Another day

I recommend caffeine before reading

This weekend was pretty uneventful unless you count the fact that Caroline spent the night, THE WHOLE NIGHT, at a friend’s house on Friday night as something important. Which I do. Because it explains why I spent part of Friday night rocking in the glider in her room wondering where the baby was that I just rocked in that same chair yesterday.

It’s also important to note that P was at the ranch and not available to make fun of me and my overly dramatic, yet charmingly sentimental tendencies.

And in my defense I only spent about ten minutes rocking in the glider. The rest of my time was well-spent watching the better part of the second season of Veronica Mars on DVD. Why didn’t I know about this show when it was still on the air? I can’t believe I missed out and now have to make up for three seasons of quality television in the next two weeks.

(Technically, there’s no timeline for me to finish all of Veronica Mars. I just like to have a goal.)

I also went to eat a late Mexican food dinner with Mimi and Bops where we experienced the loudest Mariachi band to ever grace the inside of a Mexican food restaurant, which is a bold statement. There was one overzealous trumpet player that I’m going to need to track down so I can sue him for the permanent damage he did to my right eardrum during his solo of La Bamba. I would laugh about it if I wasn’t so deaf that I just hear the laughter inside my own head.

Saturday morning I picked Caroline up from her friend’s house and we were home for all of seven minutes before it was time to turn around and take her to a birthday party for another friend. I’m going to have to get a new calendar just to keep track of all her social engagements. Although in all honesty there’s probably enough room to keep track of her schedule on my current calendar since the only thing I’ve written down for myself right now is a hair appointment at 4:00 this Wednesday. I might even put on some makeup.

I tried to get her in bed fairly early on Saturday night because I know how exhausting a day full of social commitments can be. I know I’ll be totally worn out by the time I get back from getting my hair cut on Wednesday. She was out as soon as her head hit the pillow so P and I were able to settle in for a big night of flipping back and forth between Nascar and the USC vs. Ohio State game. There are people who believe that being in your late thirties isn’t glamorous and to those people I say, you’re totally right.

On Sunday Caroline decided she wanted to learn how to ride her bike without training wheels. It’s a day I knew was coming but I’ve dreaded it a little because there aren’t enough Band-Aids and Neosporin in the world to deal with the drama that will ensue when she inevitably falls and scrapes her knees. After a few trial runs up and down Mimi and Bops’ driveway, I also discovered that there isn’t enough Ben-Gay or Advil to save me from possibly being in traction before the week is over. Especially since I promised her we’d work on it again after school today because I am an idiot.

An idiot all hyped up on Advil and lying on a heating pad.
I bet Moses never ate a meatball sandwich

I think this whole back to school schedule is wearing me out. It’s bad enough that we have to get up when it’s still semi-dark outside, but I’ve also discovered it’s going to be easier to get out of the car and walk her to school as opposed to waiting in a car drop-off line that, as far as I can tell, is merely a labyrinth that leads to unbridled road rage. Which means that the days of dropping her off while I’m in some version of my pajamas are over and I’m going to need to invest in some more “work out” clothes so my messy ponytail and no makeup will convey a message of concern for “physical fitness” as opposed to “just rolled out of bed and made what I hope was a ham sandwich and, seriously, are we even at the right school?”.

Why am I using so many quotation marks today? I’m like Matt Foley living in a van down by the river.

I don’t really have much to say unless you want to hear about how I ate Quaker Oat Squares for breakfast yesterday morning because I have officially burned myself out on yogurt and granola. It was bound to happen considering that I ate it for about forty-five days straight. And then I went to Borders to buy The Message translation of the Bible because I’ve decided to read through it in a year.

Actually, I read the Bible in a year in 2008 but it was the NIV version so I want to throw caution to the wind and shake things up a bit. I’m going to officially start on September 1st and am reading in chronological order. If you want to join me, please feel free. This is the link that I use to know what to read each day. It won’t be a book club thing necessarily, but from time to time I may be all “How about those crazy laws in Leviticus?” or something along those profound lines.

Also I realize reading the Bible in a year is hardly some grand accomplishment considering there are people who read it in ninety days or thirty-five minutes, but those people are called overachievers. I like to read in amounts that my brain can actually process.

I didn’t really mean to get into all that. The original point of this post (if there ever was one) was to share the recipe for my meatball sandwiches. I can honestly say they have been one of the high points of our summer and I intend to carry them with us into the fall because they are just so easy and delicious.

In fact, I gave the recipe to Sophie last week and we both agreed that our husbands are normally picky about eating leftovers but have no problem eating these for four days straight or until it’s all gone, whichever comes first.

Meatball Sandwiches

(I usually double this recipe because we like the leftovers and you can always turn it into spaghetti and meatballs if you get bored.)

1 pound ground beef
2 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup Italian bread crumbs
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. onion powder
1 jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce or homemade if you’re into that sort of thing
1 package of french bread sandwich rolls
Sliced mozzarella cheese
butter

In a large bowl, mix together the ground beef with the next 7 ingredients. Roll into meatballs approximately 3 inches or so in diameter and place on a cookie sheet. Bake for about 20 minutes at 350 degrees and then turn them and cook another five minutes.

Pour sauce into large pot on the stove. Add meatballs. Let simmer for about 30 minutes to 1 hour for extra flavor. (This totally isn’t necessary but my Me-Ma used to let her sauce simmer for about 5 hours on Sunday mornings and it makes it even more delicious.)

Place the sandwich rolls open and face up on a cookie sheet. Spread each one with plenty of butter. Broil them in the oven until they are slightly (SLIGHTLY) brown and then pull them out and cover them with as many mozzarella cheese slices as you feel are appropriate. (No one will judge you for superfluous mozzarella cheese) Place them back in the oven and broil them until the cheese is melted.

Slice the meatballs in half and place on the sandwich. You’ll use about 2 meatballs per sandwich. Pour a little bit of the sauce over the meatballs, close up your sandwich and eat until you’re slightly sick.

I wish I had some pictures to share but I just wasn’t that on the ball. It’s really all I can manage right now to be up and dressed in a presentable manner before 7:30 a.m.
I can’t get the SWAT theme song out of my head

On Monday I wrote out a list of everything I needed to accomplish before school starts next week. It basically looked like this:

1. Buy Caroline new tennis shoes
2. Buy Caroline a new backpack
3. Buy Caroline a new lunchbox
4. Try to get Caroline in bed before 9:00 p.m.

Today is Wednesday and none of these things have actually happened, which kind of stresses me out because it all has to be done by Thursday. This weekend is tax-free weekend in the state of Texas and there isn’t enough anti-anxiety medication available on the free market to make me venture into any type of store during that seventy-two hour time period. I’ll pay the 8.25% sales tax and keep my sanity for $100, Alex.

I’m not sure the sales tax is actually 8.25% but it looks right so I’m sticking with it. I could google it but, frankly, I’ve used up all my energy worried about our lack of a backpack.

We shopped for backpacks yesterday but couldn’t find one that she loved and I feel it’s important for a girl to feel good about her school accessories. Of course it would be helpful if someone would state from the beginning that they would like a Barbie backpack instead of saying that they want a Disney Princess backpack which causes you to take someone to the Disney Store where they do not, in fact, sell Barbie backpacks or any other Barbie merchandise because they do not want Barbie stealing any trampy thunder from the new vamped up version of Tinkerbell.

Also, Pottery Barn Kids, who do you think you’re fooling with your $50.00 backpack? I hope it comes complete with a tutor.

So today we will set out at dawn or 10:30 a.m. in a renewed quest for the perfect backpack and will go where we should have gone from the beginning, the place where all the magic really happens, Target.

And, fortunately, Target also has a Starbucks because I am going to need a large dose of caffeine to get through the day because I went out with some girlfriends last night and, when I got home, P hogged the computer for the next two hours because he was watching old episodes of SWAT on Hulu and I couldn’t use it to write this lame post that kind of makes me want to apologize to all of you for the three minutes of your life you’ll never get back.

I guess, technically, I could have used my iPhone to write a post but I’m still getting used to the keyboard and, while I’ve never thought much about the size of my thumbs, they now feel impossibly large and cumbersome. The keyboard makes me feel like I want to purchase a stylus for texting purposes, but I think Steve Jobs might show up in person to take my phone away from me and put it in the hands of someone a lot more cool and edgy, like maybe the woman who hosts “Sit and Be Fit” on PBS.

Anyway, the point is that I’m going to need caffeine. And a Barbie backpack.

And probably some Advil before it’s all said and done.
Andele! Andele! Arriba! Arriba!

I arrived at the Charlotte airport around 5:00 p.m. yesterday evening in spite of the fact that they’d had some sort of bomb scare earlier in the day which is so weird because the last time I flew I was delayed at Dallas Love Field due to a bomb scare. If it happens again I may develop a complex and be forced to never leave my house again.

Once I arrived at the hotel I met up with Sophie and Annie and we headed out in search of mediocre Mexican food because that is what we do when we’re together. It’s a sickness really. It’s like my head tells me no, but my heart just can’t believe that there are parts of the world missing out on delicious chips and guacamole. I have no doubt that if I ever find myself in some exotic locale like say Spearfish, South Dakota that I will immediately ask the concierge at the Motel 6 where I can find the best Mexican food, head to El Grande Burrito on his recommendation and then walk away totally surprised that it was a less than satisfactory culinary experience.

Annie had her Garmin GPS system at the ready so she immediately pulled up the names of several Mexican restaurants located in the vicinity. Unfortunately, Garmin doesn’t realize that we’re in the midst of some tough economic times and that many of these restaurants are no longer in business.

After driving through some questionable parts of town, we still hadn’t located any of the Mexican eateries that Garmin had promised when all of a sudden I spied the words “Mexican Restaurant” on the side of a building as we drove past at 60 miles per hour. We decided we’d make a u-turn and check it out because obviously it must be okay since it’s managed to stay in business while the other forty-six restaurants we’d tried couldn’t survive the competition of the Taco Bell.

We pulled into the parking lot and got a closer look at the signage.

I don’t know that the Hispanic version of Chuck E. Cheese instilled a lot of confidence in the whole dining experience. There’s something about a rat in chaps, wearing a sombrero, that makes me know without a doubt that I’m not in Texas anymore, Dorothy.

But we decided to live on the edge and went in to experience Andele! for ourselves. As we got out of the car, I immediately felt better when I saw a car parked next to us that had several Hispanic bumper stickers. If the people in that car were eating at Andele! then it must be okay.

And it was. It was okay. In fact, it may have been the best mediocre Mexican food I’ve had in all my vast experience dining at restaurants that call queso “cheese dip”.

So we finished our dinner, bid Adios! to Andele! and then headed back to our hotel. Or at least we attempted to head back to our hotel but Garmin decided that we needed to take a scenic route through all of Charlotte and we drove for about twenty-five minutes on a straight path to what appeared to be nowhere until we finally stumbled back into some semblance of civilization that seemed to be near the hotel.

We saw a Walgreens and decided it would be a genius idea to stop and load up on some candy to get us through our planned viewing of “Real Housewives of Atlanta”. As we pulled into the parking lot I was stunned to see the exact same car that had been at Andele! with all the bumper stickers. In fact, I took a picture of it because that is what I do.

You will notice that the bumper stickers translate to various things such as “I’ve decided to follow Jesus” and “My confidence is in Jesus Christ”. None of them translate to “Follow me to enjoy delicious Mexican food”. But still, what are the odds we’d see that same car after driving all around Charlotte for a sweet forever?

Of course what are the odds that there would be a bomb scare at two different airports the last two times I’ve gotten on an airplane?

And while we’re kind of on the subject of language translation, I have a message to the person who found my blog the other day by googling “A Mexican man called me ‘feo’ what does it mean?” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my friend, but it wasn’t a compliment.

Adios, amigos.
Just a bunch of nothing because it’s late

It probably comes as no surprise that I stayed up way too late to watch the finale of “The Bachelorette” and, frankly, by the time it was all over I was just relieved to be put out of my misery. It’s like I can’t turn away, yet I find myself wondering if perhaps there’s a better way to spend an hour and fifteen minutes of my life than sitting in front of the T.V. getting sucked in by all the emotional drama that comes with choosing the person you think you want to marry in a two month time period. Because we all know that two months is all the time you need to really know someone.

Also, I’m very confused as to why Reid showed up wearing white shoes with what appeared to be a suit and an untucked shirt. Don’t get me wrong, it’s better than Ed’s penchant for a tank top but I think it could have been the deciding factor for Jillian.

When Jillian and Ed took what had to be the eleventh helicopter ride of the season, I wondered if maybe they were going to pull out any sort of weaponry and open fire on some wild hogs. I guess that would be a different kind of reality show. A reality show that P would actually watch instead of just mocking my taste in television.

For those of you who weren’t sure if I was serious about the helicopter hunting, let me assure you that I wouldn’t joke about such things. Actually, I would joke about it but some things in life just can’t be made up. In South Texas, the hogs tend to take over because they breed like, well, wild hogs. If their numbers aren’t controlled it could become like a plague of locusts, but with pork. What better way to control them than to take to the air in a risky method of transportation with a pilot who is mentally deranged and flies at 120 mph?

On an entirely different note, the color I used on Caroline’s walls (What? Weren’t we just talking about shooting hogs out of helicopters?) is called Dancing Green by Sherwin Williams. I nearly went with Potpourri Green by Benjamin Moore but got irritated that the hardware store didn’t have any of it available in those miniature trial-size samples and decided I’d show them by just taking my business on down to Sherwin Williams. I have no doubt that Benjamin Moore will forever regret losing all $45 of my business.

The furniture actually arrived yesterday and I spent most of the day ironing a bedskirt, duvet cover and shams. Caroline never ceases to be amazed by the iron because she sees it so rarely. It’s a novelty appliance, much like our toaster that can only be used when it decides to work. I finally got everything set up but want to wait on the “after” pictures until it’s completely finished, plus she’s in there asleep right now and if you think I’d wake her up for a picture then you have underestimated how many times I rebuilt the same Lincoln Log structure over and over again yesterday.

In other news that doesn’t relate at all to anything else I’ve written about, I’m getting my hair cut at 11:00 a.m. As usual I am in a quandry over the bangs vs. no bangs vs. maybe some side-swept bangs issue. These are the issues that keep me up at night.

Well, and wondering why Reid decided to wear those white shoes and couldn’t take the time to tuck in his shirt.
Green is the new pink

I’m not sure what happened to me as I slept on Friday night. All I know is that I woke up on Friday morning with an insatiable desire to clean some stuff out and get some things done. Actually, my initial desire was to eat a bowl of yogurt now that I’ve been reunited with my triple berry crunch granola, but after that I was ready to get down to business. I would say it was business time but that phrase has taken on a whole new connotation to me ever since I saw Flight Of The Conchords.

I decided to start with making a pile of clothes that don’t fit Caroline anymore so I brought out all her fall/winter stuff from last year and had her try it on. It didn’t really take that long because she’s grown about five and a half feet in the last two months and I knew none of her pants would fit. My favorite moment was when I pulled out this darling leggings and dress outfit that I practically begged her to wear every day last year while she adamantly refused and she exclaimed, “OH MAMA! I LOVE THIS! IS IT NEW?” No, it’s not. You know what else isn’t new? Me beating my head against a wall because I do not understand why you want to drive me to the brink of sanity.

After sorting through her clothes, I moved around a few more things because I was officially inspired to go ahead and paint her room, which is a task I’ve been putting off all summer since I’ve been very busy going to the pool and eating ice cream sandwiches.

Speaking of ice cream sandwiches, I bought the miniature ones at HEB but have discovered they don’t taste nearly as good as the full-size version they serve at the pool. Some may say it’s psychological, but I smell a Blue Bell conspiracy. I’m not sure exactly what the conspiracy is since making everyone eat large ice cream sandwiches doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’ll let you know when I put all the pieces together.

Anyway, I ordered new bedding for Caroline’s room over two months ago because it was on sale plus free shipping and I am all about some free shipping. As much as I love a good online purchase I just lament the cost of the shipping so I am a sucker for free postage. Long story short, most of the bedding came in, but two of the shams were on backorder and they were a crucial piece of the decorating puzzle because I knew I wanted to paint her walls some shade of green but wouldn’t know what shade until I saw the stripe on the aforementioned shames.

Is anyone even still reading this? Oh my word, cut to the chase.

So the shams finally arrived about a month ago, but I couldn’t get motivated to paint because the thought of taping all the trim, putting down plastic dropcloths, and gearing up to be a totally neurotic perfectionist made me want to throw myself off a speeding bus. And then something snapped on Friday and I was all like “TODAY IS THE DAY!”

Caroline spent Friday night and Mimi and Bops’ house and I spent Friday night painting. P was down in South Texas because he had to get up early on Saturday morning to shoot hogs out of a helicopter, which reminds me that I need to up his life insurance coverage because if he’s going to continue to engage in risky behavior I want to know that I can at least buy an iPhone and maybe a new purse if something happens to him.

I’m kidding because I don’t really need a new purse.

At some point I’ll do a total before and after post of the room, but right now there’s not much “after” because all I’ve done is paint the walls and I still need to get my grandmother’s furniture from my sister before I can finish it all and break out the new bedding that was shipped to me FREE.

This is the room before. I’d never really done much to it after moving her out of her crib, but it did have more on the walls. It just didn’t occur to me to take a “before” picture until I’d taken almost everything down.

And this is the room after I finished painting.

I was a little worried that it was too bright, mainly because it seemed like her room was emanating some sort of green glow reminiscent of a small party room full of leprechauns. However, it’s grown on me and I think it will look magically delicious once I get it all together.

Of course if it doesn’t, I’ll be forced to repaint the whole thing complete with about fifty Q-tips because that’s the only way I was able to perfectly line the edges of the white trim. Once again, nothing brings out my inner OCD like painting. It’s really a sickness.

At one point I accidentally got a blob of green paint on the moulding across the ceiling and I thought I was going to be sick. I may have even turned green.

Or maybe that was just the glow coming off the room.