Author: Big Mama

  • Smells like three year old spirit

    She picked out her own sleepwear after bathtime last night.

    Who says grunge is dead?

    We’re off to the coast for the weekend.
    I’ll see y’all on Monday.

  • How the time does fly

    One year ago today, I sat at my computer late one night and thought, what the heck, I’m going to start a blog. And for about 5 whole days, I kept it to myself because that way I would be under no pressure to do anything with it. I’ll just write whatever comes to mind, and if I decide to delete the whole thing, then no one will ever know the difference.

    And I was cranking out some stellar, stellar material. Most of which had the same literary quality of most 5th grade essays, such as “I spent this summer at the pool. Then, I went to band camp. The pool was fun, but band camp was even more funner.”

    It was riveting stuff.

    Then, at the pool one afternoon, Gulley and I were talking and I confessed my blog secret, which at that time felt like I might as well say, “Hello. I am a big nerdy nerd who writes things ON THE COMPUTER and doesn’t even know if you say ‘html’ like it’s a word or if you just say the letters, which, technically, means I don’t even know enough to be a computer geek, so I’m just a plain old geek.”

    But Gulley loves me, so she started reading, and I was bound and determined to keep her entertained with some average reading material. Then, I sent an email to about 5 of my friends from college, including Hite and Jen, letting them know I had started a blog and also, I had 852 slides from our latest vacation and we could all watch them during their next visit, right after we watched the video of Caroline’s birth.

    Next, I made a few online friends (that term doesn’t sound creepy at all) like Barb, Diane, Jennifer, Melanie and Boomama, who read me when pretty much no one else knew that this level of writing quality was available on the internet. So, thank you ladies.

    I had no idea that someday more than 15 people would read this, but I am so thankful that y’all do. Thanks for the laughs, the encouragement, the love and the commiseration. Y’all have made my life richer in the last year and I am grateful.

    Many of you often email me and ask me what my favorite posts are, so in honor of one year on the computer, here are the links to a few of my favorite posts. And I’m totally kidding, no one has ever emailed to ask about my favorite posts, but here are the links anyway.

    The Sopranos

    Trials of Potty Training

    Pregnancy and Bikinis

    The Big Gulp

    Adventures in Pedicures

  • America and my roof, God shed his grace on thee

    So, here’s how we’re spending our holiday.

    Rain. Hate. Go away. Parade cancelled. Tears. Many tears.

    Leak. Bad. Sheetrock ruined. Roofing company closed for holiday.

    Bucket. Good. And classy.

    Child. Up since 3:30 a.m. Exhausted.

    Peanut butter rice krispy treats. God bless America.

  • We have spacious skies and amber waves of grain

    Happy 4th of July!

    That’s Caroline when she was just an 11 month old firecracker. I wanted a new picture of her with an American flag, but she isn’t nearly as cooperative or as immobile as she was 3 years ago. Plus, she felt the need to put on her pink fleece pajamas with the cows all over them around noon today and they just don’t really convey patriotism or you know, the month of July.

    Anyway, I hope the hotdogs and apple pie are plentiful wherever y’all are today.

    And happy birthday, Nanny. I hope you have a wonderful 89th birthday!

  • BM stands for Beth Moore, Big Mama and something else

    Yesterday morning, I took advantage of Caroline being enthralled with one of the Muppet movies while I sat at the kitchen island to work on my Bible study. Gulley, some other girls and I are doing “Jesus, The One and Only” this summer and I am loving it. And I have to say, I thought I knew a lot about Jesus, but this has made me look at some things in a different light, which really needs to be a post of its own at some point.

    But for today, I’m just doling out the really profound material.

    So, I’m sitting with my workbook and my Bible, pen in hand. The picture of studious. The portrait of a Godly woman.

    Caroline can sense me having a moment to myself a mile away, so she came over to see what was going on.

    “What are you doing, Mama?”

    “I’m doing my Bible study”

    “Oh, I’m going to do my Bible study, too!”

    She climbed up on the barstool next to mine, grabbed a pen and started scribbling on a notepad. I watched her for a few moments and thought this is what it’s all about, I’m showing her my love for Jesus. I’m creating an example of living a life dedicated to God, and how precious that she wants to model that behavior. And secretly, I even wished the other person who lives in this house (that would be you, P) would notice this moment of mother/daughter/God closeness and take a picture of the sweetness.

    I went back to reading my study when Caroline said, “Mama?”

    “Yes, my precious angel baby darlin’?”

    “I just drew this picture. It’s a picture of what my poop looks like.”

    And with that, I bowed my head and thanked Him for the dose of humility.

  • Here she is, not Miss America

    Summer television makes me sad. Back before I had a child I didn’t really notice how bad summer T.V. can be. I mean, who cares about T.V.? Let’s go to the movies, or out to dinner, or whatever. Oh, but now I find myself flipping through the channels hoping that Lifetime will air some quality, quality movie about a woman who was taken advantage of, but fought her way back to the top, and got custody of her children, and became CEO of some corporation while fighting breast cancer.

    And the odds of that movie being on Lifetime are actually pretty good.

    Other than that, I watch Top Chef because y’all know what a sophisticate I am when it comes to my palate. I’m waiting for the episode where they see who can make the best meal using Long John Silver’s fish and chips with malt vinegar sauce as the base ingredient. Now that would be a meal I could get behind.

    So, last night, I was going through my 452 channels looking for something to watch, when what did I spy? A gift sent straight from heaven.

    Miss Texas USA.

    When I was little, I adored watching all the pageants. I remember sitting in front of the T.V. with a pad of paper so that I could keep track of everyone’s scores and make notes about various performances which, looking back, was maybe a little more intense than a 3rd grader needs to be. In my mind, I truly believed that boys grew up to be President of the United States and girls grew up to be Miss America. It was the pinnacle role of womanhood.

    Obviously, I grew up in a household with strong, feminist sensibilities.

    And really, other than the fact that my mama kept my hair rolled in pink, foam rollers and attempted to teach me how to twirl the baton, there wasn’t a whole lot of pageant-y activity going on at my house during my childhood. But once a year I would sit in front of the T.V. and dream about being crowned Miss America.

    It’s not that I dreamed of dressing up like a giant oil well and coming out on stage and yelling, “HOWDY Y’ALL! I’M BIG MAMA AND I’M MISS JEFFERSON COUNTY!” because let’s be honest, is that anyone’s dream? It’s just that the whole pageant thing seemed so glamorous with all the evening gowns and swimsuits worn with high heels. And the hair. Oh, I coveted the hair.

    In fact, I remember being about 8 or 9 years old and pointing out a picture of Loni Anderson on the cover of Redbook Magazine to my mama and telling her I wished my hair looked like that. And really, what 8 year old wouldn’t look just PRECIOUS with some peroxide and Aqua Net creating a flaxen helmet on her head?

    Watching Miss Texas USA last night, I realized I would have been all wrong for the role. For one thing, I would have collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that would have caused my double-sided tape to come loose, if I ever found myself being serenaded by a choir boy dressed up like a sailor as he looked into my eyes and sang “I need you beside me, to hold me, to scold me ‘cuz when I’m bad, I’m so, so bad”. I feel certain that Donna Summer never intended for her disco anthem, “Last Dance”, to be sung by faux sailors. It’s just wrong.

    And the fake press conferences where they make contestants field all the questions? So painful.

    I actually had to hide my head under a pillow while willing the contestants to please stop talking while they were ahead. Please don’t say “world peace” is the reason you’d make a great Miss Texas USA.

    Then, at the end as the judges tallied their final results, they brought out all the girls that didn’t make the top 5 to do a little song and dance routine for the crowd. Find pillow. Hide head.

    I don’t have a problem with pageants. I know they provide scholarships, and new Ford Mustang convertibles, and diamond tiaras, and those are all good things. Very good things. I’m just saying that I haven’t seen choreography that bad since Mr. LaForge made us do arm movements to “Human Nature” by Michael Jackson in 7th grade choir at Marshall Middle School.

    The pageant ended as they all do. The reigning Miss Texas USA took her farewell promenade as her pre-taped voiceover thanked everyone from her parents, to God, to her hairdresser, to her double-sided tape for their vital support in her life. They shuffled her off the stage and got down to the real drama.

    The runner-ups. I don’t know if y’all have ever heard this, but the runner-ups are vital because if for any reason the new Miss Texas USA is unable to fulfill her duties, then all power is transferred to the 1st runner-up. Who knew?

    The last two girls stood facing each other, clutching hands, vowing that the other one deserved to win, and that they would always be BFF no matter what. The witty emcee did a priceless stalling technique to add to the mounting tension. Then, the first runner-up was declared, leaving the new Miss Texas USA crying and speechless as they speared her crown to her head.

    I yelled in the kitchen to P that this was just bad, bad television and questioned why I would even watch something this hokey and contrived. But then, they asked the new Miss Texas USA how she felt and she said she was so excited about the new car because she was currently driving a 1995 Ford Escort. With that admission, I decided I liked her. Anyone who will own up to driving a 12 year old Ford Escort on national, or at least statewide, T.V. is my kind of girl, even if she does put tape on her bottom to minimize the appearance of cellulite.

    It’s just proof that America is still the land of opportunity. One day you’re driving an old Ford, the next day you’re driving a new Ford.

    And wearing a tiara.