Another day

Happy Thanksgiving

I meant to write something yesterday but then we decided to spend one more night in Bryan and went to eat Mexican food and I fell into some sort of food coma and that was, literally, all she wrote.

Our original plan was to head home on Monday afternoon, but it was cold and raining outside and there wasn’t really anything to rush home for other than a trip to the grocery store to buy various things for our Thanksgiving food responsibilities and that was easy enough to put off for one more day.

And so we left early Tuesday morning after we made a stop for gas and a stop at Chick-Fil-A for chicken biscuits and a stop at Starbucks for a peppermint mocha. Basically, we left the city limits about an hour after we originally got in the car. But we aren’t pioneers. This isn’t a bare bones operation. We are a people with travel comfort needs.

When we finally arrived back in San Antonio, we dropped Gulley and the boys off at their house (You will be relieved to know that Will made it home with no carsickness issues.) and Caroline and I got home and I began to unpack suitcases and do laundry. You know you’ve had a relaxing vacation when your laundry basically consists of nothing but pajama pants and some fleece tops.

And then I began to make a list for the grocery store. I will be there later today. Possibly fighting someone for the last can of pumpkin pie filling. If you don’t hear back from me by Friday, just know that I loved you all very much.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with all the people and food you love!
The glass case of emotion

Well. So this pretty much sums up my demeanor on Saturday afternoon as I watched the Aggies play LSU.

It was a low point.

The great irony is I felt good about the game before it started. I wasn’t worried about LSU. Which, in hindsight, feels pretty stupid because LES MILES. It makes total sense that if anyone has truly figured out how to stop Johnny Manziel, it’s him. He’s some sort of weird genius with a side of some Louisiana voodoo mixed in.

And it’s safe to say that I will never wear that ’94 Aggie football sweatshirt again. I put that thing on, enormous sleeves and all, and wore it through the first quarter until I decided it was clearly contributing to our horrible performance and changed into a sensible fleece for the second quarter. Sadly, this did little to help the Aggies. It was too late for us.

I think it’s also obvious that we need to never wear those gray uniforms again. Our colors are blush and bashful. Oh wait. That’s wrong. Our colors are maroon and white. Thus, we need to wear uniforms that are either maroon or white.

And so that’s that.

On the upside, Gulley and I were at Honey and Big’s house in Bryan watching the game. Uncle Johnny and Aunt Diane came over to watch it with us and we all agreed we felt optimistic about the Aggies chances. And once it became apparent that we’d been delusional, we were able to relax and eat all manner of chips and dips and tell stories and laugh. So even though the game was a low, the game-watching experience was a high.

And so I’ve come to a point in the college football season where my grief over what could have been eases into acceptance for the reality. It could be worse, I could be a Florida Gators fan. My word. They have fallen on some hard times in Gator nation.

Speaking of hard times, we left for Bryan on Friday evening. The plan was for Caroline and I to pick up Gulley and her boys in Gruene around 6:15 because they were visiting some cousins there. But what I didn’t count on was the pouring rain and the traffic and the fact that people in San Antonio don’t like to drive over three miles an hour when the roads are wet. So what is normally a thirty minute drive took an hour and a half. An hour and a half where Caroline began to complain she felt nauseated.

By the time we got to Gulley and the boys I was a little frazzled. And by a little I mean that I needed to be medicated. But we’d come too far to turn back. Plus I knew if we could just power through and get to Honey and Big’s house it would be totally worth it once we slept in late and woke up to Shipley’s donuts on Saturday.

Around San Marcos, Caroline decided the problem was she was hungry and wanted to drive through Arby’s to pick up a roast beef sandwich and some fries. So that’s what we did. And everything was fine until Will decided the smell of Arby’s was making him feel carsick and began to complain of nausea.

Then in true Will form, he began to throw up between San Marcos and Bastrop which is a stretch of road that could compete with the Sahara desert for desolate. Fortunately, Gulley has become a master of holding a plastic grocery sack while Will throws up and so we powered down Highway 21 to the delicate sound of Will retching into an HEB bag as the rain poured outside and I came one step closer to needing to check into a mental health facility.

For those of you keeping score at home, yes, this now makes forty-six road trips where Will has thrown up. And, honestly, as someone who struggles with the carsickness I feel his pain. And the remarkable part is we all assume our positions. Gulley turns around and holds the bag, Jackson says, “Caroline, scoot over closer to me”, Caroline says, “It’s okay, Will”, and I whisper the serenity prayer to myself while declaring, “We’re almost to a gas station. Just hold on. We’re almost there.”

By the time we arrived at Honey and Big’s we were a carload of people in the throes of post-traumatic stress syndrome. We hit the front door and Will announced, “I’ve never barfed that amount of barf in my whole life.” Which was something we all intuitively knew based on the amount of HEB bags used. But about thirty minutes later everyone was showered and in pjs and Gulley and I had consumed a couple of glasses of wine for purely medicinal purpose and life seemed worth living again.

And I was right. Saturday morning as we all sat around the kitchen table with donuts and kolaches, the terrible events of Friday were but a distant memory.

Then the game.

I believe I’ve covered that part.

But here’s the thing. There are people and places that take the sting out of even big disappointments and understand exactly what you mean when you declare a sweatshirt to be bad mojo. And those are the best places of all.

Those are the places worth driving through wind and rain and throw up to arrive at your destination.
A hair tutorial. And, also, a family of mice

Well.

I don’t even know where to begin with this.

Back in September at the DotMom Conference, I wore my hair in a side bun. Think Princess Leia but just on one side and down low. And several people asked me how I did it and Sophie put the thought in my head that I should do a video hair tutorial.

Here’s a picture of me from DotMom with Sophie, Lauren Chandler and her band, and my side bun.

Then I wore the side bun again when I was at Allume. It’s not so much that I love the side bun as it is that it’s the perfect solution to third day hair that needs to be washed. And again, several people commented on it and asked how I fixed it that way.

So I’ve spent the last month procrastinating and waiting for the perfect storm of third day hair and a friend who might be available to record a video of me doing my hair. Understandably, this isn’t something you want to ask just anyone to do because some people might find it weird. As they should.

But I’d mentioned over the weekend that this might be a good week for the hair tutorial to my friend Debbi and she said she could find some time to come over and record me. And so yesterday afternoon while Caroline was working on math homework, Debbi showed up and we headed into the bathroom to make a video that is every bit as amateurish as you’ve come to expect from me.

However, Debbi is a photographer and, thus, she was concerned about the lighting in my bathroom. And since there aren’t a lot of lighting options, I asked if maybe we should raise the blinds on the window to let in some natural light. She felt this might work and so I pulled the cord to raise the blinds on the only window in our bathroom. A window where we always keep the blinds closed and, therefore, a window with a view that I never think about, especially because it faces the far side of our backyard that I never see.

You know how there are things about your house or your yard that seem normal to you because they’re in your yard and you just don’t think about it?

Yeah.

Well Debbi immediately found herself looking at Caroline’s old Radio Flyer red wagon that happens to be filled to the brim with all manner of antlers and various old animal bones that she and P have found at the ranch. It looks like something out of a horror movie.

Debbi screamed, “What is happening in your backyard? Are those body parts? What is going on?”

Just about the time I got her calmed down with an explanation of the antlers, we both looked out again only to see something with a large tail scurry into the wood pile next to the wagon. Debbi shrieked, jumped into my bathtub and asked, “Am I in a horror movie? What is happening?”

And I wanted to answer her but I couldn’t because I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I mean what are the odds that someone is going to come to your house, open your blinds, see a wagon full of bones and a rat in your woodpile?

Probably about the same odds that you’ll have a friend who asks you to video them while they fix their hair.

By this time Caroline had run into the bathroom to see what we were screaming about and all three of us ended up standing in the bathtub and looking out the window just in time to see the rat dart behind a tree and then back under the woodpile where it appears he met a friend because all of a sudden there were two sets of eyes peering out at us. This was about the same time Debbi began to dry heave.

I’m not going to lie. We’re probably going to have to burn the house to the ground.

Fortunately, much like Annelle from Steel Magnolias, I did not let my personal tragedy interfere with my ability to do good hair. And so the show went on.

But here are a few things you should know. The lighting continued to be terrible, which really concerns me because I may look worse in real life than I do in my bathroom mirror. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to upload the entire video to my computer so this is in two parts. It’s all very professional.

And, finally, I totally lost it at the end of the first clip because Debbi was mimicking Ross Gellar yelling, “PIVOT” every time I said “Pin it”. I could have edited that out but that would have taken time that I don’t have because I need to go to Home Depot and buy some rat traps.

Hair from Big Mama on Vimeo.

Hair 2 from Big Mama on Vimeo.

So there you have it. I’m sure there are better, more professional ways to both record a video and make a side bun, but apparently I don’t know either of them. I’m also concerned about how violently I throw around my hair brush.

It’s like I’m Eminem dropping a mic at the end of a show.
Big Boo Cast: Episode the one before Thanksgiving

I believe there may be some awkward pauses on this one. Places where we really wanted to have something to say but just had a lack of topics. That could possibly be because we had no real plan. Although that isn’t really that different from every other podcast we’ve ever done.

But hopefully you will find something enlightening. We discuss Christmas being forced on the American public way too early, a couple of books we’re enjoying right now, mascara and how we’re suckers for a good beauty product. So, basically, the usual.

You can click here to listen. Or here. Or, as always, you can subscribe on iTunes.

Also, here’s the engagement photo of P and me that I mention.

This lack of creativity and filtered light and chalkboard signs would make Pinterest weep. Also, my hair. I believe I was wearing a barrette. And maybe harboring a fugitive in that big pouf on top.

And on the last podcast I mentioned a tomato recipe and never posted it and Sophie reminded me of that. So here’s the recipe for the baked tomatoes. It’s so delicious.

In a large saucepan combine 1 large can of San Marzano tomatoes, a 1/2 stick to 1 stick of butter and a 1/2 cup of sugar. Heat on low until it all blends together. Pour into a baking dish and top with cubed french bread. Bake at 350 for about 15-20 minutes or until bread cubes are crispy and golden.

(Isn’t that the most technical recipe you’ve ever read?)
Three things and a question

You know one of the reasons I love y’all?

Because so many of you were genuinely invested in the fate of that Aggie sweatshirt and are totally on board with the belief it will bring some good mojo to the Aggie defense on November 23.

But first we have to get past Mississippi State at Kyle Field this weekend. And I am also focusing a lot of energy trying to Jedi mind trick Johnny Manziel into staying at A&M one more football season. It’s like if I just read enough articles reasoning why he might stay I can make it happen.

Just let me have that dream for now.

In the meantime I have a few quick things to share and a question I’m hoping you can help me with.

1. Edie at Life In Grace, who happens to be one of my new favorite people, has made a November meal plan that looks incredible. Sadly, no one will show up to grocery shop and cook this meal plan for you. But, like the Rolling Stones sang, you can’t always get what you want.

But still. It’s a great plan and I am going to follow along for at least some of it.

2. Ruth at Living Well Spending Less has a free Holiday planning workbook that you can download. I think we all know that I’m not nearly this organized and my holiday planning generally consists of forgetting a lot of important things until December 23. But I feel like some of you will love this idea and all the various ways to organize your life.

3. I’ve written two posts for Ree over the last week. You can read my thoughts on Nashville this season and see the best parody of Homeland ever.

(I realize that Homeland post currently lists Boomama as the author but it was me.)

4. Now for my question. Where do you buy shirts for your husband/boyfriend/significant other/grown son/cousin/uncle?

Is it just me or does it seem like all the mens’ shirts are suddenly very small? Is this because there are now men that wear skinny jeans? Which, frankly, is an ill-advised move. P desperately needs some casual long-sleeve shirts that can’t double as fishing shirts and I’m having a hard time finding anything. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Otherwise he might have to borrow my Texas A&M Football ’94 sweatshirt.

Y’all have a good day.
Reunited and it feels so good

I didn’t even mention daylight savings time yesterday.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate gaining an hour. Because I do. I totally do. I just don’t really understand the point of the whole thing. We are no longer a nation made up of farmers who need more or less daylight or whatever the original intent. But like so many other things in life, the government doesn’t seem to realize that the earth being tilted on its axis as it rotates around the sun really takes care of the whole daylight issue and God doesn’t really need Congress to keep the clock straight.

And then last night I dropped Caroline off at soccer practice at 6:00 and ran to Target and I felt like it was the middle of the dadgum night. I walked the aisles at Target and wondered about all these nightowls that were out roaming the streets at the ungodly hour of 6:25 p.m.

To add to all this disconcertment, I noticed something else as I drove back through the neighborhood to pick up Caroline from practice. Inflatable turkeys. Enormous inflatable turkeys in several front yards. Is this a thing? Are we doing this now? Because I don’t know that I’m equipped to live in a world that requires Thanksgiving yard decorations.

It was bad enough when people began to put up orange lights and spider webs at Halloween. I gave into that madness but I’m drawing a line in the sand with the turkeys. This is not what the Pilgrims had in mind.

In other news, I have a confession to make. When I wrote yesterday’s post I hadn’t actually taken those clothes to Goodwill yet, although everything was bagged up and ready to go. I just ran out of time on Sunday afternoon and planned to take them yesterday.

But then someone left a comment yesterday morning on my Facebook page suggesting that maybe I shouldn’t get rid of the Texas A&M Football ’94 sweatshirt because the Aggies beat LSU in Baton Rouge in 1994 and maybe that sweatshirt would bring us good luck as the Aggies head back to LSU on November 23 this year.

And this is just the kind of crazy logic and superstition I buy in to. Like Coach Sumlin might need me to wear that sweatshirt on November 23 to ensure an Aggie victory. Of course he does.

However, I like to pretend these kind of crazy thoughts haven’t taken up residence in my brain so I kept the sweatshirt in the Goodwill bag all afternoon and only thought about it occasionally.

Until I got this text from my dear friend and college roommate, Jen:

Well that felt like a gauntlet had been thrown. A sure sign that I had almost made a tragic mistake. So I texted Jen and Gulley back:

And included this picture:

Adding to the already clear signs that I was supposed to keep the shirt was the revelation that 94 happened to be DaMontre Moore’s number until he left for the NFL after last season. For those who don’t know, DaMontre was a phenomenal defensive end for Texas A&M and also known as DaMonster. And so if I were to ever wear that sweatshirt out in public I could totally claim it was a retro-chic tribute sweatshirt to DaMontre and certainly not the year I graduated from college.

Immediately, my twenty year old sweatshirt became cool again. Even though my enthusiasm was dampened slightly when I googled DaMontre to make sure I spelled his name right and discovered he was born in 1992. Which means a player now playing in the NFL is only two years older than my Aggie sweatshirt.

But I still absolutely plan to wear it on November 23 just in case Johnny Manziel and Coach Sumlin need a little help beating the Tigers.

Even though I’m a little concerned those enormous sleeves are going to get in my way while I cheer the Aggies on to victory.