Author: Big Mama

  • The vendetta

    Caroline has this little chair that used to belong to P when he was a little boy. It’s a sweet little wooden chair and it spent most of her babyhood sitting in a corner of her room. A few months ago, she discovered it and has been keeping it in the living room. Sometimes I let her sit in the little chair at the coffee table and eat her lunch while she watches Charlie and Lola.

    Well, the other day, she was eating lunch in her chair and I heard a crash. Somehow, she had fallen backwards in the chair, but since it’s so low to the ground, she wasn’t hurt, she was just mad. She looked at me and said, “Mama, I don’t like that chair anymore. I want you to put it up.” I told her I would, and then just kind of blew the whole thing off because that’s pretty much how I handle everything.

    The little chair remained in the living room. Then about 2 days ago, she was already upset about something, because she’s 3 and that’s part of her schtick, when she noticed the chair out of the corner of her eye. She stopped in mid-tirade, looked at me and said, “I thought I TOLD you to PUT THAT CHAIR UP!”

    I realized two things. One, we need to work on her attitude and two, she was serious about the chair.

    It’s such a cute little chair that I didn’t want to put it away, but wasn’t sure what to do with it. So, I put it next to my desk chair in the kitchen. Then, this morning, she walked over to where I was typing at the computer to tell me something and when she turned to walk away, she tripped over the little chair and fell.

    That chair had crossed her for the last time.

    She stood up and kicked the chair and then, for good measure, kicked it again. Realizing this wasn’t causing the level of destruction she was looking for, she stomped her foot down hard on the seat of the little chair. At that point, P and I talked her down and pulled her away from the chair. If she knew what an obscene gesture was, I have no doubt she would have directed one in the chair’s direction as we dragged her away.

    Needless to say, this house isn’t big enough for the two of them. I’m thinking the chair has to go.

  • Hair today, pain tomorrow

    About a month ago, when I still was earning a paycheck and I spent money like we were the Ewings, but without the blackmail and deceit, I decided to make a lifelong dream come true and purchase a laser hair removal package for myself. Because really, Caroline is a smart girl and will probably get a scholarship to college, she doesn’t need us for tuition. Plus, how am I supposed to give her the enriched childhood she deserves if I’m spending all my time waxing and shaving? There just aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all.

    So, I did some research in the form of asking Dee, my former co-worker, about the process. She is an authority on all beauty type issues and I knew she had laser hair removal done a few years ago. I called Dee’s laser girl (not the technical term), purchased a hair removal package over the phone because it was ON SALE , and then scheduled the first of my five appointments, which is how many times it takes to completely shock all your hair follicles out of existence.

    And then, I quit my job.

    However, since the sessions were already paid for, there was no turning back, which is just proof that God was looking out for me and figured if I was going to spend my summer chasing a 3 year old around the pool, that my life would be easier if I didn’t have to worry about bikini line, underarm, and upper lip maintenance. My life will be stressful enough just spending so much time in a swimsuit.

    He is truly the giver of all good gifts.

    The day of my first session, I drove to the doctor’s office and was so excited. I was almost there when Dee called to check on me. I asked her the question that, in my infinite foolishness, I had neglected to ask earlier, “Does it hurt?”

    She answered, “Not really. I mean you’ve had a baby, so you can handle it.”

    Oh. my. word.

    It wasn’t exactly the comforting analogy I was looking for. Yes, I have experienced childbirth, but please note that I only have one child. While it was an incredible experience, it’s not one that I’m looking to repeat with any frequency. Plus, I was pretty sure the cost of laser hair removal didn’t include an epidural.

    I went in and signed a stack of paperwork that basically said that I could experience a myriad of unpleasant side effects, including the darkening and/or lightening of the skin on my upper lip. I prayed for a miraculous lightening of that skin, crossed my fingers and laid on the table. The dermatologist came in for a consultation, which consisted of him looking at my lip, stating the obvious “you have dark hair”, and then pronouncing me a fit candidate for the procedure. Then, Laser girl came in and I asked her if it was going to hurt. She replied, “Oh, yeah. It will hurt”, and then repeated Dee’s comparison and said, “but you’ve had a baby”.

    Great. I am an idiot who doesn’t ask the right questions far enough in advance. Maybe while I was feeling so giddy about my 20% discount, I should have asked about the pain. But oh no, it was much more important that I was getting a good deal.

    Laser girl applied some type of gel to my lip and an ice pack and went to work. Ironically, the laser was called the Cool Touch 1000, which is the biggest oxymoron of all time. The Cool Touch 1000 burned like the heat of 10,000 white hot suns surrounding a planet of volcanoes filled with molten lava.

    At one point, Laser girl stopped before moving on to my underarms and I asked her if someone had burned some popcorn in the office. She replied, “Oh no, that burning smell is your skin and your hair.”

    Well, what a relief.

    All I really know about torture is what I used to watch on Alias, oh, and also what my orthodontist does to me on a monthly basis, but make no mistake about it, this laser hair removal stuff ranks up there for sure. It would make Jack Bauer talk.

    However, for the last few weeks as I’ve marveled over the fact that I don’t have to shave my underarms or apply Surgi-cream hair removal to my lip, I’ve decided it’s all worth it. Like childbirth, the end product is so great that you forget what you endured to get to that point.

    Unfortunately, unlike childbirth, I have to go back for 4 more sessions before I am completely done.

    Next time (yeah, right), I’m asking for the package that includes the epidural.

  • DVR stands for Done Very wRong

    We’ve all had people in our lives who have hurt us, betrayed us, broken our hearts. Oh, they promise they won’t do it again and then they do, which just makes us feel all the more foolish for trusting them in the first place.

    So, you can completely understand why I will never trust my DVR again.

    I half watched/half fast forwarded through 2 excruciating hours of filler material on American Idol tonight, only to get down to the scene of Jordin and Blake awaiting the final results and discover my DVR has cut me off. Dirty, stinking tramp of a DVR. We are so over.

    And yes, I went to Fox News to find out that Jordin won, but you and I both know it’s just not the same. I was deprived of the dramatic finish that I feel sure would have brought me to tears. And I know I can watch it on YouTube or whatever, but it’s NOT THE SAME.

    Oh DVR, who wooed me and promised to be so much better than my old VCR, you are a filthy, filthy liar. From now on, you occupy the same place of distrust and unreliability as my nemesis, the crispy beef taco.

  • At the end of the day

    On Monday, when I realized I still didn’t feel fit to live and was sure the end was near, I called Mimi and essentially threw myself on her mercy and pleaded with her to take Caroline for the night. She is lucky I called first because a part of me just wanted to pack Caroline’s little bag and show up at her door so we could look extra desperate and pitiful.

    I live for the drama.

    Anyway, she was more than happy to do it and I was more than grateful. I came home, took a hot bath, put on my pajamas and got in bed. It was 5:30.

    Had I not felt so sick, it would have been lovely. But even so, it was pretty nice and I woke up this morning feeling like a new person ready to face the world and solid foods again. Except for crispy beef tacos. They are dead to me.

    Mimi brought Caroline home around 10:00 a.m. and when I asked what time Caroline had woken up that morning she told me that I didn’t want to know. Seeing as how I knew Bops had left for the airport around 4:45 a.m., I had a pretty good idea. Needless to say, my girl was tired.

    We made a much needed trip to the grocery store and then I told her she had to take a nap in her room as opposed to just resting in my bed, otherwise known as letting the television entertain my child so that Mama can take some deep breaths and recover from the morning and enjoy the quietness of the quiet.

    She fought me for all of 5 minutes, which means she was about to fall asleep standing up with her lunch hanging out of her mouth. Pretty soon, it was quiet from her room and I knew she must be sound asleep, because if she weren’t, she would be coming out at 3 minute intervals to inform me of all the sounds she was hearing, or all the things she might need in her bed, or that she wasn’t tired AT ALL.

    After a 2 hour nap, she woke up and we had a wonderful afternoon. We had snacks, we looked for caterpillars, we practiced letters, played games, and then it was time for me to start getting dinner ready. She asked if she could help me cook and I said sure. She pulled up a stool and I started measuring out spices for her to dump in a bowl. While she was pouring, she stopped, put her arm around my neck, and said, “Oh Mama, we are the bestest buddies!”

    I don’t mean to sound like a total sap (too late!) but I got so teary. It seems like this year of being 3 has been tough on both of us. She is so independent, so headstrong, so determined to fight me on everything, but in that moment we were bestest buddies and it made me feel like at the end of the day I must be doing something right. It made me remember how much it means to her when I let go of my OCD tendencies and let her help me do things, and convicted me that I need to do it more often.

    After dinner was ready, she helped me set the table and then we all sat down in the dining room as a family, which we hardly ever do, because she usually goes to bed so early due to the non-napping. She was so excited and seemed so big to me as she blessed our food and chatted away at the dinner table about who she likes to hug at school and who she doesn’t like to hug. Then in mid-sentence, she stopped, looked up, and said, “Oh Mama! We have VERY sparkly lights in here! Are these new?”

    And it reminded me that so much is still new to her, even simple things like the way the chandelier lights look in the dining room after dark. I don’t want to be so busy getting through these days that I don’t stop to appreciate all the magic they hold for both of us.

    She has a measuring stick hanging on the wall in her room and her new favorite thing is for me to measure her “ON THAT SCALE, MAMA!”. At least once a day we have to go in there to see if she’s gotten any bigger and in the last week, she hasn’t.

    But it’s just a matter of time.

  • Girl, put your records on

    I feel certain there are only so many times I can tell y’all about my stomach illness before you just click away, while yelling at me to get over it already. So, I will spare you the details, but sufficed to say my stomach bug decided it wasn’t quite ready to leave me and so I spent most of yesterday feeling sick.

    And no, I don’t think I’m pregnant…because I know that’s what some of you are starting to think.

    I woke up a little while ago and while I don’t exactly feel like a bright ray of sunshine surrounded by happy bunnies, I don’t feel like ripping my stomach out of my body anymore. I keep telling myself that I’m just getting ready for swimsuit season with a steady 4 day diet of 7Up.

    So, while I could discuss at length all the various anti-nausea medications I have tried in the last 36 hours, I’d rather ask y’all a question that has nothing to do with being sick or 7Up. What song is your favorite song on your iPod right now? And if you don’t have an iPod, what song would you listen to on your 8 track player?

    Oh, I’m kidding. I’m not an iPod snob. In fact, truth be told, I probably wouldn’t even own an iPod if my old company hadn’t given me one as a gift. I’ve never been one to jump on new technology, so I feel certain if I hadn’t been given an iPod that I felt forced to figure out, I would watch iPod commercials while shaking my head and thinking that there’s no way it could ever be better than my Sony Walkman. After all, it had a AM/FM radio AND a cassette player.

    Plus, I’m the same girl who told my friend Hite in college that the “whole email thing” will never take off.

    Prophecy is obviously not my gift.

    Anyway, since Caroline will be taking swim lessons starting next week, I’ll have an hour each day to sit by the pool in solitude and listen to my iPod. My favorite right now is “Sweet Escape” by Gwen Stefani. What are y’all listening to?

  • Calling for ralph

    I spent most of Friday morning filling out health insurance applications, and then in an incredible twist of irony, spent Friday afternoon coming down with a stomach bug. Caroline and I were playing outside Friday afternoon when I began to get the feeling that maybe an alien was trying to escape through my stomach, so I told her I needed to go inside and lay down.

    She was all for that. “Okay, Mama. I’ll go get my doctor bag and I’ll take care of you.” And I was all for that plan. So, I went and layed down on my bed while she ran to her playroom to get her medical supplies. After about 5 minutes, which is the time it takes her to dump out every single bin in her playroom while finding what she’s looking for thus ensuring maximum mess potential, she came crawling up into my bed holding her cash register. I said, “I thought you were going to bring your doctor stuff and take care of me” and she replied, “I am, but you need to pay first.”

    And with that statement, my morning came full circle.

    Since I was only feeling a little queasy at this point, we went ahead with our evening plans to go eat Mexican food with Bops. Once we were in the restaurant, I knew I must be on the verge of death because I was not even tempted to eat one chip. This has never happened before in the history of my existence. I constantly crave Mexican food. I could eat it for every meal of the day and, back in my wilder college days, it was the only real cure for a hangover. I have never in my life faced a stomach trauma that couldn’t be cured with chips and salsa…until Friday.

    I began to feel increasingly bad and finally, went to bed around 10:00 hoping to put myself out of my misery. I fell into a deep sleep until I woke up at 1:15 and ran to the bathroom knowing that the moment I had been dreading was upon me. False alarm. So, I spit in the toilet a few times for good measure and headed back to bed.

    2:00 a.m. found me running back to the bathroom and this time there was nothing false about it. As I threw up everything I have eaten since 1985, I knew that I had never been this sick before. And it’s safe bet that I won’t be eating crispy, beef tacos for a long time since that’s what I’d had on Thursday night. We violently parted ways around 3:00 in the morning on Saturday.

    It was not a pretty breakup.

    I finally cleaned myself up and crawled back into bed. P never said a word, so I knew he was either in the deepest sleep known to man or playing possum in fear that I might ask him to come hold my hair for me.

    I fell back asleep and woke up to Caroline crawling into bed with us at 6:20 a.m. She snuggled up next to me and said, “Oh Mama, you smell like the throw ups. Did you throw up?” I said, “Yes baby, Mama’s real sick”, and she said, “I wish you would have waked me up so I could see your throw ups.”

    I live with sensitive, sympathetic people.

    The good news was that P had already planned to take Caroline to the ranch for the day on Saturday, so I was able to spend the day resting and throwing up all by myself, which would have been glorious, except for the throwing up part. I did have a temporary break in my illness that allowed me to go get my haircut because I made a vow to my hair that I would take care of it in sickness and in health and I’m not about to break it. Or maybe that was the vow I made to P. Anyway, although I was a little concerned about possibly getting sick all over the floor of the salon, I was more concerned about the shape my hair was in and decided it was worth the risk.

    After my haircut I was feeling better, so I drove to Sonic to treat my poor stomach to a Diet Coke poured over their miraculous, health restoring crushed ice. It was like little drops of heaven until about an hour later when it came back up with the fury of hell.

    Obviously, I had overestimated my intestinal fortitude.

    So, with Diet Coke literally out the window or, you know, in the toilet, I showered, put on my pajamas, crawled into bed and watched episodes of Oprah, including one with Sarah Jessica Parker’s new fashion line that included some high waisted gray jeans which almost made me throw up again, and then fell asleep for about 3 1/2 hours.

    Seriously. Gray jeans. That can’t be good for anybody.

    I woke up when Caroline and P walked through the door and managed to get her bathed and into bed with some help from P, and then fell right back asleep. When I finally woke up Sunday morning, I felt at least some semblance of decent again. And by Sunday evening, when I started thinking about eating something fried, I knew the worst had passed.

    Thankfully, this experience didn’t require a trip to the doctor or the hospital, because I still haven’t finished filling out those insurance applications, which is an entirely different story that is causing me pain in an entirely different area.