Author: Big Mama

  • Marriage requires commitment. Of course, so does insanity

    Today is my 9th wedding anniversary. So yes, pretty much all of my major life events are packed into a 2 week window during the hottest month of the year. Caroline’s original due date was August 15th, so I could have had them all in a 3 day time period, but in a true case of foreshadowing, Caroline had her own plans and showed up 2 weeks early.

    This last spring, P. and I were at a wedding and as we watched the bride and groom take to the dance floor P. got all sentimental and said “those fools have no idea what they’re getting into”. We agreed that when you first get married, you can’t even comprehend all the ups and downs you’ll go through together. New homes, new jobs, new babies, sickness and health, rich and poor…apparently they aren’t kidding around with those vows.

    As well as you think you know someone, there are still so many unknowns until you live with them day to day. From small things, like how they tear a paper towel in half and leave the other half for later, to big things like what kind of parent will they be or how will they handle hard times.

    I can say in all honesty that as I walked down the aisle towards P. nine years ago, I knew I loved him and I knew he was the man that God had for me, he was without question “the one”. But did I realize that someday I would watch him turn white while he hugged me in a doctor’s office when we found out we’d had a miscarriage or that he’d be right next to me (and see things I don’t even want to think about) as our daughter was born? Did I realize the extent of his integrity and character? Did I know that he would still make me laugh and that I’d still be glad to see him walk through the door nine years later? Did I know that he would be the best daddy a little girl could ask for?

    I didn’t know any of that to the extent that I know it now. I thank God for the blessing that is my husband. Of all the things that are good in my life, he is the best. And as “iron sharpens iron”, he makes me want to be better.

    Happy Anniversary P.

  • WFMW – How to turn your frown upside down otherwise known as best chocolate dessert ever


    Yesterday was a day full of frustrations for me. I woke up tired and not feeling good and then experienced a series of aggravating things that put me in a grumpy mood. None of these things were that important in the whole scheme of things, but when you’re excited about your new AT&T television service complete with TWO DVRS and then they show up and tell you the only way it will work is to run a huge black cable down the side of your house, you get a little frustrated. On top of that, I’ve encountered some issues with the preschool that Caroline is supposed to be attending and now am having to re-think, re-plan, and most importantly re-pray, but that’s a whole other post.

    So, for my first WFMW I will share the recipe for the Best Chocolate Dessert Ever which is guaranteed to make any bad day better for the chocolate lover in you. As a friend of mine said “When you walk in the gates of heaven, I bet you get a piece of this cake.”

    Turtle Cake
    1 Betty Crocker Butter Recipe Chocolate Cake mix
    14 oz. caramels (about 48)
    3/4 c. melted margarine
    1/2 c. Pet milk
    1 c. chocolate chips (I actually use the whole bag)
    optional: cup of pecans (I personally don’t like pecans messing up my chocolate, but it’s a personal preference)
    Mix cake as directed on box. Bake 1/2 of batter in a greased 9×13 pan at 325 for 15 minutes. Remove from oven. Melt caramels, margarine, and milk on the stove. Pour over cake. Sprinkle chocolate chips (and pecans if you want them) over the cake. Add remaining batter. Bake 20-25 minutes at 325. Serves 9-12. You can serve it with vanilla ice cream, but I personally prefer just pure chocolately, caramel goodness.

    I promise it will make you feel better, even if for just a little while.

  • Just call me Dr. Dobson

    Caroline has always been an early riser. I can’t tell you how many days we have been up and ‘at ’em before sunrise or as Caroline says when it’s “still darken outside”. Really, I blame her father. Sadly, he too is an early riser. It’s all about genetics.

    I heard Tina Fey on The Tonight Show the other night talking about her new baby and she said that the worst feeling in the world is being up for the day and realizing that The Today Show isn’t even on yet. I feel her pain.

    This summer Caroline has started going to bed a little later, so I hoped that would translate into a little sleep in time for Mom. You know, like maybe 7:00 a.m. But oh no, she is still up before the crack of dawn.

    So last night in a fit of parenting expertise and brilliance, I put an alarm clock in her room with huge digital numbers. I also took a sheet of paper, taped it to her lamp and wrote 7:00.

    I showed it to her and told her that in the morning when the clock looked like the piece of paper, she could call me and I would come get her. I was truly inspired by my own brilliance and I stayed up late last night just relishing the thought of sleeping in until 7:00 (that’s a sad commentary on my life).

    At 6:03 a.m. I hear “Mama, come get me, Mama, come get me”. I gave her a few minutes thinking that my plan might work, but finally realized she wasn’t giving up. I walked into her room and discovered the fatal flaw to my plan.

    When it’s still dark outside, you can’t see a sign above the clock in your room that says 7:00. Feel free to submit this idea to all the best parenting magazines.

  • One week later…paci rehab

    As y’all know, last Tuesday we got rid of Caroline’s pacis. She has done incredibly well and hasn’t even asked for them, so I basically dodged a bullet on this one.

    Last week, we went to this really cool neighborhood toy store because I had promised that once the pacis were gone, she could pick out a new big girl toy, whatever she wanted. This is what she picked.

    This is further proof that she does indeed have only 50% of my DNA because she obviously hasn’t developed her Mama’s ability to find the most expensive thing in the store. And in case you’re wondering what that is, as near as I can tell it’s a green, squishy ball type thing that you can throw or wear on your head like a mohawk type wig. Seriously.

  • An extravaganza of entertainment

    This past weekend the Hunters’ Extravaganza was in town. Back in the days when P. and I were young and newly in love, I would go with him every year to survey the veritable wealth of all things hunting related.

    We would stroll up and down the aisles holding hands and y’all I was so in love that I didn’t even care that all the booths basically sold some version of deer urine, ugly camo clothing, or deer feeders made out of industrial size trash cans. The highlight of the trip for me was just being with P. and eating those sugared pecans that they sell in little plastic sacks shaped like a carrot.

    Pretty much after we got married, I quit making the annual trek to the Extravaganza. It really falls under the category of things that once you’ve seen them, you don’t need to see them again. Plus, once we got married we could sit at home and hold hands which in my opinion was preferable to being amongst the doe urine.

    Anyway, I give you all this useless information to share one of my favorite stories regarding the Hunters’ Extravaganza (and I know at this point you can’t believe that there’s more). Every year they have a penned in area where they have a rattlesnake roundup. Seriously, if you want to come to Texas I can get you tickets for next year.

    The rattlesnake roundup consists of a bunch of rattlesnakes and one clearly insane man that does tricks with the rattlesnakes such as putting them under his hat or picking them up or spinning them around really fast and snapping their head off (I’m sorry, that one’s not true I just made it up because the image in my sick mind made me laugh). So, everyone stands around and watches this guy who is obviously some sort of crazy.

    One year at the Extravaganza, a family friend of ours was watching the rattlesnakes and the whole thing was making him feel a little icky. You know how you start to feel a little creeped out, like maybe there’s one near you or something? So he’s a little freaked out by the whole thing and about that time he takes a step backwards and steps on something cylindrical that kind of rolls under his foot. He jumps up, spills his beer, screams like a little girl and looks down to see a completely squashed giant dill pickle. Don’t worry y’all, it was dead.

  • You say it’s your birthday

    Today is my 35th birthday and honestly, I can’t believe I’m 35. I know some of y’all are thinking 35 isn’t old and it’s really not, but it’s not an age I ever imagined myself being. Last year when I turned 34, I told P. “You know 34 is really the last age where you sound young.” He said “I hate to tell you, but 34 doesn’t really sound that young.” Oh, he’s a smooth talkin’ devil.

    Gulley’s taking me to lunch today to celebrate. A real live adult lunch that won’t involve high chairs or chicken fingers cut up in a million pieces or a 9 month old throwing up saltine crackers. We’ll actually get to visit and laugh without someone saying “excuse me mama, excuse me mama, EXCUSE ME MAMA.”

    Then tonight, I think P. is going to cook me a steak dinner which is one of my favorite things in the world. Give me a steak with some grilled jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese and I’m a happy girl or woman seeing as how I’m 35.

    So, what did I think 35 would look like? I don’t know for sure, but I think it involved 3 kids in a minivan, being President of the PTA, not caring about fashion and how I looked, and having a husband that wore a suit to work everyday. I thought I would be very wise and very mature…you know, from all my life experience.

    What does it look like now that I’m here? Well, I have one child and don’t know that I’m going to have another one, therefore we don’t really need a minivan. Caroline is 3, so while I may volunteer for the fall festival at her preschool, I’m a long way from President of the PTA. I still want to look cute in my jeans (although y’all know how I feel about the return of the skinny leg and I can’t even discuss this whole leggings and miniskirt thing) and read InStyle as soon as it comes out every month. And as far as my husband wearing a suit everyday, well P. is a youth minister and owns a landscape company, so unless he’s performing a wedding for someone, suits just aren’t that practical in the Texas heat.

    As far as being wise and mature, well…I definitely have more wisdom now than I did in my twenties but honestly, that just means I have enough sense not to ride with a total stranger to Oklahoma City (a story for another time).

    And can you be considered mature when you laugh every. single. time. that your child toots or holds her own nose when she poops?

    I have to say that reality is better than anything I could have imagined. It may not be perfect, but who needs perfection? As a wise,mature 35 year old, I’ve learned that perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.