Doodle

Here’s where I decide to just get a tub and washboard

I keep trying to think of clever or, at the very least, coherent ways to begin this post but I am struggling because I am just so tired. TIRED. I went to bed last night at 9:00 p.m. which hasn’t happened since I had the flu two years ago and was certain I was about to die and wanted to be in bed watching old episodes of Little House on The Prairie when it happened. If it was my time to go then I wanted to go out the way I lived, totally lame.

The weekend in Orlando was unbelievably fun even though I had nary a glimpse of any sort of theme park. Deeper Still was phenomenal and I am not kidding when I say I have about sixty pages of notes that will take me weeks to process. Kay Arthur taught the entire book of Hebrews, Beth Moore talked about discernment, and Priscilla spoke on Ephesians 3:20 and how God can do above and beyond all we can ask or imagine. In fact when Paul wrote Ephesians, he basically used language that says God can go beyond our beyond. He can do beyond beyond. Believing that truth is the foundation of our faith.

So I crawled into my bed in a hotel in Orlando on Saturday night reaffirmed in my belief that God can do beyond beyond.

Then I tossed and turned and didn’t sleep much at all because I was worried I wouldn’t hear the alarm go off and I’d miss my flight. At 5:30 a.m. I finally gave up, got out of bed, checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. It wasn’t my finest hour. I feel certain there were several children on my flight to Atlanta who were convinced that Cruella DeVille was following them home from the Magic Kingdom. It probably didn’t help that I was wearing my dalmation fur coat.

(Why is spellcheck telling me I spelled dalmation wrong? Doez it thank I can’t spell gud?)

(Edited to add that apparently I can’t spell gud becuz dalmation is spelled dalmatian.)

Also on an air travel side note: If you haven’t traveled enough to know you have to take your shoes off when you go through security, then you probably shouldn’t get in the Expert Traveler security line. I know you may feel like an expert and you may do a lot of things really well, but getting through a security line in a timely manner isn’t one of those things.

Anyway, I ended up sitting next to a very chatty girl on the way to Atlanta and she told me all about some type of herbal supplements she’s selling that could change my life. Apparently they are made from some kind of super jacked up Chinese herb and will lower my cholesterol and help me get off my diabetes medication. It didn’t really seem to matter to her that I don’t have high cholesterol and am not diabetic. And then right as the plane was about to land, she said, “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

I was so frightened because I just knew she was about to give me the hard sell on the Chinese herbs in the form of “How much do you think is too much to pay to change your life with Chinese medicine? $39.99?”. But instead she asked, “Does my hair look okay?” So now I’m paranoid that people think I’m odd because I ask that same question about ten times a day and have never once thought it was weird. I thought it’s what people do when there isn’t a mirror in close proximity.

We landed in Atlanta and I had ten minutes to make it to the other side of the airport. I checked the monitor to confirm my departure gate, saw that my plane was boarding and sprinted through the airport with my carry-on bag in tow and my unbelievably heavy purse on my shoulder, only to arrive and discover that the plane was actually running about thirty minutes late. I’m totally sending Delta Airlines the bill for my eventual knee replacement and shoulder surgery.

Once we were on the plane, the pilot announced the delay was due to some maintenance issues which why? Why do you need to announce that? “Welcome to this small metal tube. Fingers crossed that we got everything fixed. Would you like some peanuts? Perhaps some paper and a pen to make out your will?”

Obviously it all turned out alright or this increasingly boring blog post wouldn’t exist. I landed in San Antonio and P and Caroline picked me up from the airport. As soon as I got in the car, Caroline announced she’d played a practical joke on me and pulled all her clothes out of her closet and thrown them all over her room. I figured that was actually the joke and when I arrived home that her room would actually be neat and tidy.

But I was wrong.

She wasn’t kidding. There were clothes all over her room and I wanted to cry, but instead I tried to gently explain the difference between a funny practical joke and things that will cause Mama to have a permanent break with reality. Then I took some deep cleansing breaths and we cleaned up the room.

All I really wanted to do was unpack my suitcase and get in the shower. Preferably a shower used by Hazmat crews because I was convinced that I’d contracted some strain of tuberculosis while I held on to the handrails on the Atlanta airport shuttle and probably should have bought some of those life-changing Chinese herbs. Hindsight.

So I unpacked my suitcase, sorted some massive piles of laundry, started a load of wash and jumped into the shower. I felt totally revitalized or at least like death was no longer imminent until I heard this odd BEEP, BEEP, BEEP coming from the laundry room. The washing machine was having a major case of PMS and decided to rage. I couldn’t get it to work despite all my best mechanical efforts which basically involved unplugging it and plugging it back in repeatedly. I did what I always do in these situations and yelled for P.

He walked into the laundry room and unplugged it. Great minds.

When that didn’t work he performed a series of maneuvers where he pulled out various tubes and what not. It would act like it was going to work but would go back to flashing F2! F2! F2! And I felt pure hatred for an appliance, a three-year-old appliance that was not cheap. Kenmore is dead to me. DEAD.

And so I curled up in the fetal position and went to sleep at 9:00 p.m. just to make the day go away.

Yesterday morning, a repairman came out, tried a few things and announced that the motherboard on our washer appears to be fried.

I’d like to be more upset, but in all honesty I know exactly how she feels.

At one point yesterday I told God that none of this was really my idea of Him going beyond beyond. All the reality came in and stole my joy. I just felt tired and frustrated.

But then last night I sat at the dinner table while Caroline told us about her day and P said something that made us laugh out loud and I realized that the gift of those two in my life is an example of how God does beyond our beyond. They are more than I asked for or imagined.

The Kenmore washer, however, is not.
You can’t fight DNA

I picked Caroline up from school yesterday and we headed to Academy to buy all manner of soccer paraphernalia since soccer season officially starts on Saturday.

Academy ranks up there as one of my most dreaded errands. Not only because they sell all sorts of items that God never intended to be camouflaged, but also because it’s located in the midst of the seventh circle of freeway construction nightmares.

We were in the far left hand turn lane waiting for the light to change. Once it turned green, we were able to move along at a nice pace while the cars in the lane next to us were at a standstill due to construction issues.

As we drove past the line of stopped cars, Caroline yelled “SEE YOU LATER, LOSERS!”

And in that moment it became totally clear that I gave birth to and am in the process of raising the same person I married.
Not available in stores

So after writing the longest post in history yesterday about cinnamon rolls and Mariah Carey, I am totally out of words. I have nothing.

But I do have to show you what Caroline made for me yesterday. She is completely obsessed with my iPhone and decided that I really needed a fancier case. Apparently the hot pink one I chose is so last year because on the way home from school she asked, “Wouldn’t you like a prettier case for your phone?”

“No, not really. You don’t like my hot pink case?”

“Nope. I don’t. You need something beautiful like maybe a rainbow case with my hand print on it.”

“Well I didn’t see anything like that in the store but if I ever do I’ll make sure to buy one.”

Because what grown woman doesn’t crave the sophistication that a rainbow phone case implies?

Later on I was cleaning up the kitchen or maybe eating what was left of the cinnamon rolls. She walked in and announced that she’d made something for me.

It’s a brand new case for my phone.

Made out of computer paper, Scotch tape and Crayola markers. (Patent Pending)

And I will carry it until it completely falls apart.
Caroline get your gun

I’m so appreciative of all the opinions on the black boots versus brown boots dilemma. They served as confirmation for what I already knew in my heart which is I need to go with brown boots. Sadly, I went to several stores yesterday and discovered they were all sorely lacking in their boot inventory. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s still 100 degrees outside or if this is just another ramification of the harsh economic climate.

All I know is I’m glad I was able to use the phrase “ramification of the harsh economic climate”.

Anyway, earlier in the week I mentioned that P and Caroline went to the ranch on Sunday so she could shoot her new pink gun and I thought y’all might want to see her in action.

The Shooter from Big Mama on Vimeo.

Something tells me the pigs and turtles don’t stand a chance.
A bunch of rambling that ends with a duck

Last Friday, Gulley and I took the kids to a local candy store for a treat to celebrate a successful first week of school. We were all so excited to be together because we hadn’t seen each other all week and had a lot to catch up on. Gulley decided last Spring to teach at a local preschool this year leaving her unavailable to meet me at Starbucks on Tuesday mornings and to answer the phone all fourteen times I call in an average day.

Truthfully, when I got my new iPhone and compiled my list of “Favorites” on my phone list, Gulley was first on my list. I realize it probably should be P, but he shows little to no enthusiasm when I call to let him know that I just found a sweater on sale at Banana Republic and it’s a must have. Instead, he just tells me I need to quit spending money which is really not the reaction I’m looking for.

But when I call Gulley to tell her about some boots I just discovered at DSW Shoes or my thoughts on last night’s episode of The Rachel Zoe Project, she is genuinely interested and contributes to the conversation. I have been known to call her to let her know HEB has pork tenderloin on sale and she has been known to call me so I can give her the ingredients to a recipe while she’s at the grocery store.

My point is WE TALK. A LOT.

By Thursday of last week I felt like I was about to explode with trivial information that I hadn’t been able to share. In fact, when my home phone rang early Thursday afternoon for the first time all week, I almost fell off the couch in fear because I’d grown so accustomed to the silence. What’s worse, I almost answered it even though it was a toll-free number calling. I finally decided whoever was on the other end was more interested in getting me to contribute to a fund to save the white-tailed salamander from extinction than they were about listening to who got voted off Top Chef last night and how I have a phobia of seeing scallops on a plate because they are unnaturally spongy and white, like little seafood-flavored marshmallows.

So the whole back to school thing has been a bit of an adjustment. I actually have plenty of productive things I can do during the day to fill my time, but I spent most of last week in a state of shock over all the time I had at my disposal and completely forgot the list of 8,987 things needing to be done that I compiled over the course of the summer. This week promises to be better, even though I spent most of yesterday lying on the couch and complaining about a horrible sinus headache. But in the words of Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow is another day.

Anyway, Caroline and I spent most of our weekend over at Gulley’s house. Her husband was out of town and P was working at the ranch so we spent Friday and Saturday catching up on things like our thoughts on universal healthcare and the skinny jean with boots. Meanwhile, the kids played in her backyard for hours, only coming in to grab their sixth or tenth popsicle.

Around 5:00 p.m. on Saturday, P called on his way in from the ranch to inform me that the flux capacitor had gone out in his truck and he was stranded on the side of the road needing to be rescued. He gave me a list of things to go purchase from the Auto Parts store before heading his way. I used my handy “Where To” app on my iPhone to locate the auto parts store nearest Gulley’s house and, I’ll be honest, felt a little bit like I had a bat phone because I had instant access and directions to every auto parts store in a fifteen mile radius.

Unfortunately, some of the supercool Batman factor faded after I pretended I knew what I was doing when I walked in the auto parts store and ultimately had to make the walk of shame up to the counter to just hand the salesman the list of things P dictated to me because he needed a blah blah and another blah with an extra gallon of blah.

However, I did save the day by showing up with all the right stuff, not to be confused with All The Right Moves starring a young Tom Cruise.

On Sunday after church, (Wow. Is this the most boring recap of a weekend ever?) P and Caroline headed down to the ranch because she wanted to shoot her new pink gun and rumor had it there were some turtles that needed killing. They took my car, which is totally appropriate for the ranch roads except not at all. Not to mention that the floorboards were covered in South Texas dirt and crushed Cheeto Puffs upon its return.

They got back home late in the afternoon and, as they turned the corner by our house, saw a baby duck walking by itself across the street. On further inspection, it was determined that the duck was all alone and on a self-destructive path to becoming cat food. P and Caroline decided to rescue the duck from a certain grisly death.

This is the dog kennel where the duck resided for approximately twelve hours.

You will notice, thanks to my superb gift of photography, you can’t actually see the duck, but rather the bottom of an old Christmas tree stand that was used as a faux pond.

Yesterday morning, P went to Home Depot to get some chicken wire to secure the area on the side of our house for the duck until it could survive on its own. He worked on it for about an hour, even filling up a little black tub with water instead of a Christmas tree stand. Caroline was so excited to have her very own duck, even though we warned her it would just be for a few days until he could fly.

Long story short, the duck escaped around 3:00 p.m. yesterday. P feels that the hours he spent trying to save a duck are hours of his life he’ll never get back. Caroline was a little sad, but I assured her the duck probably just flew off to meet his family.

Or possibly his maker.

Either way he’s in a better place than swimming in a Christmas tree stand.
The painted lady

Caroline purchased that temporary tattoo with two quarters she begged off of me at a Dairy Queen in Schulenburg, Texas. We applied it to her arm the week before school started because I figured that would give it plenty of time to wear off.

It’s still there.

Last week I resorted to telling her that her skin was really dry and rubbed her upper arms with Vaseline in a sneaky attempt to get it to come off.

It’s still there.

It was there for Meet the Teacher. It was there for the first week of school.

At this point I think people either believe that I allowed my child to get a real tattoo or that I never bathe her.

Honestly, I’m not sure which is worse.