Another day

We named her lopsided Lola

Caroline and I spent part of the afternoon making puppets out of brown paper bags. It’s all part of my SUMMER OF CRAFTS initiative and I figured Memorial Day weekend was a good time to kick it off.

I got out all our craft stuff, which is basically a plastic shopping bag from Michael’s filled with markers, dried up glue, scraps of yarn, and googly eyeballs in various sizes.

We got to work, gluing and drawing our little puppets to life.

And then I noticed that Caroline was using pom-poms on her puppets.

“What are those?”

“It’s their boobies!”

I hate to be critical, but I think the one on the end could use some kind of cosmetic surgery.

You know, just to even things out.
And with this I’ve reached new levels of excitement

I came home yesterday after I dropped Caroline off at school and spent the next few hours procrastinating. I knew what I had to do, but I wanted to live in denial just a little while longer.

So the first thing I did was let the dogs drag me around the neighborhood for about two miles while I tried to maintain some sort of dignity by pretending that I always run at a dead sprint down the street with my arms flailing wildly and screaming at my dogs to STOP! SLOW DOWN! I AM GOING TO SELL YOU TO THE NEXT PERSON WE PASS!

When the exercise portion of my morning was over, I decided to iron some clothes.

That’s right. I said iron.

I am the same person who got out the ironing board about three months ago causing Caroline to come up to me and ask, “Oh Mama! What is that?”

Oh honey, that’s just the devil in the form of a collapsible board covered in an ugly floral print.

I needed to iron because I purchased a few new shirts for P this week. He’s decided he’s a big fan of the short-sleeve button down shirt because he gets too hot in knit polo-type shirts. And if I had to sit next to him in a Mexican restaurant one more time and listen to him talk about how his knit shirt was SO HOT that he was going to have to take another shower by the time we got home, then one of us wouldn’t have survived.

So I bought him a few shirts to ensure that he wouldn’t spontaneously combust from the heat caused by his Gap knit polos.

I think he looks really good in the color blue so I looked for a blue shirt and found a great one on sale at Macy’s. As soon as I pulled it out of the bag to show him he said, “That looks just like my other blue short-sleeved shirt.”

“No it doesn’t. It’s TOTALLY DIFFERENT. They couldn’t be MORE DIFFERENT.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

Later that night, Caroline and I were watching T.V. and he came in to try on the shirts to make sure they fit. When he pulled the blue one out of the bag, Caroline said, “DADDY! THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE YOUR OTHER SHIRT!”

I think it was a set up.

Here are the shirts.

Clearly they could not be more different.

He felt the need to wash the new shirts immediately because that is what he does. He washes brand new, perfectly pressed clothes.

I do not understand this. Why would you wash an article of clothing that is brand new?

Truth be told if I had caught him in time I never would have let him put those shirts in the washer. I would have done what I’ve always done which is hang them up in his closet and pretend like I had taken them to the cleaners. He never would have known the difference.

But since I was too late and they were already clean, I felt the need to go ahead and just iron them. Because that is the kind of wife I am.

Plus, I knew I needed to iron a few of Caroline’s dresses because the last time I made her iron them she didn’t really get the wrinkles out. It’s like her heart wasn’t in it.

But at the core of my ironing frenzy, however, was my need to put off the inevitable.

I had to take an online defensive driving course.

Oh the horror.

I’ve put it off for months but it could wait no longer. Unless I wanted a warrant issued for my arrest.

So I spent four hours of my life, four hours I will never get back, trying to finish a defensive driving course before it was time to pick up Caroline from school.

The last time I took defensive driving I remember watching a piece of classic cinema entitled “Blood Runs Red on the Highway”. It was the feel good movie of the year. Yesterday I learned that it has been traded in for an even more upbeat version (if that’s possible) called “DEAD IN FIVE SECONDS”.

The Department of Transportation really has no sense of humor. Nor do they seem to realize that a film called “DEAD IN FIVE SECONDS” shouldn’t last for twenty minutes and fifty-eight seconds. It’s just bad marketing.

I’m sad to report that as of this moment I still haven’t finished my course. I have to complete two more exciting units on ROAD SIGNS and WHAT TO DO IF A HUGE ELK JUMPS IN FRONT OF YOUR VEHICLE.

I just can’t bear to finish right now.

So I’m off to iron another one of P’s new shirts. It’s a nice yellow linen shirt that I bought to go with a pair of his plaid shorts. Although he just informed me that he “muffin-topped those shorts” about three years ago.

This is why I love him.

In spite of the fact that he thinks knit polo shirts are too hot.
I remember when you could get Bonne Bell for fifty cents

Yesterday afternoon Caroline and I had to run to HEB because we were out of everything.

Coffee filters and Honey Barbecue Fritos.

It’s a wonder we survived.

Anyway, while we were at the store I decided to run over to the pharmacy section and get some Zyrtec-D because the oak pollen has ganged up with the mold and they are trying to kill me.

We were standing in line at the pharmacy, waiting to request the Zyrtec-D and submit to a full interrogation, when I noticed an elderly couple sitting in the chairs to the right of me. They were either waiting for their prescriptions to be filled or for the shuttle to take them back to the Happy Valley Assisted Living Community.

The elderly gentlemen kept looking at something just past me. Finally, with much effort, he got up and shuffled over to look more closely at the items on the aisle right behind me. I heard him give an outraged “HMMPH!” as he shuffled back over to his wife.

He sat down next to her and loudly said, “They’re charging folks $2.85 for Chapstick! The whole world is goin’ to hell in a handbasket.”

God bless you, Sir.

And may I suggest you stay away from the gas pumps.
Fiesta. You make me tired.

I bet y’all thought when I said I’d be back later with a post that I meant later that same day.

And that is what I meant but then I filled up my day by sitting on the couch and staring into space.

But in my defense, I needed some sitting and staring time because this weekend was filled with muchas activities. It’s all part of my master plan to ensure that someday when Caroline writes her memoirs that I’ll get a shout out for making sure her life always included plenty of funnel cakes and face paint.

Fiesta, for those of y’all who know not of what I speak, is essentially a ten-day party held in San Antonio every year during April. I’m not sure of all the history and stuff because I don’t really care.

It just involves stuff like real-live fake royalty and a lot of parades.

I grew up in Beaumont and all we had was the Neches River Festival which is basically Fiesta’s poor cousin. On crack.

Oh I kid. The Neches River Festival is every bit as lovely as the Neches River itself.

Friday night we went to what used to be just a little neighborhood carnival with plenty o’ fun for the kids. You know, the type of place where you can drop $80.00 on bounce castles, a pony ride and some face paint, all the while eating carny food that will boost your cholesterol well into the 300’s.

Good times.

I’ll have the sausage stick with a Lipitor chaser.

However, over the years the little neighborhood carnival has developed the tendency to turn into a singles bar gone wrong after 8 p.m., so our strategy is to get there when the doors open at 5:30 and leave as the increasingly over-tan crowd in skimpy tank tops show up.

And that’s just the men.

But we still go every year because the carnival holds special meaning for P and me because it was at this same event eleven years ago that he watched me serve fountain drinks to the throngs of people and knew without a doubt that he was ready to propose to me within the week. So we attend every year for the nostalgia factor.

And the funnel cakes.

And the brisket tacos.

We promised Caroline she could get her face painted and with that accomplished we headed home before the meat market was in full swing.

Oh look! We also won a baby while we were there.

Not really, but that would have been cool. She belongs to our friends, W and E.

We spent the rest of the evening sitting on our back porch with some of our friends listening to the huge party our neighbors were having behind the walled fortress that used to be Tillie’s house.

No kidding. They built a wall. To ensure they don’t have to see the neighborhood.

I’m pretty sure it was our faded Little Tikes slide that pushed them over the edge.

Anyway, on Saturday morning Caroline was up before the sun in spite of being up way past her bedtime the night before.

In spite of a Saturday filled with meltdowns brought on by exhaustion, we still had to attend a birthday party for one of her classmates. The whole party was a Longhorn theme with instructions to wear your favorite game day apparel.

It is our job to spread light to a dark world.

Finally Sunday arrived and we spent the evening with some friends at another Fiesta event that involved the best homemade gorditas I have ever had, several bounce castles, and even more face painting.

Oh! And fireworks!

They were much better in person than in that showcase of my limited photography skills.

Caroline was in absolute awe of the fireworks until she decided it was more fun to roll down the hills on the golf course. And really, what’s better? Chinese manufactured pyrotechnics or the thrill of getting dizzy while getting grass stains all over a cute skirt that will never be the same again?

Then, mercifully, the weekend was over.

Yesterday morning, Caroline actually slept until 8:20 and woke up just in time for me to quickly get her dressed for school. I knew she was tired because she let me pick out her outfit and comb her hair without a fight.

But as I dropped her off at her classroom, I realized how tired I was from the weekend because I’d sent her to school with half a unicorn still on her face.

Viva fiesta.
I dream of P with feathers in his hair

P and I are sitting here spending our Saturday night watching one of the true cinematic classics, “The Electric Horseman”. He’s never seen it which frankly is a travesty and makes me wonder how we ended up together.

And I hate to say this but I think he may be mocking one of my favorite movies of all time.

Granted, it is slightly unbelievable that a man on a horse could outrun a band of police cars and several police motorcycles.

Without losing his cowboy hat.

But back in 1979 when I was a ten year old girl wearing some sweet cowboy boots from Weiners, something in this movie spoke to me deeply. I just knew I wanted to spend my life out on the range with wild horses.

Unless I decided to spend it trying to win cross-country races disguised as a nun in an ambulance with Dom Deluise as Captain Chaos and Burt Reynolds as J.J. McClure.

And if you were born after 1980 you have no idea what I’m talking about.

Tragic.

But, most importantly, watching “The Electric Horseman” and seeing Robert Redford’s lightly feathered hair has triggered a memory that P has never shared with me. In 5th and 6th grade he used to blow dry his hair using a brush attachment to achieve that winged-back look.

This piece of information has made my Saturday night complete.
McLetDown

Thank y’all so much for yesterday. It was so interesting to read everyone’s questions and thoughts. Although it will take me a good two weeks for my mind to process all that information.

I promise that Sophie, Shannon and I will figure out a way to share some of the information from the She Speaks Conference on our blogs. In the meantime, you may want to check out Blogging Basics 101.

Anyway, Gulley usually volunteers at her son Jackson’s school every Wednesday. But last Wednesday she skipped out on the opportunity to watch kindergardeners eat paste in favor of getting her hair cut and highlighted. Clearly she is a woman with her priorities in order.

No woman can be expected to cut out shapes, teach future generations to read, and eat cafeteria food when she’s worried about her roots. I mean this is America.

So, Gulley asked Jackson’s teacher if she could volunteer on Thursday instead and asked me if I would mind keeping Will. And I told her I wouldn’t mind at all because she watched Caroline for me most of the day on Tuesday and because Will seriously cracks me up.

He just turned three in February and hanging out with him is kind of what I imagine it would be like to spend time with Simon Cowell. You know he’s a little belligerent and out of control but yet manages to be charming and endearing all at the same time.

Plus they both have hair that defies the laws of follicular science.

Gulley dropped Will off on Thursday morning and, since I am really a modern day Mary Poppins, I had our morning all planned out. These plans involved cleaning our back porch with scrub brushes and soap.

The kids can’t get enough of it.

Tell Toys R’ Us to figure out a way to package that kind of fun.

Finally, after a morning of hard labor I decided to reward them with a trip to McDonalds for lunch. And, because it was such a gorgeous, sunny day, I purposely drove further away to the dying breed known as a McDonalds with an outdoor playground.

We went in, ordered our food and then started to head outside, when we saw this.

Oh cruel hand of fate. Why do you torture me so?

I told the kids to eat their lunch and promised that after they were done I would go ask the manager if they would consider opening the playground since the weather was no longer inclement.

So they pretended to eat half a nugget for the next ten minutes and then started asking about the playground. I felt like I was being interrogated. My palms got all sweaty as I tried to prepare them for the very real possibility that the outdoor playground wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay, I’ll go ask but y’all need to know that they may not open it. They may say no. Okay?”

Will quit eating his ketchup out of the paper cup long enough to look me dead in the eye and say, “If they say no, I’m gonna bust their tails.”

And don’t think he wouldn’t.

Unfortunately the answer was no. It appears that two prior days of inclement weather rendered the playground in need of a good scrubbing.

They should totally use child labor like I did with my porch. The kids can reach cracks and crevices that an adult will never see.

There was great disappointment but we left with some cool Happy Meal toys so all was not lost. And I knew Will had a good time with me because when Gulley came to pick him up he hugged me and said, “See you later, Babe.”

Which is exactly what the Banks children called Mary Poppins.