Doodle

Yesterday morning I woke Caroline up.

That statement alone is something I never thought I’d say.

Anyway, I woke her up with a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “Wake up, baby. Today is Kindergarten!” She immediately sat straight up and yelled, “IT’S GOING TO BE A GREAT DAY!”

I just wish she’d been more excited.

I made her some eggs for breakfast even though I knew I was scrambling chicken embryos in vain because she’d never actually eat them. But it made me feel better to make the effort because it seemed like a first day of Kindergarten thing to do.

After pushing around some eggs on a plate, she ran to get dressed. We pulled her hair back and packed her little school bag. All the while, I managed to hold it together.

Right before we walked out the door, we conducted a marathon photo session.

I tried to shoot some video in the car on the way to school, but she shut me down. Apparently, she needed to “concentrate”.

As we walked into the school, hand in hand, I felt my eyes start to fill with tears. Just about that time, she dropped my hand and said, “I know where to go”.

So P and I just followed.

Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever been so proud of someone.

I also don’t know if I’ve ever felt as strongly that my heart was on the outside of my body.

When we arrived at the classroom, her teacher asked if she’d brought her lunch and Caroline informed her she’d be buying her lunch. The teacher said she could choose between chicken nuggets or a turkey sandwich.

Caroline said, “Meatloaf”.

Because isn’t that what every kid wants?

In the end, she chose the turkey sandwich.

P and I hugged and kissed her goodbye, then walked out of the school and back to the car. We prayed for her and that’s when the tears began to fall. I knew I was on the verge of a full on ugly cry.

But look!

I went to the baby store and bought a new baby!

Oh I kid.

Some of our dear friends lost their grandmother last week and they called me to ask if I could watch their twin girls on Monday morning while they went to the funeral. I had to think about it for a moment because if I kept the girls that would interfere with my original plan of sitting on my bed with a bowl of M&M’s, crying and watching old videos of Caroline.

I think I made the right choice.

Although I will say it is dangerous hormonal territory to drop your only child off at Kindergarten and then go spend four hours with some precious, squishy babies.

It was finally time to pick Caroline up and after navigating the seventh circle of carpool hell, I finally saw my girl. Her smile couldn’t have been bigger. As we drove away, I asked, “How was your day?”

“IT WAS GREAT! I’M GOING AGAIN TOMORROW!”

So I think she liked it.

Apparently she had a very full day playing with new friends whose names she can’t recall, eating a “THE MOST DELICIOUS” turkey sandwich (doubtful) in the cafeteria, and going to “P.E.R.” in the gym which is “BIGGER THAN OUR HOUSE!”

Right before bed last night, she was telling me more about her day. She said, “I saw my friend Catherine in the cafeteria today!”

I asked, “Did you say hi?”

“Yes, I said hi! And then I learned you’re not allowed to yell across the cafeteria.”

God bless her teacher.

I promise I will have a recap of the weekend at some point, but I am sleep-deprived and feel certain illness coming on due to all the no sleeping. It’s not easy spending a whole weekend hyped up on a cocktail of hormones, steroids and emotion.

Plus, underlying everything for the last 48 hours has been the fact that Caroline starts Kindergarten today.

This video will show you why I’m so emotional about it. She’s just so shy and demure.

God bless her, I hope she makes friends.

Untitled from Big Mama on Vimeo.

I especially love the part where she tells me she’s going to “bring her lunch, yo”.

Apparently, the approach of Kindergarten brings out your street side.

She’s just keepin’ it real.

Look who’s decided to come out of early retirement.

There were some who believed she was all washed up after I had to drag her to the last two months of classes the year she was three years old because we’d already shelled out money for her to participate in the recital.

We only survived that time by the grace of God and lots of bribery in the form of after class dinners at McDonalds.

But she’s assured me she’s older and wiser. She’s in the best shape of her life and is ready to go back into the dance arena.

She is the Brett Favre of Beginner Tap and Ballet.

So I signed her up for fall classes this year, but I am also older and wiser. When they asked if I’d like to go ahead and pay the recital fee, I politely declined.

I’ll pay that bad boy the day it is officially due and not a moment sooner.

Either this will be our year of dance excellence or I’ll be auctioning off several pink leotards, a pair of slightly used tap shoes, ballet slippers and a handy carrying case that says, “DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!”

There is still a part of me that thinks by October she may just want to “QUIT! QUIT! QUIT!”

On Sunday, we celebrated Caroline’s birthday by going out to breakfast and letting her order Happy Face Pancakes because everyone knows that what pancakes covered in syrup really need are about eight dollops of whipped cream. You can’t neglect the dairy portion of the food pyramid.

The rest of the day was spent dressing and undressing various Barbie dolls in a vast array of wardrobe selections. Caroline would struggle to get a pair of tight pants on Bikini Beach Barbie (heaven knows she hasn’t worn pants in years) as I sat on the couch and did my best Tim Gunn impression calling out “Make it work”.

That evening we had Mimi and Bops over for dinner and I baked a lemon cake so that Caroline would be able to blow out some candles on her actual birthday. As she ate the cake she kept saying, “Oh, this is really a delicious recipe.”

So, I’m not sure if she turned five or eighty-five.

(By the way, that’s not a beer in the koozie. It’s Minute Maid Pink Lemonade. No beer drinking until she’s six.)

Then, yesterday, we had a pool party. Bless her heart, she’s like her mama and has an August birthday. When you live in Texas that means you are required by law to have a pool party. It’s either that or invite guests over to sit on blocks of ice.

Anything else is inhumane.

I knew we had to make a decision regarding Gigante, the loveable unicorn pinata. Was he going to get a stay of execution or was he headed to the recycling bin on Wednesday?

I called Caroline into the kitchen and asked what she wanted to do. She showed no mercy. Gigante was going down.

So she stood there as I dissected him from the top to fill him with assorted candy. We stuffed his belly full of Nerds and Dum-Dum suckers and taped him back up.

When I tried to move him closer to the back door, I realized he now weighed approximately seventy-eight pounds. I lifted a silent prayer to heaven that the rope would hold him because nothing ruins a party mood faster than a gigantic unicorn hurtling to the earth and frightening small children.

P came home to help me get everything ready for the party and I told him that Gigante was pretty solid. In fact, I was worried that the kids might not be able to break him open despite repeated beatings. So P took a butcher knife and stabbed Gigante a few times in the chest just to weaken him a little bit.

It was just like that scene in “Gladiator” when Joaquin Phoenix stabs Russell Crowe with that knife before they go out into the Colosseum to ensure that he wins the fight.

Except we were going to the pool.

And it wasn’t really that dramatic.

The party started, the kids swam and then it was time for birthday cake.

After everyone was all hyped up on sugar and food coloring, it was time to let them unleash some energy on the pinata.

Despite P helping our odds for a quick demise, Gigante hung in there.

Literally.

In fact, my twelve-year-old nephew finally had to step in and finish the job.

And even then, this is what he looked like.

All he lost was an appendage. Fortunately, the candy came falling out anyway.

But once P lowered him to the ground, the birthday girl got a hold of him.

We’re thinking about hanging him on the wall next to P’s ten-point buck.

Dear Caroline,

Every time I looked at the clock yesterday, I thought about where I was five years ago.

I remember every moment of that day more vividly than any other day of my life. Waking up with what I thought was a stomach bug and realizing it was actually contractions, calling the doctor to ask when I should go to the hospital, frantically unpacking box after box in the kitchen because the countertops had just been installed the day before, Daddy driving me to the hospital, and Nurse Louise.

Nurse Louise is the reason I almost experienced natural childbirth despite the fact that my birth plan clearly stated I wanted an epidural sometime around my seventh month of pregnancy.

I finally got my epidural around 1:00 a.m. on August 3 when I was ten centimeters dilated. I felt immediate relief and called for my lipgloss.

You come by your love of any type of lipgloss honestly.

At 2:24 a.m. you made your grand entrance into the world the same way you’ve lived every day for the last five years; on your own timetable, tiny yet feisty, and wide-eyed as you took in everything around you.

Five years ago today, my heart was so full of love for you that it almost seemed too much to bear. I had no idea how much more I would grow to love you as I watched you turn into a unique little person.

Yesterday morning, we sat out on the back porch and I blew bubbles so that you could run around and pop them. We’ve done this for the last four years, but it seemed especially poignant to me at that moment. As you ran around, I asked you what you thought was going to be the best part of being five.

You looked right at me, like you weren’t sure how anyone could be so dense, and said, “BEING FIVE!”

And then you told me that my breath smelled like the circus.

I’d like to think it was a compliment, but since we were just at the circus a month ago, I feel pretty certain it was not meant as a positive thing.

This past year, you have turned into a true little girl right before my eyes. Yes, you’ve grown about four inches taller, but it’s also the way you act, the way you think, and the things you say.

The other morning I opened my eyes to see you staring at me with a big smile on your face. You said, “What’s on our AGENDA today, Mama? Do you know what an AGENDA is? It’s a list of things to do.”

I assured you that I knew what an agenda was, but Mama was going to need some caffeine before I could provide an itinerary for the day. You can’t help that you’re a morning person, it’s a genetic trait you inherited from Daddy.

You’ve reached the point I had long dreamed about and actually enjoy going shopping with me. I hear so much of myself as you pull out a skirt from the rack at Gap, give it the once over, and murmur to yourself, “I’m not too crazy about this” while you shake your head.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

Five seems like the end of an era. Maybe it’s because I know that in just three short weeks, I’ll walk you into your Kindergarten classroom.

That walk down the hallway will be the first of many steps that will lead you into your own world.

And you’re ready. You are more than ready.

Daddy and I have prayed so many things for you since before you were born and, true to form, God has done more than we could have asked or imagined. You are a light in this world, not just to us, but to everyone who meets you.

You are our bright star and we’ll be cheering you on every step of the way.

Last night as I tucked you in bed, I gave you a kiss and said, “Just think, that’s Mama’s last four-year-old kiss!”

You put your little hands on either side of my face, pulled me back down to you, kissed me softly on the cheek and said, “That’s a four-year-old kiss that you can keep forever, Mama”.

And I will. I’ll keep it forever.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Love,
Mama