Author: Big Mama

And the winner is…

I know y’all have been on the edge of your seats all weekend wondering who was going to win the fine array of pharmaceutical promo items. So, to end the suspense, the winner (and I use that term loosely because I still can’t believe anybody wants any of this stuff) is TaunaLen.

So, TaunaLen, email me ([email protected]) with your address and I will put your tapeler and other assorted winnings in the mail on Tuesday morning. And congratulations, you’ll now be able to tape and staple all at the same time, while writing with quality writing utensils.

What a blessing.
JT is right, what goes around comes around

I’m going to tell y’all about a painful lesson I learned on Friday morning about karma.

Caroline and I were headed out to go buy her some new cowboy boots at Cavenders Boot City and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to shut my car door while I was adjusting my seat. This lack of judgement resulted in me slicing my thumb open and gushing blood all over my new car.

I yelled at P, who was in the backhouse/man-cave, to come watch Caroline while I ran in and grabbed some paper towels to stop the bleeding and also, some first aid supplies.

And as I’ve looked at my practically amputated thumb all weekend, all I can think about is how I mocked Dave and his horrendous oyster shell injury last week. It may serve me right that I’ve spent the last 36 hours wearing my very own Care Bears band-aid, Talk Smack A Lot.

Of course, I still didn’t have to lie in the driveway while P brought me granola bars and Gatorade.
Happy Birthday to my best mate from the pub and other random stuff

Last night I had Birthday Club and, while we had several discussions that could be potential blog material, I am just too tired. The most controversial discussion of the evening revolved around Matt Lauer, love him or hate him? I was a neutral party because I don’t watch morning television that doesn’t involve hamsters, turtles and baby chicks with speech impediments dressed in costumes. Steph, Amy and Julie are fond of the news stylings of Matt Lauer, but Gulley has never really liked him and her feelings just intensified during his interview with Princes William and Harry. She thinks he was a total poser with the way he asked them about their “mates” at the “pub”. Matt Lauer is an American. He doesn’t have “mates”, he has friends, and he has a beer at a bar, not a “pub”. Honestly, I can see her point.

Anyway, the reason we had birthday club last night is because today is Gulley’s birthday. Happy Birthday Gulley! I’m so glad you’re not 40 because that means I would be 41. And I’m so glad that you’re my best friend, or I might owe thousands of dollars in therapy. And because I love you, I promise to never post any pictures of you wearing a wig that once belonged to a wooden Indian. That is my solemn vow.

Since there isn’t much else that can be said about Gulley that hasn’t already been said, I’m moving on to a list type format (i.e. lazy writing) to share a few of my new favorite things.

1. Several weeks ago, Karla at Looking Towards Heaven emailed me and asked if I would like some Mommy Cards. Karla owns a business called Fruition Designs and she designs some of the cutest things y’all have ever seen. I had seen her Mommy Cards before but, at the time, had OFFICIAL business cards that read: “Big Mama, Drug Rep for Big Pharma”. But those don’t necessarily fit my new lifestyle as well as the Mommy Cards do. And I don’t want to be a poser like Matt Lauer and walk around with fake business cards.

My point is, I thought Karla’s Mommy Cards were pretty when I saw them on her site, but the picture does not do justice to how great these cards really are. They are printed on 14 pt. cardstock, so they are high-quality and will withstand being in your purse or diaper bag pocket. It’s just so handy to have something so cute to hand out when I meet another mama who needs my phone number or address for something. Y’all head over to her site, Fruition Designs and check out all her cute designs. She is just so talented and I know you’ll have a hard time choosing your favorite.

2. Febreze candles. I received a Febreze candle in the mail a few days ago and I have to say, I had my doubts because I am a big candle snob. My personal favorite are the Circle E Candles that are made right here in Texas. They smell good enough to eat. Seriously.

It just so happened that the day I opened my Febreze candle, I had planned a dinner that involved cooking onions and garlic on the stove. I decided that was the ultimate test for my new candle. So, after I was done cooking dinner, I lit the candle and let it burn for a few minutes. Then, I went outside and walked back in the house so that I could get a better idea of whether or not it really masked odors. You know what? It did. I am a fan of the Febreze candle.

The one they sent me was Apple Spice, which I’m not crazy about, but in all honesty, I would NEVER purchase Apple Spice scented anything. It’s just not a smell that appeals to me. However, the actual scent of the candle is pretty mild, yet it does a good job of covering up cooking odors. So, I have been lighting the Febreze candle to get rid of scents and my Circle E candle to create lovely new scents that conjure up visions of warm cinnamon rolls coming out of my oven.

3. Monk and Neagle. I realize that Boomama is all about Monk and Neagle right now. She is, y’all. Even though there is nary a tambourine solo to be heard on their new CD.

She let me borrow her copy of the yet to be released CD and let me tell y’all that I now share her obsession. To say I am a fan is like saying that Van Gogh painted okay. I started listening to the CD and couldn’t stop. The lyrics are moving, the music is outstanding and ultimately, the whole thing makes me feel like I feel when I listen to James Taylor or John Mayer, and those are names I don’t throw around lightly.

This is a must buy CD in my opinion. And confidential to Boomama, I’m not sure you’re getting it back until I get my hands on one of my own.

I’m kidding.

Kind of.

4. Last but not least. Some of y’all mentioned in the comments yesterday that I should do a pharmaceutical pen giveaway. I cannot even imagine that you’re serious, but maybe I am just jaded because I spent ten years with boxes chock full of pens, being delivered daily to my front door. Drug reps can’t even begin or end a conversation with any member of a doctor’s office staff without saying, “Would you like a pen? These are REALLY nice”, while secretly hoping this pen will somehow cause the doctor to forget all other pens and all other medications and solely prescribe your drug.

Most overused drug rep line of all time? “Here you go, Doctor. It’s a Zithromax pen, but remember, you can only write prescriptions for Zithromax when you use this pen!”

Ha. Ha. Fake laughter as your soul shrivels up into a raisin.

Anyway, I have managed to dig up the last vestiges of my pharmaceutical rep career and I am willing to bundle them together to present some lucky reader with a lovely giveaway of various drug industry promos, including a genuine Zyrtec golf towel that I mentioned in yesterday’s post, along with several pens, a pack of post-it notes, and possibly even a “tapeler”, which is a combination stapler and tape dispenser. It’s an embarrassment of riches and I can’t imagine anyone really wants any of it, but if you do, leave a comment and I’ll do a random drawing on Sunday evening.

If you don’t want any of it, leave a comment anyway and just specify that you’re not interested in the drug stuff. I completely understand and I will direct your attention to Barb, who is actually holding a drawing to give away something useful and enjoyable.

Of course, the Zyrtec towels are useful.

Just ask P. He’s been using them for years.

Y’all have a lovely weekend.
He once was lost, but now is found

Yesterday morning, P got up exceptionally early and headed down to the ranch. He had a bunch of things down there that needed to be done and now that it’s stopped raining, he had no excuse to not go ahead and work in the mosquito-infested swamp that is now South Texas.

When Caroline and I woke up about an hour later, I walked by the back door and noticed our dogs weren’t on the back porch. I didn’t think anything of it because, first of all, I don’t think about anything that early in the morning, and secondly, I assumed P had taken them with him to the ranch because he usually does. Caroline and I went on with our morning routine of debating what constitutes a breakfast food and if, in fact, York Peppermint Patties offer any nutritional value, while watching Handy Manny have a lengthy conversation with a hammer.

Between Diego, Dora and Manny, there is really no end to Noggin’s desire to help my child become bilingual, even if it is in the context of having a monkey for a best friend while climbing up Jaguar mountain and visiting with a socket wrench.

Anyway, P called about 45 minutes after we were up to see how our morning was going. I told him it was the usual, I was getting Caroline dressed and ready for her morning at Mother’s Day Out or as I like to call it, Mama Needs Some Quiet. Then, I casually said, “I assume you have the dogs with you.”

And to pull out a tired phrase, I assume y’all know what happens when you assume.

“No, I don’t have the dogs. Are they not in the backyard?”

“Umm, I don’t think so.”

So, I ran out on the back porch and started calling the dogs.

Nothing.

Caroline is following me and just beside herself at the drama that is playing out right before her very eyes. Finally, Scout comes walking up from the other side of the yard, but Bruiser is nowhere to be found. Fortunately, all my yelling for the dogs has attracted the attention of my friends, the construction workers across the street, who, honestly, know more about what happens at our house than we do. In fact, one of them told me they realized when they got to work this morning that Bruiser wasn’t in the yard because he always greets them in the morning. I’m telling y’all it’s just a matter of time before we invite them to all our family functions and Caroline starts calling them “Uncle Tito”.

I tell P that Bruiser is missing and we realize he must have gotten out when P’s employees came by earlier to pick up some equipment they needed. I hurried up and finished getting Caroline dressed and ready and, since we still had some time before MDO started, I drove around the neighborhood while Caroline and I both yelled, “BRUISER! BRUISER!!!”, but he was nowhere to be found. As I walked Caroline to her classroom, she looked up at me and said, “Mama, WHY would Bruiser want to leave our family?”

We said a prayer that Bruiser would come home, I kissed her goodbye and then left to go look for the dog.

I spent my 3 free hours driving, walking, calling all over our neighborhood. P pulled his guys off the job site so that they could drive around and look, and he headed home from the ranch to join the search. Even Gulley and her boys joined our search committee.

No Bruiser.

And I can promise y’all it wasn’t for lack of effort.

Finally, it was time to pick up Caroline from school and as soon as I walked in the door, her teacher asked me if I found our dog because it was all Caroline talked about all morning. In fact, she was even stopping people in the hallway to tell them our tale of pet loss woe and asked for prayer for Bruiser in chapel. I told the teacher that we hadn’t found Bruiser and she gave me a look that conveyed she was mentally calculating the years of therapy that Caroline was going to require due to all the pet negligence.

On the way home, I explained that it was really hot and Bruiser was probably just resting somewhere and would come home later on. Then, P came home and had to get something out of our backhouse. He opened the door and I discovered I was right. Bruiser was resting. IN OUR BACKHOUSE.

He’d been there the WHOLE TIME. THE WHOLE TIME.

I spent precious, free hours that could have been used to weigh the merits of Mossimo vs. Merona in the aisles at Target, looking for a dog that wasn’t even lost. But I wasn’t the only one looking.

P has two guys working for him right now, Gus and Shorty. Normally, Gus runs his own business, but he has been helping P out for the last week, so he and Shorty just met last week. Gus is an awesome Christian man. He’s just one of those people that exudes kindness and gentleness from every pore and if you spend 2 seconds with him, he’ll tell you the source of all his joy and happiness is his faith in Jesus.

Shorty is a little bit of a rough character. I don’t even know his whole story, but I know that life has been hard. He’s done a lot of really rough living and always seems a little beaten down.

Yesterday, when the dog went missing, Gus and Shorty spent 4 hours together, just the two of them, riding around in Gus’s truck looking for Bruiser. And Gus told P later, that while Shorty thought he was just looking for a dog, Gus showed him he was looking for something else. Hope. Joy. Peace.

So, Gus talked to him about God, about the hope found in Jesus, and Shorty listened. He really listened. And when P apologized to Gus for sending them on a mission to look for a dog that wasn’t even lost, Gus told him it didn’t matter because God used that time to make sure that Shorty was found.

I overheard Gus telling P the whole story as they stood on the back porch, I thought about what I’d just read in my study of “Jesus, The One and Only” earlier in the day. Beth Moore was talking about the miracle of the loaves and fishes and how when the need for food arose, Jesus tested his disciples by asking them how they were going to feed the hungry people. The disciples had seen Jesus turn water to wine, heal the lame, raise the dead and yet they were stumped by how on earth He was going to manage to feed all these thousands of people.

Jesus was testing them to see if they understood His ability to provide in every aspect of life. To quote the study, “Christ was teaching them to see Him, His power, and His authority in every area of life.” Then, she asked about ways in which our faith is fragmented.

I realized that earlier in the day, I had told Caroline to pray that we’d find Bruiser and I prayed that we’d find Bruiser, but I kind of threw it out there like it was a silly, frivolous thing to pray for. In the scale of big happenings and tragedies, a lost dog doesn’t really rank that high. But in light of the way all the events of the day unfolded, I realized that I’m doubting God’s authority and power over every area of life. I have Him reserved to handle the really big things, but don’t give Him a lot of the day to day things.

And look what He did today. He used a non-lost dog to save a lost man.

Now, that’s creative.

That’s His power.

“And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus” Phillippians 4:19
All good things must come to an end, like weekends and orange coverups

Ummm yeah, I’m a little afraid that I may have oversold the two part miniseries. In fact, I had a mild panic attack when I realized that I had to write about our weekend. The pressure. My goodness, the pressure. It’s like I have to come up with something interesting and that is a lot of stress, people.

We arrived at the coast on Friday afternoon and the first thing we noticed was the big, yellow light coming from the sky. What is this orb of luminescence? I believe it is called “the sun” and it looked vaguely familiar, although we hadn’t actually seen it ourselves in weeks and weeks of rain, and rain, and even more rain.

We unloaded the car and we all immediately put on our swimsuits and sunscreen. Caroline was dying to go out on the kayak with P, so off they went. I mourned their departure and the silence for about half a second, but managed to comfort myself by lying in a lounge chair in the sun with my iPod and a good book.

After they returned from their kayak voyage, Caroline was ready to head to the beach. We grabbed the big push net so that we could catch lots of shrimp and baby crabs because, like most delicate little girls, there is nothing Caroline likes better than slimy creatures from the sea.

Oh, we also totally hung out with George Strait who has a house down there. Well, not so much hung out, as much as talked to some people who had gone by his house on their waverunner and totally thought they saw him standing out by his pool. But still, he was in a two mile vicinity so, technically, it’s like we all spent the weekend together. It’s really just a matter of time before I have several close friends in the country music industry.

Anyway, after playing at the beach for a few hours, we got in the car and headed back to the house. Caroline kept saying that her arms burned and I just thought it was the salt and sand. When we got home, I ran a bath for her and as I was getting her ready, I noticed her lifejacket had completely rubbed the inside of her arms until they were really red and chafed. They looked much better the next morning, but I didn’t want it to happen again, so I went to Walgreens and purchased about $50 worth of first aid paraphenalia to assuage my guilt at allowing a Barbie lifejacket to hurt my baby. That Barbie is such a tramp.

So, anytime she wanted to get in or near the water, I wrapped her upper arms in a highly scientific concoction of gauze, stretchy adhesive bandages and waterproof tape. Giving that little band-aid junkie bandages of this quality and magnitude was the equivalent of giving a shoe lover a pair of Manolo Blahniks. She was enthralled with this fine array of bandage magnificance. But, for me, it just brought back painful memories of the summers when my Daddy would take my sister and me to Schlitterbahn Water Park and he would wear sweatbands around his elbows and upper arms to avoid being chafed by the inner tubes. For an adolescent girl there is nothing as humbling as walking around a water park with your Dad while he’s wearing some sweet red, white and blue striped sweatbands around his arms. Well, except for maybe having your mom come pick you up from the roller skating rink and actually talking to your friends in the car on the way home. Parents are like, GAH, so embarrassing.

On Saturday, we swam, ate, kayaked, ate, and ate. Did I mention that we ate? I told P that I need to undergo some type of 12 step food detox program after this past weekend. Apparently, for me, being at the beach is synonymous with having some type of edible substance in my hand at all time. Without a well balanced breakfast of cinnamon rolls, pigs in a blanket, a Diet Coke, and 2 chocolate glazed donuts, how is a girl supposed to function in all that heat and humidity?

Late Saturday afternoon, P, Caroline, Stew and Dave, who is Cat’s husband, were all swimming in the canal (in the rain, by the way) when Dave cut his toe on what was most likely an oyster shell. But to hear him tell it, it was more likely an entire bed of rusty nails lying on the bottom of the ocean floor. Cat is about 10 weeks pregnant, so the sight of blood sent her heading for the hills, so her mama and I tended to Dave’s medical needs and possible toe amputation. I ran upstairs to grab my stash of $50 worth of first aid, more excited than I should admit to have an excuse to use it for something other than lifejacket arm chafing. Dave really wanted to go see a doctor, but we convinced him that having the equivalent of a boo-boo on your toe isn’t really worth risking your life in the Aransas Pass ER. Plus, I really wanted to use my gauze bandages and antiseptic spray.

The toe did look like it needed some glue to keep it closed, so Cat’s daddy headed to the Walgreens (which, by the way, made a mint off of us this weekend in first aid supplies alone) to buy some Liquid Bandage, while Dave laid down in our makeshift ER ward and asked for some Gatorade and a granola bar because his blood sugar was plummeting, due to the fact that he’d lost about a 1/4 teaspoonful of blood. Cat’s mama and I poured alcohol on the toe to sterilize it and also, just because it seemed like fun to see if he’d actually let us do it, and about that time, Cat’s daddy drove up and pulled Liquid Bandage out of the Walgreens bag and said, “The pharmacist said to try this, and if that doesn’t work, to try these.”

I’m not even lying when I tell y’all that he ended up with not only Liquid Bandage on his toe, but also Grumpy Bear. And don’t think Caroline didn’t need to get in on that Care Bear band-aid action. By the time the day was over, she had taken extensive medical histories of everyone present to assess if they might be in need of a little Wish-a-Lot Bear.

Later that night, after she was in bed, we watched “The Man from Snowy River”, which is one of the greatest movies ever. At one point, the main character’s father dies and the boy screams, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” and Stew said, “Wow. I wonder if he cut his toe on a oyster shell, too.”

Dave, we kid because we love. It’s all about the love. And here’s hoping that gangrene doesn’t set in.

Sunday, we swam a little more and Caroline discovered the joys of jumping off the top of the deck. Please note the stellar bandaging job on her arms.

Then, we packed up our stuff and headed home. Although we were sad to leave, there is always the silver lining of any road trip, which is this.

And this.

And, most of all, this.

And to end this spectacular tale, I’ll leave y’all with this picture. Look closely at what Caroline is doing and then look closely at the warning on the side of the bucket.

The votes have been tallied and I AM THE MOTHER OF THE YEAR.

The end.
Here’s hoping Target still sells orange cover ups

I’ve been racking my brain the entire weekend, or at least for the last 5 minutes, trying to figure out how on earth I’m going to sum up this weekend without writing a novel. Let’s face it, brevity isn’t my gift even when I don’t have anything to say. I think I might write a weeklong series about our trip to the coast, but instead of a week, it will just be a two-day series because I’m not that ambitious. Just think of it like a mini-series along the lines of “Lonesome Dove”, but without the fine, literary quality. Or Robert Duvall.

Therefore, probably without the Emmy Awards also.

But who cares? I’ve got two days worth of writing material and I’m going to enjoy it. Especially since my brain froze up last week and I could no longer write with all the words that a blog requires. Apparently y’all don’t come over here to stare at blank space.

We spent this past weekend in Rockport, Texas with the Jones family (and no, their last name isn’t really Jones, but it will be here for the sake of the internet). We had a great time and Caroline spent pretty much the entire drive home asking why we couldn’t turn the car around and go back. Obviously, she was completely homesick.

For the coast.

P first met the Jones family about 16 years ago when his little brother became friends with Stew, who is B and Cindy Jones’ oldest son. They invited P to join them at the coast one weekend back in 1991, introduced him to the world of bay fishing, and his life hasn’t been the same since. I’d like to say that marrying me was the most profound thing that has happened in P’s life but, truth be told, it may have been the day he caught his first redfish.

When P and I first began dating way back in 1995, he talked about the Jones family a lot. I had been around their son, Stew, a bunch of times because he spent a lot of time at the ranch with P’s brother having contests to see who could go the longest without showering or wear the worst looking clothes to Garcia’s Mexican restaurant. Sixteen year old boys are awesome to hang out with when you’re trying to find a romantic moment with your boyfriend, by the way. I highly recommend it. But anyway, in addition to Stew, the Jones’ also have two daughters, Dea and Cat.

During the summer of ’96, I was invited to join them at their house in Rockport. I was thrilled at this acknowledgement of legitimate, potential future wife of P status and also, a little nervous because I had a feeling that if I didn’t pass the test, it could be a deal breaker.

I must have passed the test because I was invited back several times over the course of that summer of ’96 and pretty much every summer since then. It’s one of my favorite places and holds so many memories of when P and I were just a couple of crazy, young, and, most importantly, thin kids in love.

As I looked around the familiar coast house this weekend, it was weird to think of how much has changed since my first visit all those years ago. I remember the first time I met Dea and Cat, they were just little junior high girls that spent most of the day making friendship bracelets with a bunch of their junior high friends or drawing pictures with markers. This time, it was my daughter playing with the markers and Dea and Cat were there with their husbands, and Cat’s expecting her own baby in January. Stew came upstairs last night and announced he was going out to meet some friends, and I was kind of surprised until I realized that since he’s an almost 30 year old man, he’s pretty much free to do what he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it.

Everybody has grown up.

One of my most vivid, if not necessarily favorite, memories of being at the coast is a trip we took two weeks after P and I got married. B & Cindy invited just P and me down for a weekend of fishing. We were so excited. It was going to be like a honeymoon after the honeymoon.

That Saturday morning we got up bright and early which, looking back, assures me that I was totally and completely in love with P even back then, because me and 5 a.m.? Don’t really go together. These days I wouldn’t attend a shoe sale at Nordstroms at 5 a.m., much less get up to go catch fish. Anyway, we headed out in the boat, and after a morning of fishing without much success, decided to try something a little more adventurous and go fish out in the surf. And I was all, “SURE! GREAT! LET’S FISH IN THE SURF! IT WILL BE AWESOME! WHOO-HOO!”

Because that was back when I was young and naive and said “WHOO-HOO!” and had no idea that I suffer from the horrible wretchedness that is the seasickness. Although, looking back, the fact that I have trouble riding in the backseat of a car should have been a prime indicator that perhaps the rough, tumultuous ocean would not be my friend. But I was IN LOVE! NEWLY MARRIED! BIRDS WERE SINGING AND BELLS WERE RINGING! I CAN DO ANYTHING!

Except for be on a boat with all the rocking motions with all the rocking and the rocking.

And the rocking.

We anchored the boat in the surf and I immediately started to sense that this wasn’t going to end well. And then, B started to pull bait out of the livewell, which is the smell equivalent of a 4 day old tunafish sandwich sitting in the hot sun, and I felt certain that P was about to see a side of his new bride that he had never dreamed existed. I tried to fight it as they started casting out their lines and, much to my dismay, actually catching fish. Big fish. Big, nice trout. I’ve never liked to be the one to end the party so I continued to think happy thoughts about dry land and steady ground.

It worked really well until the next big wave hit. It sent me running for the side of the boat and I leaned over very gracefully and delicately, I’m sure, and deposited everything I had eaten for the last 6 months in the ocean. Over and over again. P yelled to B that we were going to need to leave and B looked over, saw me leaning halfway out of the boat and thought I was pulling up the anchor in my haste to leave. When he realized that I was, in fact, throwing up my small intestine, he grabbed the anchor himself, pulled it up and got me to dry land as quickly as possible.

It was just a delicate, sweet moment of newlywed bliss. Some couples wait years to have the privilege of seeing their spouse throw up repeatedly in front of dear, old family friends. It warms my heart to this day to realize P had that blessing after just 2 weeks.

Yesterday evening, we were sitting around the living room at the coast talking about old memories and how much has happened over the years and Cat and Dea started talking about the first time they ever met me. Cat said, “I used to think you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.” And I said, “Used to? What’s all this ‘used to’ business?” She and Dea agreed that they thought I was so beautiful because I was so tan and wore this orange coverup that made me look even more tan. And beautiful. Did I mention beautiful?

So, good news! I’m thinking if I can just get a little more sun and find that orange coverup and, perhaps, a time machine, I can regain my status as “the most beautiful girl” Cat and Dea have ever seen. Or maybe not. Especially considering that they’ve moved on in life and their horizons for comparison have widened beyond the world of 12 year old girls with braces on their teeth who sit next to them in Pre-Algebra.

The tables have turned or, should I say, the tide has shifted. Now they’re the ones in their 20’s, all tanned and fabulous, and I’m the girl with braces on my teeth.

Who throws up over the side of boats.

Stay tuned for the conclusion of this two part series tomorrow, when I’ll actually talk about what happened this weekend instead of rambling about things that happened 10 years ago.

I know y’all are on the edge of your seats.