Doodle

Here’s an example of what happens when I’m sick.

I am weak.

And defenseless.

I got out the paints and made her promise not to paint the bottoms of her feet. For some reason she thinks painting the bottoms of her feet is the utmost in artistic expression.

Needless to say, I have learned the hard way that it is a lot of work to clean painted footprints off hardwood floors.

To her credit, she followed my instructions and did not paint her feet.

Tomorrow is a school day. I think that’s for the best.

Many years ago, Gulley worked at Neiman Marcus. During her brief career in the high-end world of fashion and fabulous, she always knew what the newest trends were, and would report back to me.

It was a glorious time.

Unfortunately, it came in my pre-marriage days when my disposable income was approximately a negative number by the end of each month, in spite of the fact that I was living in an apartment where the rent was only $395 month ALL BILLS PAID.

I will tell y’all right now that the thermostat in that apartment was never above 70 degrees. I wore flannel pajamas and drank hot chocolate on the couch year round.

And if that isn’t a testament to the fabulous life I led as a single girl, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I was on a budget. And in spite of working at Neiman’s, so was Gulley. Because retailers don’t actually pay their employees a salary that would allow them to shop at the store.

Especially a store that considers Cole Haan shoes to be a bargain basement item.

It was during this time, over 10 years ago, that Gulley told me about something called a Kate Spade purse. She had saved her money and used her employee discount to purchase the original Kate Spade bag, which you fashionistas out there may recall was essentially a box-shaped bag covered in some type of black microfiber material.

I was green with envy over her fabulous black bag.

I wanted one. I needed one. Who cares that Kate was charging $200 plus dollars for a black canvas purse? I had to have one, even if it meant skipping two or eighteen meals.

However, when a person is making so little money that they live in 492 square feet for the low price of $395 a month ALL BILLS PAID, and a two-piece extra spicy meal from Popeyes counts as a luxury item, designer handbag purchases don’t necessarily make good sense.

Then, one day Gulley was talking to her dad on the phone. Somehow the subject of purses came up and he mentioned that he knew a place where he could purchase a faux Kate Spade.

So we did the only thing two desperate girls in their early twenties could do. We begged and pleaded with him to risk life and limb to get us the counterfeit merchandise.

Here’s the thing about Gulley’s dad. He’s not a halfway kind of guy. If he does something, he’s going to do it ALL OUT and do it with style.

It’s his way.

So, he came to visit bearing two calf-hair, zebra-print Kate Spade bags. One for each of us.

He was like a renegade Santa Claus and we were understandably thrilled.

Gulley and I carried those purses for at least a year or two. It made every day better just knowing that the zebra-print goodness was a part of my life.

However, styles come and go. Eventually we knew it was time to retire the old girls.

I’m not sure where mine is now. As I have shown, I have a merciless tendency to get rid of anything and everything. I can’t imagine I threw it out, so it may be in a box in the attic serving as a bed to a wayward squirrel.

Because if there is anything living in our attic, it is only a squirrel. Not a mouse. Definitely not a mouse. And certainly not the larger cousin of the mouse, also known as a rat.

Yesterday, Gulley came over bearing her Kate Spade zebra-print bag. She gave it to Caroline. I like to think of it as a symbolic gesture. The passing of the fashion torch.

Caroline took one look at it and said, “OH MAMA! This is a GROWN UP BAG. This is a beautiful, GROWN UP BAG. Thank you, Guwwey, thank you!”

I’ve never been more proud than I was at that moment.

She gets it. She understands fabulous.

September in South Texas means one thing around this house…well, two things.

1. It’s time for some dove hunting.

2. It’s time for me to complain about how hot it is and ask repeatedly if it’s always this hot in September.

Anyway, P took Caroline on her first dove hunt a few days ago because we learn ’em young around here.

She loved every minute of it and had no idea that a successful dove hunt usually means shooting a limit of 15 birds.

They pulled into the driveway and she came running up the sidewalk yelling, “WE GOT ONE, MAMA! WE GOT ONE!!”

She was so proud.

And so was I.

That’s my baby holding a headless bird.

It’s a moment I’ll always treasure.

Well my goodness, y’all know how to make a girl feel good. From now on I’m going to put up a picture of myself once a week. Of course, it only took me about 153 tries to take one that I’d actually put up in the first place, so finding one to put up once a week should only take an extra 6-7 hours out of my day.

Here’s one of my less than successful attempts.

And here’s another one.

I am a whiz at the photography.

This weekend was the scene of a little experiment here at the house of Big Mama. We’ve had problems getting Caroline to stay in her own bed. (And by we, I mean me. P is usually sleeping blissfully, completely unaware of all the nighttime theatrics being performed in the very next room) She calls me in her room around 2 a.m. every night and plays on my emotions by telling me “I’m just so lonely in here by myself. I need someone to cuddle with me.”

And I am a big sucker and think, oh bless this baby’s heart. She’s all alone. She’s going to end up needing extensive therapy and it will be all my fault because I forgot to have another child.

So, I let her come in my bed and kick me in the kidneys for the rest of the night. There is nothing like waking up with a 4 year old plastered to your torso to make you feel fresh as a daisy for the long day ahead.

Anyway, it’s created major guilt because I can’t help but think if she had a sibling, she would have someone to share a room with and wouldn’t feel lonely at 2 a.m. The problem is even if, hypothetically speaking, I conceived a child tomorrow, it would be a good 3 years before they could successfully share a room.

That’s called delayed gratification.

I talked to Boomama the other day and she mentioned that one of their dogs has slept with Alex for the past week. Now, when he wakes up in the middle of the night, she just reminds him of the dog’s presence, and he goes back to sleep.

It’s a much easier solution than having another child. Plus, we don’t have to worry about paying for the dog’s college tuition or listening to him whine about “how everyone else has a new car” when he turns 16.

So, during halftime of the Aggie game on Saturday (I can’t really even talk about my feelings on the game because this is a family friendly blog and the game made me want to say a few words that are stronger than DANG) Caroline and I went outside and gave Scout and Bruiser a bath. I told her if she woke up in the middle of the night and felt lonely, I’d let Scout come inside and sleep in her room.

Bruiser will remain outside because Bruiser is aware that he is just a dog. Scout is of the firm belief that he is, in fact, a person and should be treated as such. Part of this could be due to the fact that we got Scout in our pre-child days and he was the first dog I’d ever owned.

I may have sung him lullabies.

We definitely paid for him to have open heart surgery when he was just 8 weeks old because HE WAS MY BABY and I’VE NEVER LOVED ANYTHING MORE. And we also have an entire photo album filled solely with pictures of Scout.

And I cried the first day I had to go to work after we brought him home.

Drama.

Of course, after Caroline’s birth, Scout became more like a dog as opposed to the crown prince of the Big Mama and P estate.

Sure enough, around 2 a.m. on Saturday night, Caroline woke up. I let Scout in the house and he immediately jumped up on her bed and curled himself into a ball. I’m not kidding when I say he let out a long sigh as if to say FINALLY, back where I belong.

I tucked them both in and headed back to my room while marveling at my brilliance. I couldn’t wait to call Boo and tell her of my astounding success.

About 30 minutes later I woke up to “MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!” I went in her room to find Scout still curled up, sound asleep. Caroline was wide awake.

“I want to go in your bed.”

“Well, baby, Scout’s in here with you.”

“Scout smells. I think he has toots. I want to get in your bed.”

For the record, I am weak and tired at 2:30 a.m., so I let her get in our bed. However, I felt bad for Scout because he looked so comfortable, so I left him sleeping in her bed.

Let’s get this straight. There are 3 people crammed into our king-size bed, while the dog has his very own twin bed all to himself.

He slept the sleep of angels, while I slept with a 34 pound weight on my right arm.

Needless to say, Scout was the only winner on Saturday night.

I am a big fool.