Doodle

  • At the end of the day

    On Monday, when I realized I still didn’t feel fit to live and was sure the end was near, I called Mimi and essentially threw myself on her mercy and pleaded with her to take Caroline for the night. She is lucky I called first because a part of me just wanted to pack Caroline’s little bag and show up at her door so we could look extra desperate and pitiful.

    I live for the drama.

    Anyway, she was more than happy to do it and I was more than grateful. I came home, took a hot bath, put on my pajamas and got in bed. It was 5:30.

    Had I not felt so sick, it would have been lovely. But even so, it was pretty nice and I woke up this morning feeling like a new person ready to face the world and solid foods again. Except for crispy beef tacos. They are dead to me.

    Mimi brought Caroline home around 10:00 a.m. and when I asked what time Caroline had woken up that morning she told me that I didn’t want to know. Seeing as how I knew Bops had left for the airport around 4:45 a.m., I had a pretty good idea. Needless to say, my girl was tired.

    We made a much needed trip to the grocery store and then I told her she had to take a nap in her room as opposed to just resting in my bed, otherwise known as letting the television entertain my child so that Mama can take some deep breaths and recover from the morning and enjoy the quietness of the quiet.

    She fought me for all of 5 minutes, which means she was about to fall asleep standing up with her lunch hanging out of her mouth. Pretty soon, it was quiet from her room and I knew she must be sound asleep, because if she weren’t, she would be coming out at 3 minute intervals to inform me of all the sounds she was hearing, or all the things she might need in her bed, or that she wasn’t tired AT ALL.

    After a 2 hour nap, she woke up and we had a wonderful afternoon. We had snacks, we looked for caterpillars, we practiced letters, played games, and then it was time for me to start getting dinner ready. She asked if she could help me cook and I said sure. She pulled up a stool and I started measuring out spices for her to dump in a bowl. While she was pouring, she stopped, put her arm around my neck, and said, “Oh Mama, we are the bestest buddies!”

    I don’t mean to sound like a total sap (too late!) but I got so teary. It seems like this year of being 3 has been tough on both of us. She is so independent, so headstrong, so determined to fight me on everything, but in that moment we were bestest buddies and it made me feel like at the end of the day I must be doing something right. It made me remember how much it means to her when I let go of my OCD tendencies and let her help me do things, and convicted me that I need to do it more often.

    After dinner was ready, she helped me set the table and then we all sat down in the dining room as a family, which we hardly ever do, because she usually goes to bed so early due to the non-napping. She was so excited and seemed so big to me as she blessed our food and chatted away at the dinner table about who she likes to hug at school and who she doesn’t like to hug. Then in mid-sentence, she stopped, looked up, and said, “Oh Mama! We have VERY sparkly lights in here! Are these new?”

    And it reminded me that so much is still new to her, even simple things like the way the chandelier lights look in the dining room after dark. I don’t want to be so busy getting through these days that I don’t stop to appreciate all the magic they hold for both of us.

    She has a measuring stick hanging on the wall in her room and her new favorite thing is for me to measure her “ON THAT SCALE, MAMA!”. At least once a day we have to go in there to see if she’s gotten any bigger and in the last week, she hasn’t.

    But it’s just a matter of time.

  • The end of what has been a brilliant career

    Well, it’s all over. Just like Baryshinokov, another brilliant dance career is finished. My Mother’s Day beating is done.

    I started the weekend by cleaning out my refrigerator and freezer on Saturday morning. I don’t mean just throwing out some bad leftovers, I mean taking out each shelf and scrubbing it down from top to bottom. I figured while I was signing up for beatings for the weekend, I might as well throw in all the things I dread the most.

    I am embarrassed to even tell y’all how gross my refrigerator was. It looked like a science experiment gone bad. I had spilled coffee grounds on the bottom of my freezer that were stuck to a substance that I couldn’t even identify. I have been living in freezer denial for a long time, not wanting to face the freezer yuckness head on, but I knew it was time to pay the freezer piper, or whatever.

    I didn’t take before photos because I knew y’all would judge me. You say you wouldn’t, but you would. YOU WOULD. It’s okay. I’d judge me, too.

    The refrigerator

    The freezer

    Please note the cleanliness. Also note the two major food groups: Tater Tots and Velveeta

    An organic, all natural diet is of utmost importance around here.

    After spending the better part of the day cleaning the fridge, it was time for the dress rehearsal for Caroline’s recital. Nevermind that some good friends had invited us to spend a relaxing day at the lake, I had to get Caroline all dressed and made up so that she could go practice her elaborate dance routine because really, if the three year olds didn’t get the opportunity to practice, the artistic integrity of the routine could be completely compromised. How are you going to pick your nose and daydream under the bright lights of the big stage if you haven’t had an opportunity to practice?

    The dress rehearsal went fairly well, with the exception of some future Christina Aguilera wannabe who kept getting in front of Caroline and way overexaggerating the moves. Back off honey, it’s not Star Search.

    Sunday morning we went to church and then headed home to rest up for the recital. Because I am in total denial over the fact that Caroline never sleeps during the day anymore, I attempted to get her to take a nap before the recital, which proved to be more draining than trying to identify the unknown substance that was in the bottom of my freezer.

    Finally, it was time to do hair and makeup and head to the auditorium. Here she is in the car on the way there. Can y’all sense the joy?

    The dance studio had assured us that the younger students would perform first so the kids wouldn’t get too tired waiting to perform. It was a big, fat lie. After I got Caroline settled with her class, I went to meet P in the auditorium where he pointed out in the program that Caroline would be performing 12th out of 24 performances.

    Those dance teachers are dirty liars.

    And to add to the enjoyment, the air conditioning was out in the building. There is nothing quite as lovely as spending Mother’s Day in a hot auditorium surrounded by the sweat of hundreds of strangers. All I could think about was how hot I was and wonder if Caroline’s red lipstick and eyebrow pencil were running down her face.

    The teachers kept stressing the importance of the makeup, because otherwise the kids would just look tired on stage. They’re 3, how tired can they look?

    Finally, she came out on stage. She did most of her moves with a few periods of rest to daydream and check out the lights on the stage, but she looked so cute, and after it was over even stayed on stage a few minutes longer than the rest of the class to soak up the glory. I’d love to have it on video, but since they don’t allow video cameras the only way that’s possible is if I shell out $30.00 for a DVD.

    The dance recital market is just one huge racket.

    I did get to video the dress rehearsal, so at least that’s something. And it’s free. And it’s just my daughter (well, and Christina Aguilera), not 150 other kids that I don’t know and will most likely never see again.

    After the performance, I went downstairs to pick her up and hugged her and told her how great she did and how proud I was of her. She took all of that information in and told me, “Mama, you need to quit talking now.”

    One recital and she turns into a diva.

    As we walked to the car, Bops was carrying her and told her she did a great job. She replied, “I know, Bops. I beat all those other kids.”

    Which is why next year, we’re playing soccer.

  • The rainbow connection

    I would love to write something profound and life changing about the institution of motherhood, but it would require thought and effort, and after a day that started at 5:45 a.m., I’ll be honest, I don’t have it in me. Plus, I still have two Oprahs waiting for me on the DVR and it’s really all about priorities.

    Mother’s Day 2002, I was 7 weeks pregnant. I was excited, hopeful and giddy. P and I had prayed for a baby and now one was on the way. I remember sitting in church on that Sunday feeling so blessed to be on my way to becoming a baby carrying, spit up wearing member of the motherhood sorority.

    And then 2 weeks later, P and I found ourselves sitting in the doctor’s office as he told us there was no heartbeat, no baby.

    I didn’t know it then, but I look back now and realize that moment prepared me more for what motherhood really is than if I had carried that baby to term.

    Motherhood is about holding someone close and letting them go all at the same time. It’s about loving someone more than you ever imagined, yet not being able to completely protect them from all the challenges they will face. It’s about wanting to do the best job imaginable and raise fine, upstanding members of society, but spending years and years wondering if it’s actually going to happen.

    It’s about trust. Trusting that God knows you and knows this child He has given you. Knowing that my strengths are designed to cover her weaknesses. Knowing that even before I was born, God knew someday He would entrust Caroline to me.

    And it overwhelms me.

    Late last Thursday afternoon, a rainstorm came through and after it was over, an incredible rainbow appeared in the sky. I carried Caroline outside to see it and watched her face as she just stared in pure amazement while my heart exploded just a little bit. She said, “Oh Mama, it’s just like in my books, but better!”

    And I was thinking the same thing. Motherhood is just what I dreamed about, but better.

    Happy Mother’s Day, y’all.

  • Back when wild pasta roamed the plains

    Last night, P and I had some friends over for dinner and Caroline went out to eat with Mimi and Bops. I made spaghetti with meat sauce with Caesar salad and garlic bread.

    A little while ago, I heated up some leftover spaghetti for Caroline to eat for dinner tonight. She took a big bite and said, “Oh Mama, THIS IS DELICIOUS! Did you shoot this?”

  • If I could just lose 10,870 pounds

    I went and picked Caroline up from school yesterday afternoon and in her school bag, she had a wrapped present for me along with a card. Of course there was no way she was going to wait until Sunday to bestow my gifts on me, so she “helped” me open them as soon as we got in the car.

    We openend the wrapped present which revealed a sweet, little necklace that she had made. I immediately put it on and raved about how beautiful it was and thanked her for such a sweet present.

    And then I opened the card.

    The front of the card had her little handprints lined up to make a heart shape and on the inside was a piece of paper where she had answered questions about me.

    My mother’s name is Big Mama (she actually used my real name).

    She is 680 years old.

    She is 11 feet tall and weighs 11,000 pounds.

    Her favorite thing is to eat at restaurants.

    It’s no wonder I’ve been so tired lately. And if I’m going to lose any of this weight, I probably need to find a new favorite activity.

  • There is no such thing as natural beauty

    On Monday, Caroline endured her last dance class because this Sunday is the recital, which will most likely go down in history as “The Mother’s Day that I Paid Hundreds of Dollars for a Beating”, because I feel pretty certain this whole experience will basically serve the purpose of me being able to watch my daughter daydream on stage, twirl and jump for a few minutes to the music she hears in her head, and then perhaps pick her nose for an encore.

    At least we have ruled out ballerina as a future career choice at a young age. It will give us much more time to prepare her for a career in nuclear physics or professional worm digging.

    Anyway, at the end of the dance class on Monday, the teacher called all the mamas into the classroom to go over a few last minute recital details and to push us to buy t-shirts for $15.00 that say “Dance Recital”.

    As if.

    It seems that Caroline’s teacher is living in some delusional fantasy world and is not aware that she has been teaching a class of 3 year olds all year long. She kept making references to helping them focus and whether or not we’re allowed to bring them bouquets of flowers to present to them as they come off stage. I have a sneaking suspicion there are some mamas who are taking this a lot more seriously than I am.

    I’m not even sure what time we’re supposed to be there on Sunday, but I knew if I raised my hand and asked, I would be completely ostracized from the Britney Spears Stage Mother Association.

    They were all talking about the various makeup they had purchased for their daughters to wear, and there was much concern over whether their daughters’ hair should be curled or not. And finally, when someone started to discuss whether or not we should pencil in their eyebrows after we apply their mascara, it took everything in me not to stand up and yell, “You people need to get a grip on reality”.

    However, the teacher did insist that all the little ballerinas need to wear makeup so that they’ll show up on stage, and I certainly don’t want Caroline to not show up. If she is going to dance to the beat of her own drummer, then I guess the least I can do is attempt to put some lipstick on her.

    So, today I went to HEB and strolled the cosmetics aisle looking for the cheapest makeup I could find. One of the dance mothers mentioned that her Mary Kay lady had put together a great makeup package for the recital for just $40.00. Seriously? There is no way my 3 year old is going to have a better makeup bag than I do.

    I headed to the Cover Girl section and picked up some lavender eye shadow because I’m just too frightened by the blue eyeshadow. It is my belief that most of the evil in the world can be traced back to blue eyeshadow. If you don’t believe me, then just watch a rerun of Dynasty.

    I also found some pink blush and a tube of red lipstick. When Caroline saw the makeup and I told her it was for the recital, it was the first time she has shown any real enthusiasm for this entire event. There is nothing she likes more than to coat her face with any type of lipstick she can find, especially if we’re about to walk out the door to go to church and are already running 10 minutes late.

    When we got home, I decided to do a trial makeup run. I had her sit as still as she ever sits, while she scrunched up her entire face as I tried to apply eyeshadow, blush and some lip color to her actual lips. The thing that got me was the smell of the Cover Girl makeup. It immediately transported me back to junior high and those first experimental days of applying makeup and then taking it off with Noxema.

    I’ll never forget that my Home Economics teacher had a Merle Norman consultant come in to teach us all about applying makeup. The consultant had some kind of contest and I won this handheld vanity mirror that opened up to reveal eyeshadows in every shade of the rainbow. It was glorious. Nevermind that I never learned how to sew in Home Ec, I was the recipient of the most wondrous eyeshadow collection ever assembled.

    It was the Time/Life Soft Rock Classics Collection of the eyeshadow world.

    Every morning I would get up and choose my outfit for the day. Then, for the crowning touch I would open up my Merle Norman eyeshadow mirror and apply whatever color matched my clothes. Blue Izod? Blue eyeshadow. Purple argyle vest? Purple eyeshadow. Green Polo? Green eyeshadow. And most unfortunately, yellow sweater? Yellow eyeshadow.

    I was committing cosmetic heresy every single morning and was proud.

    So proud.

    I’m not sure when I realized it wasn’t always in the best interest of natural beauty to match my eyeshadow to my wardrobe selection, but I’ll tell y’all this, when I saw Caroline today, with the purple eyeshadow on, I knew for sure that I made the wrong decision on that day back in 7th grade when I matched my eyes to my purple argyle vest.