.? Seriously, is there a nicer trophy in all of the blog universe?

It makes all those hours I spent with my hair soaking in perm solution totally worth it.? Not to mention the time I spent in front of the mirror every morning teasing those bangs until they were high enough to no longer be visible in the mirror.?

As tumultuos as high school sometimes was, in the the words of Annelle from Steel Magnolias, I did not let my personal tragedy affect my ability to do good hair.? Who could have imagined I’d still be reaping the rewards for my coiffure dedication almost 20 years later?
Hello four

Dear Caroline,

In just a few hours, I’ll walk into your room with a plate holding a brownie with a candle on it. Daddy and I will sing Happy Birthday and tell you that we’re so glad you were born. Later on, we’ll have a big party, but this moment is just for the three of us. Daddy and I couldn’t have imagined how much you would bless our lives. It’s unspeakable joy.

A few days ago, you and I went out to La Cantera (or as I like to call it, The Mecca) to shop for new shoes. We walked through the outside shopping area and finally came to the playscape, which for you is the best part of the mall, although you are learning to appreciate a good shoe department. You ran over and began climbing on the play equipment while I sat on a bench to watch you. All of a sudden it dawned on me that you were the biggest kid on the playground. When did that happen?

In my mind’s eye, I still see you as this little toddler with elbows full of dimpled baby fat and chubby little cheeks, but when I looked at you standing on top of the slide, I realized with the perspective of someone seeing something for the first time, that this past year you have shed whatever was left of the baby, and have become a little girl. Long and lean and oh so sassy.

This past year has brought so many changes that I don’t even know where to begin, but I will start by telling you that you make me laugh out loud every day. I never know what is going to come out of your mouth and when you begin telling me some long tale, I just hold my breath in anticipation because I don’t want to miss a word. You are a character, in the truest sense of the word.

One of your favorite things these days is to tell me a story about when you were a little girl. It always starts with “Mama, when I was a little girl…” and ends with various statements. Yesterday’s story was about when you were a little girl and went to Africa and rode a zebra all by yourself. I can’t believe I have no recollection of such a momentous trip.

You wake up every morning ready to start the day. “Mama, get up! GET UP! Where are we going today? What are we going to do today? Let’s go, Mama! Let’s go.” And you run in your room to get yourself dressed, which is a whole other issue. I am no longer allowed in the inner sanctum that is your closet. You are very particular about the attire you will wear each day and this is new for me. I spent 3 years and 10 months getting to dress you like I wanted, but a new day has come and you’re in search of your fashion identity.

The other day you came out dressed for school in some pink plaid shorts with a long sleeve red shirt and knee high socks with your tap shoes. You looked like a bag lady on her way to perform at a Vaudeville show. I am trying to let you express yourself, but I have my limits. I told you that you couldn’t wear that long sleeve shirt to school because it would be way too hot and I pulled out this darling, yellow dress from your closet and said, “How about this?” You looked at me, gave the dress the once over, and said, “No. I’m not wearing that. It’s YELLOW and it’s BORING.” You are many things, but boring will never be one of them.

You are particular about when you want to talk on the phone, but anytime you hear me on the phone with Gulley, you want to talk and I hear shades of myself as you say, “Gulley, what is going on over there this morning? Is Will feeling better? Did he have a fever? Maybe he has the throw ups.” It’s such an articulate conversation and it tickles me every time.

The other day we were driving to deliver a meal to a friend that just had her second baby. You stated for the 1,000th time that you wanted a baby sister (and you’re very specific about wanting a sister, not a brother). You told me that you told Daddy and “he said we’ll have to see about that”. I explained to you that a baby sister would mean that you’d have to share Mama and that sometimes Mama would have to take care of the new baby instead of being able to be with you. You thought about it for a minute and then said, “That’s okay, Mama. I don’t need you anymore.”

I’m keeping that in mind the next time you want me to come rock you or hold your hand while you walk to the bathroom at 3 a.m.

In many ways, you don’t need me as much anymore. It still amazes me that you run in your room and put on your own pajamas every night. It amazes me that you go to the bathroom and request your privacy. It amazes me that if you want a snack, you’ll go get it yourself. And often, when I try to step in and do these things for you, you insist that you’ll “do it MYSELF”. I’m proud of you for that. I’m proud of you for your independence and your security in who you are and what you can do. You have no doubts about your abilities and my prayer is that you never do. You are unstoppable.

But as independent as you are, we still end each day with you snuggling in my lap as I read you stories. Then, we turn out the light, say our prayers and you contort your body until you’re in a position where I can rock you for a few minutes. And just like when you were a baby, you bury your head in my chest, I breathe in the sweet smell of your hair, and I cherish this moment when I get a glimpse of the baby you used to be.

I love you more than you know. Happy 4th birthday, my sweet girl.

Love,
Mama