Doodle

Caroline spent the night with Mimi and Bops last night and then they got up this morning to head to the driving range to practice her golf swing.

Because, like I said, she’s obsessed.

After they spent an hour or so practicing her budding golf skills, they left to grab lunch and then bring her home.

However, she told them she wanted to go back to their house instead of coming home because there are too many rules at her house.

“They have too many rules and always tell me things like I can’t have any more candy.”

So, basically, it’s like prison.

Just wait until she turns thirteen and we make her wear an orange jumpsuit and pick up trash on the side of the highway.

Mimi and Bops showed up with a little surprise for Caroline yesterday and in one fail swoop have created a new obsession.

This is my side of the family’s idea of an outdoor activity.

And it appears that she has inherited some genetic golf prowess from Bops.

And inherited fashion intuition in any situation from me.

Check out the socks.

She was clearly born for the golf course.

Our weekend was full of nonstop activity and, as a result, Caroline didn’t get anywhere near the amount of sleep she requires to maintain her sunny disposition. But, because she has the energy level of a hamster on steroids fueled by a pure diet of sugar, she didn’t really crash until yesterday.

She woke up around 8:00 a.m. yesterday morning and then was content to just snuggle up in my bed and watch T.V. for the next hour and a half. I kept checking her forehead for fever because, while I have heard of children who are content to just rest and relax, I have rarely experienced it firsthand without some type of virus being involved. I just knew she was about to throw up in my bed, because I always look for the bright side of any situation.

But it never happened. No fever, no throw up, no phantom virus. Just rest and relaxation.

I did not see that coming.

So we stayed in our pajamas until 2:00 p.m. I kid you not. It was fabulous. And we watched “101 Dalmations”, “Monsters Inc.”, a few “Charlie and Lolas”, and “Tom and Jerry”.

Here’s the downside to a day full of watching television with a four-year-old. She is a sucker for the commercials. It started off with asking if she could have the My Little Pony Teapot Palace (which she already owns by the way) because “LOOK AT IT MAMA! IT’S BEAUTIFUL!”. Then as the day progressed she asked for Lelli Kelly tennis shoes with “ALL THE SPARKLIES!” and Furberry Friends because “THEY’RE SO CUTE!”.

We had to have a discussion about why she will never own any Bratz Dolls and what the word “trashy” means. She informed me that they were not trashy, but were “FASHION!”.

Heaven help me.

Now I’m going to have to take her shopping at Lilly Pulitzer just to infuse some All-American fashion goodness and modesty into her brain.

So, it was inevitable that by noon she was begging for those vacuum-sealed storage bags. You know what I’m talking about? The ones where you can put an entire bedspread, three king-size pillows and a set of pots and pans in a bag, suck out the excess air with a vacuum, and shrink it down to the size of a pea. What child wouldn’t want one of those? How on earth will her childhood be complete without the ability to store things in such an efficient manner?

Between the storage bags and the Bratz dolls, I’m afraid I’m raising a child who may aspire to be a tawdry Martha Stewart.

I told her we didn’t need them and she looked right at me and said, “But Mama! You can buy them on T.V. for only $19.95!”

Awww, my little baby is learning about capitalism. They grow up so fast.

Last night, right before I put her to bed, she put her little hand on my face and looked at me for a long time. Finally she said, “Mama, you can get some lotion for your face that will help it not be all spotty like it is now. It’s only $29.95.”

The T.V. will remain off all day tomorrow.

Caroline and I were lying in my bed, watching 101 Dalmations and just resting after a busy morning full of church, Easter egg hunts and too many chocolate eggs.

“Mama, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Baby, everything’s closed today.”

“But I want to do something fun. Can we go bowling?”

“No, the bowling alleys are closed.”

“Can I go to the park?”

“No, it’s Easter. We’ve had a busy morning and now it’s just time to relax. That’s what you do on Easter.”

“Can we go to another town where they don’t celebrate Easter?”

I’ve had some memorable Spring Breaks in my time. And I realize that statement makes me sound a little like Ma Kettle fixin’ to get to reminiscin’.

In high school, everyone would drive down to the picturesque Crystal Beach, located about 45 minutes out of scenic Beaumont, Texas, to spend the week at various beach houses. We’d spend the day playing in the water and the nights trying to get the tar out of our swimsuits.

In fact, I believe it was Spring Break of my junior year that I almost met my untimely demise while seeing how far we could drive Corby Crawford’s brand new Ford Mustang GT into the surf.

As it turned out, not as far as we thought.

Then in college, I spent most of my Spring Breaks lying by a pool with friends soaking up the sun. We would stay there all day, leaving only to run to 7-11 to pick up a 64 oz. Dr. Pepper Big Gulp or perhaps some Popeye’s Fried Chicken.

Because what is the point of being twenty if you can’t eat fried foods and consume mass quantities of carbonated beverages while sitting poolside in a bikini?

After graduation, I became a reluctant member of the real world. And here’s something no one told me, there is no Spring Break.

If I’d had prior knowledge of this piece of news, I would still currently be in school working on my doctorate. I’d also be up to my ears in student loan debt because no way would my daddy have funded any more years of mediocre grades and above average social life.

When P and I began dating, he was on staff with Youth for Christ. Thus began eight years of Spring Breaks spent chaperoning 75-100 high school students on ski trips to Durango, Colorado. Ski trips that required me to take precious vacation time from my real job. Ski trips that did not involve air travel, but rather a bus ride to Colorado.

From South Texas.

If this doesn’t serve as confirmation for how completely head over heels I am for P, then I don’t know what does.

I don’t ski. I mean, technically, I can ski. I just don’t like it. All that riding up to the tops of mountains and then hurling your body down at full speed just seems foolhardy. Plus, I couldn’t ever figure out how to read the maps and would invariably end up on some Black Diamond slope wailing, bargaining with God, and trying to just slide down on my bottom.

Which is why I had to be retrieved by Ski Patrol on more than one occasion.

And why P will never ski with me again.

More importantly, I don’t do seventeen hour bus trips. Or really any bus trip for that matter.

But I did both every year up until the year I was pregnant with Caroline. Actually that’s not completely true. I rode on the bus every year, but on the last trip I chose to forgo skiing for spending time at the ski resort’s day spa.

I’m not sure about the kids, but I’ve never felt closer to God than I did during those two days at the spa.

Anyway, the last year the Campus Life ski trip existed, P took a busload of kids with just one other adult leader. I’ll never forget that year because a terrible blizzard hit right as they were heading home and I was so worried that I’d see the Daisy Tour Line bus on CNN News with a crawl that said “SPRING BREAK SKI TRAGEDY”. Because I am always calm and rational. And the pregnancy hormones didn’t help.

So, this past Friday, around 6:00 p.m., I said to P, “Just think, this used to be the time we’d be counting heads, getting kids on the bus and listening to them all throw fits about who gets what seat. Does it make you wish we were there?”

He said, “Just the thought makes me feel like I might throw up.”

And at that moment we were of one mind. One heart.

My point is that in all those years of Spring Break trips and leisure time, I never dreamed that a day would come where my Spring Break could be summed up by this photo.

Shoe department at Target. Bunny ears. $1.00 bag of popcorn. Child with unbrushed hair. Riding in the basket.

Oh, and that $1.00 for the popcorn also came with a medium Diet Coke because Target is running a Spring Break Snack Special for all the lame moms out there who take their child to Target for Spring Break.

Sweetie, we can always do the Cinderella breakfast at Disneyland, but how often can you buy a bag of popcorn and a MEDIUM Diet Coke for $1.00? Not very often in today’s precarious economic environment.

Close your eyes, hold on tight, and Mama will take this corner fast around the Crockpot aisle. It’s just like an amusement park.

We’re creating precious memories.