Doodle

Knows what she likes when she sees it.

**Edited to add: Oh my word, y’all kill me with your focus on the minutiae. The thing at her feet is a cow skull because that’s how we roll in Texas.

Bops came over after work the other day and dazzled Caroline with his slingshot prowess.

The whole time I kept thinking trouble was on the horizon, but I ignored it in favor of watching olives from our Mexican Olive tree explode as they hit the roof.

I am easily entertained.

Slingshot from Big Mama on Vimeo.

Needless to say we won’t be bringing out the slingshot again any time soon.

**Edited to add: I didn’t realize it was a cliffhanger and sadly there is no sequel. Once we heard the yelling we dropped the slingshot and ran for the house. I’m about 98% certain the errant olive hit the neighbor’s dog. Rest assured that the dog is alive and well. No animals were harmed in the making of this video.

On Saturday my sister and I packed up our girls and headed to Beaumont to see Nanny. Our mom is also in town right now, so we got more family for our road trip buck and it’s a good thing because I was tempted to head back home sometime around Schulenberg, Texas due to a headphone malfunction that caused some angst in the back seat.

We’ve had a great time this weekend. One of the personal highlights for me was watching the American Music Awards and hearing my Nanny ask, “Oh! Is that Fifty Cents?”

Granted, it should be pronounced 50 Cent and it was actually Kanye West, but still, how about the cultural relevance from a nonagenarian?

All Caroline has talked about since the last visit is Nanny’s cat named Coco or, as Caroline likes to call her, Coconut.

The minute we walked through the front door on Saturday, Caroline found Coconut and hasn’t let her out her sight ever since. It has been a sweet reunion of old friends.

Although I think for Coco it might be more like the dreaded realization that your great aunt Bessie has come for a visit and may hug the life out of you before she leaves.

This is a scene from my grandmother’s house last night.

Which explains all the dolls in the background

And the Zenith T.V. circa 1982.

Raising Arizona from Big Mama on Vimeo.

We’ll be taking these Huggies and whatever cash you got.

For about the last week, Caroline has been wired. I’m talking about the kind of hyped-up, frenetic energy that would make a Tasmanian devil say, “Wow. You’re kind of a spaz.”

She’s always been a high energy kid, but I’m talking about levels of activity that defy any relation to my gene pool. I tend to think of napping as a neglected art form.

Maybe it’s the cooler weather or maybe it’s because the Christmas Toy Syndicate has ramped up their campaign to make sure your child’s Christmas isn’t complete without a Barbie Jammin’ Jeep, but we have reached new heights of enthusiasm for life.

In fact, last night as I attempted to wrestle her into her pajamas, she suddenly exclaimed, “WAIT! I NEED TO GET SOME KICKS OUT!”

And then proceeded to move to the middle of the living room floor where she kicked the air with great gusto for the better part of four minutes until P told her she needed to take it down a notch.

It’s like living with a five-year-old version of Salley O’Malley. She can kick. She can stretch. She can kick.

But in spite of the fact that all the activity is about to kill me, I still have moments when I look at her and can’t believe she’s mine.

I had no idea I could love someone this much.

For Caroline’s birthday this year, Gulley and her boys gave her a subscription to Zoobooks.

And this is where I have to confess that Caroline was originally not very excited about the gift because it wasn’t comprised of hot pink plastic parts and fake blonde hair. (I’m referring to Barbie dolls, not a cast member of the Real Housewives of Atlanta.)

I tried to explain to her what it was, but the words “magazine subscription” don’t really mean that much to a five-year-old.

As opposed to the words “Polly Pockets Super-Fabulous Mall of Cheap Parts Made in China!”

However, Gulley knows my girl and what she likes. The Zoobooks have become a huge favorite around here and Caroline can’t wait to get a new one in the mail. Once a new issue arrives, it becomes part of our bedtime ritual to read all about that month’s featured animal every single night.

Our most recent issue was about bats. I’ll be honest, I’ve never really been a fan of the bat.

I blame it on the movie “Love At First Bite” and the fact that even as a child I knew that George Hamilton was unnaturally tan. Oh, and that I was always told that bats carry rabies, which is pretty much a deal-breaker for any animal. Just ask Ol’ Yeller.

Anyway, night after night, we’ve read all about bats and, frankly, I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know. For instance, did you know that the smallest bat in the world is the size of a bumblebee? It’s true. And yet incredibly freaky.

A few nights ago, Caroline and I had the following conversation.

“Mama, why are the bats extinct?”

“Well, they’re not extinct. They’re just endangered. That means they are dying and there aren’t a whole lot left.”

“Why are they dying?”

“Well, the book says it’s because they are getting this white fungus on their wings from caves and it’s making them sick.”

“Yeah. Or maybe they’re dying because people are stabbing them in the wings with scissors.”

Oh my.

“Well, no. It’s because of the fungus.”

“Or maybe it’s because people are stabbing them with forks.”

“No, I don’t think people are stabbing them with anything.”

“Well, I think it is.”

I can’t believe I’m raising a bat enthusiast with a penchant for conspiracy theories.