Doodle

Politics and music

I just told P that I had no idea what I was going to write about tonight and he said, “How is that different from every night?” I asked him why he wanted to be a hater and he told me “I’m not a hater, I’m a motivator.”

And then we laughed hysterically.

And now I’m sad that we have become those people.

Anyway, last week was kind of a crazy week. I can’t remember all the reasons why, but I think it had a lot to do with third grade elections. That’s right. Third grade elections.

Caroline came home with a note on Monday that explained each third grade class would be electing two senators and candidates for governor and lieutenant governor. She informed me that she was running for lieutenant governor. And, honestly, I was so proud of her. She never ceases to amaze me with the way she’ll just go for something.

That’s a quality, by the way, that she didn’t really inherit from her mother. I was always more from the school of “If I don’t try, then I can’t be rejected”.

So our week was full of campaign talk. She won the nomination for lieutenant governor in her class on Wednesday which meant that she would make a speech, along with the candidates from other classrooms, in front of the entire third grade on Friday morning.

On Thursday the class made campaign materials and posters for the hallway. My friend Debbi had suggested the slogan “If you CARE A LOT, vote for CAROLINE”, but Caroline ended up going with “Everything will be fine, if you vote for Caroline”.

Which we agreed was a subtle tribute to her Sicilian roots. As long as you vote for her, everything will be fine. If not, all bets are off. Things might go to hell in a hand basket in the third grade hallway.

And so the next couple of days were filled with updates on the campaign, the need for brighter poster board and more glitter, and reports of some political trash talk in the third grade hallways. Because apparently politics are dirty business even when you’re eight.

Then I picked her up Thursday afternoon and took her straight to the doctor because I could tell she didn’t feel good. She was crying and complaining of a sore throat. And she’d even gone to the school nurse who dismissed it as allergies. Which is the third time the school nurse has misdiagnosed my child for those of you keeping score at home.

Sure enough, it was strep. But the doctor said she could go in and give her speech Friday morning as long as she felt like it. And I knew there was NO WAY she wasn’t going to give that speech. So I drove her to school on Friday morning and she gave her speech even though she felt terrible. After all, it’s what Ronald Reagan would have done. WWRRD.

Later in the day we got a text from her teacher letting us know Caroline hadn’t won. And I dreaded telling her because what if this was the thing that would make her quit trying stuff? What if she lost that confidence that she can do anything? What if this marked a turning point where she’d become so fearful of rejection that she’d just stand on the sidelines while life passed her by?

What if she’s being raised by a neurotic mother who worries too much?

I broke the news to her gently and explained that you aren’t going to win every time. I pulled out the old “Abraham Lincoln ran for office ten times and lost before he was ever elected President”. I’m not even sure that’s true. Maybe he just lost once. Whatever. I was trying to have an IMPORTANT TEACHING MOMENT.

Then I brought it all home with, “Baby, the surest way to lose is to never try”. She looked at me and said, “Okay. Can we play Mario Kart now?”

And so we played Mario Kart for the next thirty minutes or so until she told me she wanted to take a break to practice playing the recorder. She proceeded to play several rounds of Hot Cross Buns while blood started to leak slowly from my ears.

Then she looked at me and said, “I am SO GOOD at this recorder”.

I think she’s going to be just fine.

And just because it makes me laugh, here’s a quick video of Caroline casting her ballot after she gave her speech to her class on Wednesday. Each candidate voted and then her teacher asked them how they felt. Most kids just said a simple “I feel fine”.

No one will ever accuse her of being quiet and shy.
Fish story

I’m not sure who has caught who in this picture.

Caroline told me at one point she was reeling him in and he tried to “make a run for the structure to get away”. She said she pulled her line and told him, “NO SIR. YOU ARE MINE”.

And, apparently, he listened.
It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die

Before I say anything else I just have to thank you all for your kind comments and prayers for Jen. It means the world to me and I really think y’all are the best blog peeps ever.

Also, yesterday was the last giveaway. So as of today we will be resuming our normal daily programming of general mediocrity and all around musings about nothing. And, honestly, I’m glad. It was a nice solution to the whole book writing process but, HERE’S SOME NEWS, I’m finished with the book.

Actually that’s not true. I finished writing the book. And now I have the book back in my possession with kind and gentle editing suggestions that I have to work on at some point. But, still, finish line in sight.

(Oh. I’m actually having a giveaway tomorrow. But it’s for a gift card to buy clothes.)

(So I guess I just meant that I’m finished with the health-related giveaways on a weekly basis.)

You would think I’d learn to be more clear and concise. Especially since last week I read a news headline that I completely misunderstood. The front page of MSN read “Sting Foils Plot to Blow Up Capitol”.

And my first thought was to wonder how on earth Sting has time to write all those songs and thwart dastardly plots. Then I remembered that he used to be part of The Police and thought it was all some sort of covert tie-in to his real occupation while he carried on his front as a musician.

Then, about five minutes later, it dawned on me that the headline was referring to a Sting Operation. Not Sting.

Yes. That makes much more sense.

But isn’t nearly as interesting.

Anyway, Monday was Presidents’ Day. The kids had a school holiday and so Gulley, Stephanie and I took our kids to the rodeo carnival to ride all the rides. It turned out to be a brilliant plan because Steph left her little girl at home and just brought her son. And so we had an even number of kids. Which, for those of you unfamiliar with carnival math, means that the mamas didn’t have to ride any of the rides.

Well, Gulley rode the mouse rollercoaster thing because it required an adult and she took one for the team. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the rides. In fact, I’m a little sad that I can’t ride them anymore. But at some point my equilibrium quit on me and I get so dizzy and disoriented. Which isn’t that different than how I feel when I first get out of bed in the morning, but isn’t necessarily a good feeling while you’re trying to navigate a giant petri dish full of carnival rides and fun houses.

And we did all ride the ferris wheel when we first got there. I can handle the ferris wheel as long as I don’t look down or remember I’m on a big wheel of potential death. Then the kids were ready to move on to bigger and better things like rides called Vertigo.

I was ready to move on to bigger and better things like funnel cakes and corn dogs and gorditas.

So after they’d all ridden enough rides to be sufficiently dizzy and slightly nauseous, we headed over to find all the food and went our separate ways as we each opted for a different culinary treat. Caroline chose a slice of pepperoni pizza because everyone knows that’s typical rodeo food and not weird at all. And after much deliberation, I ended up with a gordita. Gulley went with shrimp on a stick. It seemed like a questionable choice but apparently worked out for her because it’s three days later and she hasn’t died of salmonella.

Fortunately, no one in our group opted for the Hot Beef Sundae. What? You’ve never heard of a hot beef sundae? You mean the concept of a round ball of instant mashed potatoes on a slab of questionable meat covered in gravy and cheese and topped with a cherry tomato hasn’t swept the nation?

Or maybe you know it by its more common name Roast Beef in a Bowl?

I thought there was nothing that could stimulate my gag reflex more than the knowledge that Golden Corral has a chocolate fountain, but this is a close second.

After we rounded our meal out with a funnel cake, we walked around the rodeo grounds and let the kids look at the trucks and make a stop by the petting zoo. And I again rejoiced that Caroline is at an age where she can walk amongst the goats on her own and I can stand on the other side of the fence and wave from a goat-free environment.

Eventually we made our way back to the rides and they rode a few more things. We’d given each kid permission to do one extra thing that cost more money and Caroline decided she wanted to play the carnival game where you shoot a basketball and if you make a basket then you win a stuffed animal.

I tried to convince her to do something else by repeatedly telling her that those things are usually rigged and the basket is too small for the ball or placed at a weird angle. I wanted to prepare her for the inevitable disappointment of not winning so we watched as two teenage girls tried it and missed. And I said, “See? It’s impossible to make it.” But she insisted it was what she wanted to and so I reluctantly handed over the five dollars feeling like it would make more sense to flush it down the toilet.

She gave her money to the carny worker, he handed her the basketball, she bounced it twice and shot.

And she made it.

Thus rendering her mother’s opinions and knowledge totally worthless.

Nice job.

And in exchange for now having full confirmation that her mom does not, in fact, know everything, she won her very own minion.

(I can’t tell you how thankful I am that she chose the minion over the banana dressed like Bob Marley. It would have been too much to bear.)

However, this minion is not so fluffy I could die.

It feels like it has been stuffed with lightweight cement mix. And so you can imagine my joy at having to carry around Zee Minion (That’s what she named him. Apparently he’s French.) the rest of the day. Because I couldn’t really carry him under one arm. I had to walk around with Zee Minion in a bear hug formation for the remainder of the afternoon.

But it could have been worse.

I could have been that guy.

Then Tuesday night I went back to the rodeo with a group of my girlfriends to go see Miranda Lambert. We had the best time and laughed until my face hurt. I think we all forgot that we were mothers with real live responsibilities for at least a few hours which explains why we thought it was a good idea to stay out until 1:00 a.m.

But as I crawled into bed Tuesday night I thought it would be totally worth it to be tired the next day. Until Caroline woke me up at 4:36 a.m. complaining of a sore throat. And I could tell she felt feverish.

So we spent yesterday at the doctor where they confirmed she has strep. Poor thing. I can’t remember the last time she’s felt this bad. I mean, she fell asleep on the couch at 4:00 this afternoon and she hasn’t slept during the daytime since she gave up her pacifier at age three.

My bet is that Zee Minion cost us $5.00, one case of strep, and the co-pay at the urgent care clinic.
Sugar and spice and antlers

Last week Caroline got home from school and P announced that he had a big surprise for her. She was totally excited and maybe even shrieked a little when he gave her the hint that he picked it up at the taxidermist earlier that day.

I think it goes without saying that I was equally excited. My love of items in our home from the taxidermist is well-documented.

And so they disappeared into her bedroom to figure out where they would hang this treasure while I hid in the kitchen and put my head between my knees and tried to pretend like the whole thing wasn’t happening.

Ultimately, I heard the sound of hammer and nails and then Caroline led me into her bedroom to show me the new stunning addition.

Almost nine years ago I ordered those sweet swirly letters with the hot pink bows and my daddy hung them carefully on the wall for me. Then we stood back and admired the sweetness and femininity of the nursery I’d decorated.

And I thought to myself that the only thing missing was the skull of a dead animal mounted on a wooden plaque.

Well, my friends, I’m happy to say that dream has been fulfilled.
And they call the thing rodeo

Well I got to eat a corn dog this weekend. And it was delicious. Even though it was thirty degrees outside at the rodeo and I kind of felt the pressure to eat it before it froze solid.

And then I couldn’t even think about eating a funnel cake because it was just too cold to stand in line. So apparently I will choose not getting frostbite over a funnel cake. Of course later I discovered that they were selling funnel cakes inside the AT&T Center but it just seems wrong to order a funnel cake inside. Everyone knows the real funnel cakes are the ones being sold outside next to the roasted corn and the chicken fried bacon.

That’s right. Chicken fried bacon.

That’s either a new high or a new low.

No one in our group ate it. Mainly because we tried it last year and it was kind of delicious but you can’t help but feeling like you’re eating a heart attack in crispy form.

Anyway, we all went to the rodeo because that is what Gulley’s youngest son, Will, wanted to do for his seventh birthday. And he wanted Caroline and I to have a sleepover at their house. You have to admit that is WAY better than Chuck E. Cheese.

So after Caroline’s basketball game, we got dressed and packed up for our big night on the town and headed to Gulley’s house. But before the rodeo, Will had to open his presents.

He was a little excited.

And then there was a pinata. Because this is San Antonio and a child really can’t turn another year old without beating the heck out of a papier mache object.

It took them 3.2 seconds to destroy that cowboy boot.

Finally it was time to leave for the rodeo. But I wanted to get a few quick pictures of Caroline and the boys.

Poor Caroline. I hope she overcomes her fear of the camera.

And then Will jumped in.

And finally I got Jackson to get in there with Lloyd and Harry.

By the way, this is what they looked like four years ago before we left for the rodeo.

Time. It flies.

Our plan was to walk around the stockyards for a couple of hours before the rodeo began, but we didn’t realize the temperature was going to drop into the vicinity of miserable and I can no longer feel my toes. Even so, we persevered long enough to go through the Wildlife exhibit so the kids could see the vast display of venomous Texas snakes while I made plans to pack my bags and move somewhere that isn’t full of reptiles.

They took their time viewing every single snake for as long as possible but it worked out because there was a man in line in front of them drinking a Corona tallboy who was even more enamored of the snakes than they were. He stopped at every display case and took a long sip of his beer as if pondering each snake thoughtfully.

After the wildlife exhibit we decided it was time to grab some quick rodeo food and get inside. I can’t tell you how happy I was that Caroline decided to order an ice cold lemonade and then ask me to hold it for her. I’m sure I’ll be able to use the fingers on my left hand again someday.

We all sat and ate our various assortment of corn dogs, sausage on a stick, and Texas twister chips while we shivered violently. And in the end we were all finished with our food and waiting on Caroline.

Granted, it takes longer to eat your corn dog when you eat it like it’s corn on the cob.

Finally we went inside and waited for the rodeo to begin. Gulley and I decided to get a glass of wine and learned a valuable lesson. It’s best to not drink wine when the choices you’re given include “red” or white zinfandel. It was akin to drinking grape juice with a splash of vinegar. Of course that’s probably why people in the know drink Corona tallboys at the rodeo.

Then right as the steer roping competition started, someone texted Gulley to let her know Whitney Houston had died. And Gulley and I discussed how weird it is that Madonna is really the only pop icon of our growing up years who’s still alive. Which is probably a big commentary on success and having everything in the world and still not finding real contentment and peace.

I just know that there was a time in 1987 that I played that Whitney cassette in my Honda CRX until the tape broke and no amount of pencil erasers in the world could have helped it.

(If you were born after 1985 you have probably have no idea what I’m talking about. The CD made the cassette obsolete.)

Anyway, the kids had a great time and cheered loudly for all the bull riders and barrel racers and steer ropers. Then it was time for Keith Urban to play and Caroline decided she was tired and ready to go home and spent the last hour sitting on my lap trying to go to sleep in a very loud arena while I wondered if Nicole had made the trip with Keith and if they were going to eat Mexican food after the show.

By the time we got in the car everyone was on the verge of a full meltdown. Will’s tummy didn’t feel good and I feared that if he went down with the carsickness I was going to be right behind him. But he made it and I was spared the horror of repeating my Ecuadorian bus exploits.

Then we all got home, crawled into bed and Caroline announced she could feel that she was on the verge of getting sick and she definitely felt warmer than usual to me. So I worried about her all night, afraid that the flu was on its way.

But then Will popped his head in our room at 9:30 Sunday morning to see what kind of donut she wanted from Shipleys. Caroline yelled, “CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES” and then didn’t even look at me as she hopped out of bed announcing, “EVERYONE’S AWAKE! I’M GETTING UP. PEACE OUT, SUCKER!”

Which I think is a sign that she felt just fine.

And that I thought she felt warm because my hands were still so cold from holding her lemonade.
Sentimental journey

Okay I just feel like I need to say something.

Or write something.

Whatever.

I woke up yesterday morning feeling a little out of sorts. Partly because I had the same headache I’d gone to bed with the night before and partly because we were completely out of bread and I had to fabricate some semblance of a healthy lunch for Caroline without a sandwich option. And partly because sometimes it’s just a woman’s prerogative to be a little moody for no reason.

And then I got a few complaints, comments, etc. about the giveaway post I had up. Some people said they didn’t like the blog anymore because it has just turned into a marketing thing.

Y’all.

I promise I am not trying to indoctrinate anyone into any type of pyramid scheme. There is no Amway bubble bath for sale on my blog. (I’m not saying Amway is a pyramid scheme. I have no idea. Please do not email me if you sell Amway.)

But I’d mentioned at the beginning of January that I was going to be doing a giveaway every Wednesday until the end of February. And no one has to enter or read or anything on Wednesdays. Click away, my friends. CLICK AWAY.

The thing is that I’m under a lot of pressure to get my book finished. And, contrary to what P believes, I do occasionally run out of words. I knew there was going to be no way for me to post five days a week and get the book finished. So when the opportunity came up to review health-related products and give y’all a chance to win them, I figured that was a good solution and better than just writing nothing.

Anyway, I just wanted to state for the record that it’s a temporary thing. So I’m asking for a little grace. I didn’t mean to make anyone feel marketed to. I just thought the giveaways might be fun. And I don’t make one dime (or even a nickel) if you buy the product and have no vested interest in it at all. It was more of a HEY! POTENTIAL FREE STUFF! for my readers thing. And my intention was to do it because I appreciate y’all.

So enough about that.

Let’s talk about what’s going on around here. Because it has been a week chockfull of first world problems. Beginning with Monday when I went to Starbucks and someone was sitting in my chair. I’d never seen this person before and clearly she wasn’t a regular like Susie or David or the rest of my normal crowd. And she was in my chair. I realize she had no idea but it was like my brain short-circuited because I like the velvet chair with the nearby electrical outlet and the round table next to it.

But I sat in a different chair and every time she even shifted I got ready to jump up and reclaim my seat.

This probably explains why I’ve had to keep a thesaurus handy while writing my book so I can find alternate ways to say “neurotic”.

In non-OCD related news, Caroline announced a few weeks ago that she only wants to wear running shorts, t-shirts, and leggings to school. On cold mornings she also wears a zip-up hoodie that she wears zipped all the way up to the top because I think she secretly knows it drives me insane. And so I threatened to sell all her cute clothes that she never wears and she looked at me blankly and said, “Okay”.

Which didn’t do much for my blood pressure.

She also told me that she and her daddy could just shop at Academy from now on.

I don’t know where I’ve gone wrong.

The problem (other than the fact she chooses to dress like an athletic hobo) is she really needs a few new t-shirts to wear with her running shorts. But I think the t-shirts at Gap and Old Navy are kind of lame. And there is no way she’s going to wear a Hello Kitty shirt at this point. So I’d love any suggestions about where to find cute, funky t-shirts for girls.

We did a little shopping after school yesterday because I told her she could get some earrings that dangle. I meant a little stud earring with a very petite heart or something hanging down. Apparently she envisioned enormous peacock feathers hanging from her ears. Because that would really set off that whole running shorts look she has going.

Anyway, we didn’t find anything that I felt was appropriate for an eight-year-old girl and she sighed deeply as we got in the car and said, “Well, I will just have you know that I am REALLY DISAPPOINTED in Charming Charlie’s earring selection.”

But I think what she meant was she was really disappointed that her mother won’t let her wear earrings bigger than her head.

I know those of you with teenagers are going to laugh at me, but I feel like everything is an argument right now. The other night I was helping her with her homework and we were looking at two shapes trying to figure out what they had in common. I explained what parallel lines are and what right angles mean and helped her work out the entire problem. And then she looked at me and said, “Okay, but I’m going to go see what MY DAD says.”

Good. Go see what YOUR DAD says. And tell him Mama is in bed.

But then last night I tucked her into bed and she asked if I’d bring her a few storybooks to read. “Not chapter books, Mama. My old storybooks.” So I brought in several of her Little Golden books. And a few minutes later she came out of the room and walked over to me with tears shining in her eyes and said, “Those books made me kind of sad, Mama. They reminded me of my childhood.”

I resisted the urge to say, “You’re eight. This is your childhood.”

And instead I said, “What do you mean, Love?”

She said, “It just reminds me of the good times when I was really little and you’d read these books to me every night.”

And so I walked back into the room with her, tucked her back in and read one of the little books to her just like I did when she still fit into my lap in the rocking chair.

Because Mama may not know much about math and right angles and the proper size of dangling earrings, but she knows a lot about being sappy and sentimental.