Doodle

I dropped Caroline off at school yesterday morning and came straight home. I was a woman on a mission. A mission to clean my entire house. ALL AT ONCE.

It has almost been a year ago that I became officially unemployed by the pharmaceutical industry. With that decision came a few changes. No phenomenal health insurance. No bi-weekly direct deposits into the checking account. No 401K program. And, most importantly, no housekeeper.

I’d like to say that I was most concerned about no longer contributing to a retirement plan and thus, leaving my financial future up in the air. But the truth is what I was most afraid of was having to clean my own house. Clearly, my priorities are in order.

And since that time, I have risen to the challenge. We have managed to live in a relatively clean house. I have become acquainted with Soft Scrub cleanser and the miraculous hard-water-deposit-eliminating power of vinegar. I mean it’s not like I had never cleaned a house before, I had just never cleaned a house with a child constantly underfoot.

I may not be that bright but I understand that Small Child + Deadly Cleaning Chemicals = bad combination.

All summer long I kept saying that once Caroline went back to school I was going to clean the entire house. But then school started and I found better uses of my time such as looking for funky, retro shoes at Target or staring in the mirror trying to figure out what is going on with my complexion. See? PRIORITIES.

But finally, I could stand it no longer. I mean the house had been clean, but I never made the time commitment to have it all clean at the same time. I’d clean a bathroom and vacuum the living room one day. And then I’d dust the dining room and clean the kitchen windows on another day and by then the bathroom would be dirty again and the living room rug would once again be covered in unknown crumbly substances ranging from Chex Mix to ground up Crayons.

So, with the fervor that can only be achieved by a woman high on LimeAway fumes, I scrubbed, I scoured, I vacuumed and I dusted. I even used a toothbrush to clean hard to reach areas. I moved rugs and cleaned underneath them, and, interestingly enough, found an old SweetTart under the living room rug that had to have been there for the better part of four years.

Unless there are small elves that burrow under our living room rug at night to enjoy a snack of SweetTarts. Which is probably the more likely scenario.

It took me all day and by the time I was done it was time to go pick up Caroline. We went to HEB for a few quick grocery type items and then came home.

Since I was hosting Bible Study, I decided I should bake something and Caroline wanted to help. I hated to defile my pristine kitchen, but I thought we could manage to bake with minimal mess. As we poured the two cups of flour into the bowl, I told Caroline, “Don’t touch the flour. Don’t stir it. Just leave it alone.”

I turned to pour the brown sugar and butter into the mixer, then turned back around in time to see Caroline put her face right over the bowl of flour and BLOW as hard as she could.

Yes, she did.

And, literally, my clean kitchen went up in a puff of smoke.

However, in the spirit of turning my misfortune into something bright and happy and shiny, later today I’ll post the recipe for the Chocolate Chip Brownies we finally made after we survived The Flour Fiasco of ’08, also known as That Time I Almost Lost My Mind. While the mental breakdown wasn’t so great, the brownies were delicious.

Guess what we did Tuesday night?

We went to the rodeo. Again.

And what can I say about the rodeo that hasn’t already been said? I’ll be completely honest.

Not a lot.

It feels a little bit like Go Western Week here at Big Mama, which if you’re not from Texas probably means nothing to you. But when I was growing up in Houston, we always had Go Western Week at our elementary school. Everyone would wear their best cowboy or cowgirl clothes and the highlight was an art contest.

I have no idea what the prize was for the art contest, but I remember entering it every year in hopes of winning. This was back before I came to terms with my lack of craft abilities. As a third grader I didn’t realize I was artistically challenged and just because I could conceptualize how cool it would look to make a ranch fence out of old popsicle sticks and use leftover Easter grass to simulate the rolling prairies, didn’t mean it would actually translate to my 11 x 16 poster board.

And even though Sheila Barker, who was completely obsessed with all things equine, had personally taught me how to draw a horse, didn’t mean I could actually draw a decent looking horse. You know, a horse that looked like a horse, as opposed to a big, brown dinosaur with an abnormally large head who was roaming through fields of Easter grass and towered above his popsicle stick enclosed pasture.

I can’t even talk about the year I thought it would be a good idea to use real yarn for his mane and tail.

So, now that I think about it, this isn’t really like Go Western Week at all because there will be no crafts. However, there has been much Western activity in these here parts.

Last night, we all got ready to head to the rodeo. Caroline has developed a deep love and appreciation for barrel-racing and couldn’t wait to go see those cowgirls ride their horses. Here she is waiting for our friends to come pick us up.

Not that she was anxious or anything.

And by the way, she tucked her jeans into her boots all by herself. I am so proud of her innate fashion sensibilities. I think she’s fashionally gifted.

Here she is after she asked if she could go wait in the backyard and I told her yes, as long as she didn’t get dirty.

So she decided to dig in the flower beds with a shovel because everyone knows that won’t get you dirty at all. Of course, other than her mother being anal, why did it matter if she got dirty? We were going to an arena filled with horses and horse poop.

And y’all don’t even want to know about the smell coming from the goat pens.

Here are my people right before we headed out the door.

I’m not entirely sure, but I think she may think her daddy hung the moon.

Rumor has it there was a time in P’s life where he always wore Wranglers and cowboy hats. And sometimes even spurs. I didn’t know him during this time so I can’t confirm the rumors, but I do have to say the hat agrees with him.

We got to the stockyards a little late, so we had to prioritize our activities to make sure we got to the arena before the rodeo started.

Priority #1 for the adults: Corndogs and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Because, hello, food.

Priority #1 for the kids: Pony rides.

Guess what we did?

And then we got corndogs. Oh my word, they were like heaven on a stick. There is something about a rodeo corndog that cannot be replicated by lesser corndog establishments. The batter is perfection.

Perfection.

Speaking of perfection, Caroline had herself some cotton candy. In her opinion it is the perfect food.

Especially when topped off with a lemon.

This created a substance similar to super glue all over her face that defied the powers of several wet paper towels. I’m hoping it will come off by the time she graduates from high school.

After watching all the rodeo festivities, we were tired and it was time to head home. But we made great memories.

And tomorrow, we’re going to go pick up crafty-type materials to make homemade Valentine’s Day cards. While we’re there I may pick up some popsicle sticks, poster board, and Easter grass to create an entire rodeo re-enactment.

Complete with horses that look like dinosaurs.

Last week, Caroline and I went shopping to buy her some new cowboy boots, or as she kept reminding me cowGIRL boots. It is rodeo time, and according to Texas state law all children attending the rodeo must have boots. And big cowboy hats.

As we drove home I said, “Man, those pink boots sure are going to make the rodeo special!”

“Mama, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about our friends, and the cowboys, and God.”

It’s like the holy Texas trinity.

On Saturday we went to the rodeo with Gulley and her family. The plan was to meet Gulley at her house at 11:30 that morning, which was no problem for us because Caroline had her new boots on as soon as she got out of bed at 7:15 a.m. Fortunately, I convinced her to crawl in bed with me, boots and all, and watch “Dora the Explorer” for about 45 more minutes. It would have been a lovely, leisurely way to spend the morning other than having a cowgirl boot continually wedged between my neck and shoulder while being grilled about “What time are we leaving? Is it time yet? Can we go now?”

Eventually, it was finally time to go so I loaded up Nicole Richie and we headed to Gulley’s.

She looked fierce.

But remember, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.

On the way to Gulley’s, I said, “When the rodeo starts we can yell YEE-HAW and RIDE ‘EM COWBOY and WHOO-HOO!”

She said, “Mama, please don’t say any of that.”

I have a feeling her adolescent years are going to be chockfull of times where she is completely mortified by my behavior.

Caroline and Jackson were so happy to be together and on their way to the rodeo.

The experience of trying to get them all in a picture was not unlike herding a group of rabid cats.

We finally made it down to the AT&T center where we were greeted with the sweet, sweet smell of a place that has large quantities of livestock in one location. Since it was almost time for the rodeo to start, we didn’t have time to walk around the stockyards so we went right inside. I bought Caroline and I each a $5.00 hot dog and a $4.00 bottle of water. It was $18.00 plus tax that was well spent, especially because there was absolutely no price gouging going on.

In fact, the hot dog was a bargain compared to the coin we shelled out on cotton candy. But obviously cotton candy has to be expensive because it’s air and sugar. The price of air is sky-high right now.

But those smiles almost made it totally worth it.

Almost.

We sat back and watched the fireworks, the bull-riding, the barrel-racing and the rodeo clowns. The kids clapped and cheered. Caroline might have even yelled a few “Yee-Haws!” after she got in the spirit of the event. I know I did because I like to be authentic.

Look y’all. Pictures of bulls and rodeo stuff.

And confirmation that I am not a photographer in spite of the fabulous picture I took of Caroline’s face in the bubble bath. A picture that, by the way, I will have blown up and framed to serve as proof of that one time I took a good picture.

Alan Jackson performed and if he had been any more laidback, he would have been asleep. Speaking of sleep, that’s what Gulley’s boys did. They fell asleep. At the rodeo.

Guess who didn’t fall asleep?

Guess who kept asking when it was going to be over and kept begging to go ride the ponies?

I finally told Gulley that we’d ride the ponies after the show was over but could she please be quiet so I could hear Alan Jackson sing.

After his performance we went out to the stockyards.

Caroline was so excited to see the Pillsbury Doughboy. After all the cookie dough we’ve eaten in this house, it was like seeing an old, familiar friend.

Finally, it was time for the pony rides.

And we’re doing it all over again tomorrow night.

But this time I’m eating a corn dog and a funnel cake.

Because the rodeo isn’t about new pink boots. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.

And what can make you feel closer to God than dough that’s been deep-fried and covered in powdered sugar?