Author: Big Mama

  • I can’t believe I’ve finally worked Milli Vanilli into a post

    Don’t panic. You’re in the right place. This is the new home of Big Mama, although there is still some work that needs to be done. This template is temporary, while Laura at Swank Designs works on a whole new look for me. So, if y’all see something you don’t like, don’t worry, it’s probably going to change anyway.

    And just one housekeeping note before all the fun of today’s post ensues, if you have me on your blogroll or subscribe to me on Bloglines or Google Reader or whatever, please change the url to www.bigmama1.com . Thanks y’all. Hopefully we’ll all be very happy over here at WordPress.

    So, it’s Friday and y’all know what that means, time for a list. Not that I always do lists on Fridays, but there’s always a good chance I will because honestly, how much can one person come up with in a week? And really, after writing about bowling yesterday, there is just no where to go but down. Plus, some of y’all asked me some questions which gives me the perfect opportunity to answer them and appear to be writing a post all at the same time.

    1.? My new jeans. Yes, Gulley liked the new jeans, but how could she not? Especially considering that they are named “The Rocker”. I mean at this stage of life we’ll take our rockstar status where we can get it.

    2.? Black tights. According to the Neiman Marcus website and their fall trends, black tights will be in for Fall. This brings me no small amount of joy because I do love the black tight.? It hasn’t really been acceptable for the last several years and I have missed it. Granted, the last time they were in I was still young enough to wear them with short skirts and that day may have since passed me by.

    In fact, right after P and I got married, I received my first bonus check as a pharmaceutical rep. It was more money than I’d ever made at one time (which isn’t saying much) and I bought myself this suit at Ann Taylor. It was the most expensive outfit I’d ever purchased and I was giddy with the fashion buying power. It was a cranberry red wool suit with a belted pea coat jacket and a short matching skirt. I adored it and wore it for several years with black tights and cute black shoes. Then, it went out of style but I never could let it go, plus, the jacket still looked cute with jeans.

    Last fall when I was cleaning out my closet, I saw the skirt hanging there and decided to try it on. Surely it must have shrunk from being in my closet all those years because I cannot even imagine I ever wore a skirt that short. The only explanation is that the black tights made it okay.

    Welcome back, black tights. I have missed you and your miraculous leg-enhancing abilities.

    And Neimans, if you’re wrong about the black tights then you are dead to me. If you’re going to be wrong about anything, please let it be the high waisted pants.

    3. Several people asked for the recipe for the cookies I mentioned yesterday. The name of the cookies is the Three Chocolate Cookies, not the Triple Chocolate Cookies like I said. Either way, it’s a trio of chocolatey goodness and they will change your life and your waistline.

    Three Chocolate Cookies

    1 cup butter, softened
    1/2 cup vegetable shortening (I’d like to make a joke about the use of butter and shortening but I can’t because I’m too distracted by the sound of my arteries closing up)
    3/4 cup sugar
    1 3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
    3 large eggs
    1 tsp. vanilla extract
    3 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
    2 tsp baking soda
    1 tsp salt
    1 (12 ounce) package semisweet chocolate morsels
    1 cup milk chocolate morsels
    3 (1-ounce) squares bittersweet chocolate, chopped (or you can just buy dark chocolate chips)
    1 cup almond brickle chips (basically chopped up Heath bar, which you can buy in a bag)

    Preheat oven to 375.? Lightly grease baking sheets.

    With an electric mixer, beat butter and shortening at medium speed until creamy; gradually add sugars, beating until fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla, beating well.

    In a small bowl, combine flour, baking soda and salt; gradually add to butter mixture, beating until blended.? Stir in chocolate morsels and almond brickle chips. Drop cookies by 1/4 cupfuls about 3-inches apart onto prepared baking sheets (this is assuming you have any dough left after eating as much of it as you can fit in your mouth at one time).? Bake for 11-12 minutes, or until lightly browned.? Let cool.

    Gulley makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world. They are legendary, but these run a close second and that is saying something. Paula knows how to make a cookie, y’all. Not that there was ever any doubt.

    4.? To counterbalance the Three Chocolate Cookies, I’m going to give y’all the recipe for what I cooked for dinner last night. It’s from the July issue of Cooking Light and it was DEE-LICIOUS. P even liked it, and AJ came over for dinner and she liked it too. It was a hit and it’s healthy, which means that you can eat as many cookies as you want for dessert.

    Chicken Chilaquiles

    2 cups shredded skinless, boneless chicken breasts (I used rotisserie because chicken on the bone or in it’s raw form grosses me out to no end.? I have issues.)
    1/2 cup chopped green onions
    1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese with jalapeno peppers
    2 tbs grated parmesan cheese
    1 tsp chili powder
    1/4 tsp salt
    1/4 tsp black pepper
    3/4 cup low fat milk
    1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro (this is totally optional and I opted out because, in my opinion, cilantro is more disgusting than chicken on the bone)
    1 (11 ounce) can tomatillos, drained
    1 (4.5 ounce) can chopped green chilies ( I used extra spicy because I am a Rocker)
    12 corn tortillas

    Preheat oven to 375.? Combine chicken, green onions, Mont. Jack cheese, parmesan, chili powder, salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Place milk and next 3 ingredients in a food processor and process until smooth. Pour 1/2 of tomatillo mixture into bottom of an 11 x 7 inch baking dish sprayed with cooking spray. Arrange 1/2 of cut up tortillas on top of tomatillo mixture and top with chicken. Repeat layer with tomatillo sauce, then tortillas, then chicken. Sprinkle top with Monterey Jack cheese. Bake at 375 for 20 minutes or until bubbly.

    Honestly, this was the best recipe I’ve tried in my new Cooking Light initiative. Of course, I served it with chips and guacamole which probably made it a little less healthy, but a lot more fun. The best part was it was so easy.

    5. I realize I have now posted three recipes for the week. I don’t want y’all to start feeling like I’ve gone all “Ladies Home Journal” on you, but it just seems like I’ve done a lot of cooking this week. It’s because of the rain. And in the immortal words of Milli Vanilli, “blame it on the rain”.

    Y’all have a great weekend!

  • And as I washed the smell of bowling alley out of my hair, I knew it had been a good day

    Guess what it did here yesterday? Seriously. Guess.

    IT RAINED.

    And here is where I’d like to make some stupid joke about animals walking down our street being led two-by-two by an elderly gentleman with a long beard, but at this point it just seems like a cliche.

    Caroline got in bed with us at around 5 a.m. when she claimed that thunder had woken her up. The rule at our house, that we enforce with semi-regularity, is that she can only get in our bed if she’s sick or if it’s thundering outside. I’m not sure that it was actually thunder that she heard at 5 a.m., but I was too tired to debate it and honestly, it could have been because that’s all it ever does anymore. It thunders and it rains. Rinse. Repeat.

    I asked, “Are you sure it was thunder?” She said, “Yes, it was thunder and I know because my ears are very sensitive.” I wasn’t convinced, but she won me over with the claim of her sensitive ears and and so I let her get in our bed. We fell back asleep and woke up around 8 a.m. to the sound of legitimate thunder and raining.

    Gulley called around 8:45 because we had planned to take the kids to the free Wednesday movie at the theater, but we decided we didn’t feel like driving across town in the driving rain to go see “Clifford’s Really Big Movie”, otherwise known as parental torture in the form of a large, red canine. So, we ruled out the movie and Gulley asked, “What are we going to do all day in this rain?” And I said, “We’re going to pack us a sack lunch and come spend the entire day at your house.”

    And that’s exactly what we did. Except we didn’t pack a sack lunch.

    However, I did pack several of our DVD’s including “Muppets in Space” and also my new jeans so that I could show them to Gulley and she could try them on to see if she needed a pair for herself. Oh, and I brought my laptop, but never could figure out how to get it connected to the wireless interweb at Gulley’s, so I spent the whole day away from the computer and, other than some mild twitching around noon, I survived.

    The kids all ran back to the playroom to play and we attempted to have a conversation, but kept getting interrupted because, apparently, the gang felt they needed to “ice skate” in the living room. So, because the rain has driven us to desperation, we went and got in Gulley’s bed, turned Food Network on the T.V., and let the children take over the entire house. Did I mention we were both wearing the same clothes we’d had on the night before? Clothes that are really one step away from pajamas, but if you call them “yoga pants” they become totally acceptable, if not attractive.

    Every now and then one of the kids would come in and ask us for some juice or something and we’d say, “Why can’t you people leave us alone? Don’t you know we’re trying to figure out if black tights are really going to be in for the fall? This is serious, serious stuff.”

    At some point we realized it was probably time to feed everyone lunch and when we emerged from the safe haven of Gulley’s room, this is what we saw.

    They had torn the place apart. And we didn’t care.

    We debated for awhile about what to do for lunch, the age old dilemma of McDonalds versus hot dogs. Delicious and nutritious either way. While we debated lunch, the kids started playing with a whoopee cushion. I’d like to say that Gulley and I were above it, but we weren’t. We gave in to the whoopee cushion and all took turns seeing who could give the most realistic portrayal of intestinal distress, loudly applauding all the dramatic efforts. It was all fun and games until Jackson got a little too enthusiastic and popped the whoopee cushion. He was pretty upset about it, but Gulley told him to just go get the other one out of the playroom. It was a proud moment for me to realize that my best friend is a two-whoopee cushion family. I mean anyone can have one whoopee cushion, but to have a spare? That’s just dedication to a lost art form.

    We decided we could all probably use to get out for a little bit, seeing as how we were down to our last whoopee cushion, so we loaded them up in the Trailblazer and drove through the pouring rain to pick up McDonald’s Happy Meals. We got home, ate our Happy Meals and had a little rest time. Gulley and I could have easily reverted back to our college days and taken a four hour nap, but the kids wouldn’t even sit still for a movie. We finally gave up after an hour of repeated demands for popsicles and Chex Mix, and decided to let them bake cookies.

    Gulley helped the kids make Paula Deen’s Triple Chocolate Chip cookies and oh my word, they are better than strawberry butter. I’m not even going to talk about how many spoonfuls of dough I ate because it’s just shameful. Here’s a batch fresh out of the oven.

    So, we’d played, we’d talked, we’d eaten, we’d baked and we’d eaten some more. It was 3:00 p.m.

    What to do? How do we fill these hours with meaningful, purposeful, perhaps even educational, activity?

    We bowl, my friends. We bowl.

    And please tell me that I am not the only one who is envisioning the entire bowling alley scene from Grease II right now. “We’re gonna scooooore tonight. We’re gonna scooooore tonight.” I actually thought they were just talking about bowling.

    Anyway, we hit the lanes. We laced up our bowling shoes, grabbed the lightest bowling balls we could find and had ourselves a little tournament. Check out this style and form.

    We discussed taking them to the museum, but decided to show them some real culture instead, to teach them a skill that will serve them well throughout the rest of their lives. And a great time was had by all, even though none of us broke 100 in spite of the bumpers in the gutters. Gulley should be ashamed of herself because she took bowling for kinesiology credit at A&M and really didn’t play up to her potential.

    Eventually, everyone got a little bowled out.

    We headed home, proud that we had turned what could have been a dreary, boring day into a day of fun and adventure. And I’m not even talking about the adventure that comes when you visit a bowling alley in a sketchy area of town.

    If it keeps raining, we’re going to see about opting out of our pool membership and joining a bowling league. You can’t put a price on that kind of entertainment.

  • Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, nobody knows my sorrow

    So, last night I finally gave the girls in my Bible study the blog address, which means admitting in public that I am known as Big Mama on the world wide web of internet. I had mentioned that I had a blog last week, but then I started to sweat profusely and couldn’t really get the words out, so I left feeling like I had just told a group of people that I write things on the internet in what may, or may not be, just a Word document. I don’t know why I am okay with people I’ve never met reading all my ramblings, but start to twitch when I realize people who know me in real life are reading. It’s like I’m afraid of the rejection, like someone may say, “Boy, that whole Big Mama thing? Really bad.”

    Anyway, here’s how I’ve spent the last two days. On Monday, I had my annual exam with my ob/gyn and asked him at what age do I become too high maintenance to try to have another baby. He grinned and said that although he doesn’t live with me, he feels fairly certain that I already am high maintenance. Oh touche’ baby doctor. Touche’.

    But seriously, in a world filled with Hollywood actresses having babies at age 52, what does he consider to be too late or in the risk zone? He basically told me that I should have gotten pregnant yesterday. He also gave me this long lecture on how once a woman reaches age 25, her eggs begin to gradually taper off year after year. And as I sat there with my feet in the stirrups, all I could think about was that I can’t believe I’ve been going downhill for the last 10 years and no one told me. I was all prepared to start going downhill in 3 weeks after I turn 36 and now, I’ve found out that I’ve been headed down the hill for a long time and am quickly gaining momentum.

    If I was a snowball, I’d be large enough to kill someone by now.

    So, he told me that I better make a decision pretty quick because time? She is a-wastin’. And the pressure that put on my ovaries, combined with an already raging case of PMS, just did wonders for my emotional state. As I drove home from his office I felt like there were flashing neon signs that screamed, IT’S NOW OR NEVER and honestly, I’m not ready for it to be now, so maybe it will be never. But like Scarlett O’Hara says, “I’ll think about that tomorrow”.

    Then, yesterday morning, I had an appointment with my orthodontist. On my last visit, two weeks ago, he had done the molds for my permanent retainers and when I booked my follow up appointment with his receptionist, she mentioned that it looked like I might be getting my braces off on my next visit. So, I have been walking around for the last two weeks like a kid in December, all hyped up on candy canes and Santa, just dreaming of how glorious it will be to live a life that doesn’t require me to figure out a subtle way to take out my rubberbands when dining at a nice restaurant such as Chik-fil-A. In fact, I almost bought a pound of salt water taffy at the store on Monday so that I could celebrate by eating all of it on Tuesday once my braces were off. And here’s the thing, I don’t really even like salt water taffy, but I was going to eat it purely because I haven’t been able to in almost 2 years.

    I was going to eat nothing but corn on the cob and taffy for weeks. And then, go to the doctor to see about clearing up my scurvy.

    I hadn’t mentioned that I was going to get my braces off because first of all, I didn’t want to jinx it (and yes, I just said jinx it because I have braces which sometimes cause me to channel the lingo of an 11 year old) and also, I was going to do this great before and after thing with braces and no braces. It was going to be oh so witty and clever, and much better than this post of disillusionment, disappointment, and crushed orthodontia hopes that y’all are now stuck reading.

    Anyway, my appointment was at 8:30 Tuesday morning. I brushed my teeth while looking in the mirror and having visions of pearly, white teeth dancing in my head. I actually put on makeup and cute jeans with my favorite black top AND my wedge heel sandals. I figured if I was going to get my “after” pictures taken, I better look good. Plus, I was going to spend the rest of the day setting the world on fire with my dazzling white, straight smile.

    Little did I know, I was mascara-ing in vain.

    Dr. Kevorkian came in, looked at my teeth and said, “Well, Sport, I see a few more things I’d like to tweak.” And with that, I knew the braces weren’t coming off, and I am embarrassed to say that I truly almost started to cry. I know the PMS was making me a little more emotional than usual, but I sat in that chair as he twisted some more wires in my mouth and had to think about things like Victoria Beckham posing for her drivers’ license photo to help me fight back the tears. Part of me wanted to give in to the self pity of being a woman of advanced maternal age, on a rapid downward spiral with questionable eggs, and braces on my teeth, but I couldn’t let those 12 year olds sitting next to me see me cry. Mainly because I was afraid I’d overhear them telling their mamas, “Yeah, there was some weird lady in there, who was, like, YOUR AGE, and she had braces and she was crying like a little girl”.

    So, I focused on lovely thoughts of Posh Spice and her reference to Lionel Richie dancing on the ceiling while laying wood floors, and it got me through. And as soon as I got out of the office, I headed to Nordstroms to indulge in a little brand new jeans therapy. I bought a pair called “The Rocker” because they sounded edgy and trendy, although now I’m wondering if they’re actually made for elderly women and “the rocker” is actually referring to a chair, not a state of mind.

    Something to ponder.

    Later, I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things and saw Katie Holmes on the cover of People. The headline screamed, “Why Katie Holmes is Happier than Ever!!!!” I didn’t need to buy the magazine, because I know the answer.

    Katie Holmes is happy because she doesn’t have braces on her teeth. I bet she eats corn on the cob and saltwater taffy whenever she wants.

    If that’s not having it all, then I don’t know what is.

  • One in a million

    When Caroline was still just a wee little baby, who held my heart in the palm of her tiny, tiny hand, I started playing a game with her every time I placed her on the changing table. I would say, “How many kisses am I going to give Caroline? Oooone? Twoooo? Nope. A MILLION. A MILLION!!” And I’d kiss her little cheeks and her hands and her round tummy. She’d giggle and squeal and just melt my heart a little bit more.

    Eventually, she outgrew the changing table and, thankfully, became potty-trained. We don’t have the opportunity to play our little game 6 or 18 times a day like we used to but, every now and then, she’ll come plop herself in my lap and say, “Give me a million kisses, Mama!”

    So I stop whatever I’m doing to take advantage of this sweet, fleeting moment in time, and I listen to her giggle and squeal and my heart melts all over again.

    A day will come when I’ll be lucky to get even one kiss so, for now, I’ll take the million anytime I can get them.

  • In heaven this will be totally fat free

    A few of y’all asked or emailed about the recipe for the cheese biscuits and strawberry butter. And I’m always happy to share a recipe that will bring someone great joy and high cholesterol. So here it is.

    Paula Deen’s Cheese Biscuits

    2 cups self-rising flour
    1 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp sugar
    1/2 cup Crisco shortening
    3/4 cup grated cheddar cheese
    1 cup buttermilk

    Preheat oven to 350 and while you’re waiting, go put on a pair of pants with an elastic waistband. Mix flour, baking powder, and sugar together using a fork; cut in shortening until it resembles cornmeal. Add cheese. Stir in buttermilk (because the stick of lard and all the cheese isn’t really enough fat) all at one time just until blended. Do not over-stir. Drop by spoonfuls onto a well-greased baking sheet. Bake 12-15 minutes. Makes about 8 large biscuits or 12 medium size ones.

    Strawberry Butter

    1/2 stick of butter, softened
    2-3 tbs. powdered sugar
    2-3 tbs. finely chopped strawberries

    In a small bowl, combine all ingredients until blended. Makes about a 1/2 cup.

    Serve with warm cheese biscuits. Eat and know that there is a God in heaven who loves you and is the giver of all good things, including cheese biscuits coated in strawberry butter. Of course, if you eat like this all the time, you may meet Him sooner rather than later.

  • Here’s mud in your eye

    Last week, I asked y’all for some tips on throwing a baby shower and got all kinds of great suggestions about food, decorations and games. I am now going to return the favor and share with y’all two pieces of baby shower advice that I learned yesterday.

    1. Do not wait until midnight the night before the shower to start tying silver baby cups and spoons to your chandelier because between the tiredness, the PMS, and all of the clanking of the spoons, you will experience a moment that will make you want to hurl priceless family heirlooms through your kitchen window.

    2. Do not decide to wear some cute, black polka-dot shoes with high wedge heels to the shower. By the time the shower is over, you will find yourself seriously considering amputating your feet with a butter knife.

    You’re welcome.

    All week last week I had a running list in my head of everything I needed to get done for the shower. I planned my menu, bought the groceries, ordered some petit fours from a local bakery, polished silver and borrowed a mammoth coffee urn from my sister-in-law. I was the model of efficiency and, by the time Saturday arrived, all I had left to do was pick up the petit fours from the bakery, go buy some flowers, decorate the house and make the breakfast casseroles so that they could sit overnight.

    Piece of cake, or petit four as the case may be.

    Anyway, I think I may have mentioned at some point that there has been a lot of rain over the last few weeks. Lots of rain. Lots and lots of rain. So, Saturday morning, our friend W (who is married to E, the baby shower guest of honor) calls to see if we want to drive down to his ranch, bring the four-wheelers and go mudding, better known as muddin’. P said he’d go and take Caroline with him but, in a fit of free-spiritedness and overwhelming nostalgia caused by watching too many episodes of The Wonder Years, I decided that life was too short to send my husband and baby off to have fun without me while I worried about tying a bunch of baby spoons together. I wanted to go muddin’ too.

    Sunrise, sunset and all that stuff.

    So, I ran to the bakery, picked up my petit fours, came home and threw on some old jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap, and jumped in the truck with P and Caroline. I decided everything else could wait until later, even if it meant I was up until the wee, small hours of the morning.

    I had so much fun, which is living proof that you can take the girl out of Southeast Texas but you can’t take the Southeast Texas out of the girl. The ranch was literally a mud pit. We had so much fun and listening to Caroline scream and laugh every time the mud came flying up was totally worth having to go buy flowers at 9:00 last night.

    And to give y’all some idea of the amount of rain, this is normally a road.

    And here’s some random woman in a baseball cap posing with my child.

    I don’t have a picture of E but, rest assured, she was a vision right out of a Pea in the Pod catalog with her pregnant belly coated in splattered mud. It really is the way most mothers-to-be spend the day before an elegant baby shower brunch.

    We got home around 8:00, after stopping for a lovely dinner at the Dairy Queen in Lytle, Texas. It’s a wonder that it’s not in Zagat’s guide because, really, the dead, smashed fly on the venetian blind added that little something extra to the Steak Finger Country basket experience. But at least we got Blizzards. Later on, I would need that extra boost of energy that only a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard can provide. And did y’all know that they now make Blizzard cakes? They do. They really do.

    Moment of silence and reverence for the Blizzard cake.

    After I finally got Caroline clean and in bed, I ran to the store to buy flowers, came home and commenced with the baby shower preparations. I cooked, I tied ribbon, and I arranged flowers. Finally at about 1 a.m., I climbed into bed so that I could toss and turn until about 3 a.m. because once my brain is on, it’s hard to turn off. So, I laid there and pondered what time I’d need to put the casseroles in the oven the next morning, worried about making an appointment to see the dentist, calculated the ratio of the U.S. dollar to the Euro, and solved quadratic equations in my head. Oh, and I also might have thought about what I was going to wear the next day.

    For the first time since she’s been born, I was actually a little glad that Caroline woke me up at 6:30 a.m. I spent the morning cooking and cleaning up, while she had a meltdown about the fact that I had used her silver baby cup to decorate. She kept saying, “But it’s mine. It’s my cup. I don’t want you to use it.” And honestly, I wanted to say, “Well, then that cereal is mine. I bought it and I don’t feel like sharing. Give it back. Oh yeah, and quit sitting on my couch. It’s mine.”

    But that would be wrong, because I am 35 years old.

    So, we negotiated the terms of a lease agreement for the use of the silver cup, and I’m afraid she may be taking lessons in used car salesmanship from JoEL. She drives a hard bargain.

    All said and done, the shower turned out very well. We didn’t play any games, mainly because I think party games are of the devil. I have always felt this way and even in 4th grade had no desire to “break the ice” with other kids by lining up and passing them an orange from under my chin. In spite of the lack of party game playing, E had a nice time, got a lot of really nice things for the babies, and everyone said the food was great. The hit of the day were the cheese biscuits with strawberry butter. In fact, thinking about that leftover strawberry butter sitting in my fridge makes me want to grab a large spoon, label it pudding, and call it a day.

    I’m pretty sure strawberry butter isn’t part of my new Cooking Light initiative, but Cooking Light doesn’t really offer a lot of help when it comes to PMS.

    Here are a some pictures for posterity. Unfortunately, you can’t really see the strawberry butter.

    I’ll be rested and ready to throw another party in about 5 years, which would be okay if Caroline’s birthday weren’t just a little over a week away.

    Party on.

    But this time, I’m wearing flip-flops.