Another day

  • I feel inspired to start a group called Women of Queso

    Well, this weekend was very educational for me. I learned that y’all are fans of the giveaway, especially one that involves $300 worth of clothing for your little ones.

    I also learned that Girl Scout Cookies have different names and selections depending on what part of the country you live in. And now all I can think about is the cookies I may be missing out on. I have never heard of this cookie called a Caramel Dee-Lite.

    However, it is hard for me to believe that anything could surpass the Thin Mint in pure delicious-ness. Which is why I’ll be hitting the local shopping centers around 4:00 today in search of little cookie pushers.

    I’ve got a fever and the only cure is Thin Mints.

    But all of that educational information pales in comparison to the biggest event of my weekend.

    I got to meet FryDaddy, also known as Travis Cottrell of BigBoo Podcast fame, live and in person.

    As it turns out, the annual Women of Faith National Conference was in San Antonio this weekend and Travis was part of the line-up. Do y’all see how I just call him Travis now and not Travis Cottrell? Or Mr. Cottrell? Or the man who is married to the beautiful woman with the most fabulous trouser jeans in the history of modern fashion?

    And really, I need to send a special shout out to those Trouser Jeans because had they not existed, Boomama never would have called me from The Deeper Still event in Nashville to tell me about them. If she hadn’t called me, then we wouldn’t have begun our quest to figure out what brand they were and where we could acquire this denim phenomenon for ourselves. She never would have written about them on her blog and, thus, we never would have communicated with FryDaddy.

    Here’s to you Trouser Jeans and here’s to you, Angela, for wearing them well.

    Anyway, Women of Faith was great. I didn’t get to attend the entire weekend, but Gulley and I went both Thursday and Friday night. When we arrived, we picked up our tickets and I was tickled to see that we had floor seats on the third row.

    The last time I had floor seats on the third row was at a Genesis concert when I was a sophomore in high school and that’s only because I worked at Sound Castle Music and was able to buy them the minute they went on sale. Which I did. Because I loved me some Phil Collins and had wept many teen angst-filled tears to “In Too Deep”.

    So, we made our way to the floor of the Alamodome after asking several ushers how to get there because, like I said, I have never had floor seats. We finally located the third row, sat in our seats, and opened up our plastic bags filled with various pamphlets AND a chocolate chip granola bar.

    Sweet. I love a bag with a free snack treat.

    Everything was great until some women came up and told us we were in their seats. We put the granola bars back in the bags and went in search of an usher who could help us out. We wandered aimlessly as we passed by seats that all had neon green signs on them saying “MAX LUCADO” and “MANDISA” and “PRINCE”.

    Oh I kid. There wasn’t a seat that said “PRINCE”, it just had that symbol he likes to use.

    I kid again. Prince was not in attendance at the Women of Faith conference.

    And then I saw a neon green sign in the third row that had my name on it. Seriously. It said BIG MAMA. No, it actually had my first and last name on it. Just like I was Max Lucado, but without all the best-selling books and phenomenal ministry.

    Of course I played it totally cool and nonchalant and took out my camera and took a picture. Of the sign. With my name. Because my inner dork will win out every time.

    Please note my awesome photoshop skills that I used to erase my last name. I think I might benefit from an instructional pamphlet.

    After I took the picture, we actually sat in the seats as opposed to just staring at them. And right about the time I had regained my composure, Gulley grabbed my arm and said, “IS THAT MANDISA?” It was. About five feet away from us. And here is where I feel the need to share that her skin is flawless.

    We watched her walk up on stage in possibly some of the coolest jeans I have ever seen (do y’all see a denim thread here?) and began to sing “Shackles”. And I cried. I did.

    I cried because “Shackles” is one of the best songs ever. I cried because Mandisa was ten feet away from me singing it. And I cried because God is just so awesome.

    Here’s a picture of the lovely, talented Mandisa. I realize you cannot really see her jeans nor her flawless complexion because my photography skills? They are limited.

    But at least y’all have an awesome view of half of the woman’s head who was sitting in front of me.

    And here’s a tip. If any of y’all are planning on attending a Women of Faith event, it might be a good idea to pack some Kleenex in your purse because odds are good that at some point you might shed a few tears and wiping your nose on your sleeve isn’t really an option unless you’re four years old and think sleeves are disposable.

    The next night was equally as good. Max Lucado spoke on John 3:16 and I was overwhelmed with his picture of what God’s love truly means. Then FryDaddy sang and it was awesome. And I got to meet sweet Kimberly, who is Travis’s assistant.

    Hi Kimberly, do not feel the pressure to leave a comment. I love lurkers and commenters equally.

    Finally, it was all over and Gulley and I began the long walk back to my car. The length of this walk was compounded by the fact that we both had on our Target suede boots. Boots that I recommended y’all buy because they were so cute and such a good deal. But as Gulley told me about 48 times on the walk back to the car, they are the antithesis of comfortable. In fact, walking in them is an experience akin to hopping on a pogo stick covered in nails.

    It made me want to take “these shackles off my feet so I can dance”.

    We limped our way to the car and sat in traffic. And here’s another thing I learned. If you are leaving an event that has been all about the love of Christ and are driving a huge van with SAVING THE LOST spray-painted on the side, you might want to help a sister out and let her in the line of traffic instead of cutting her off completely. I’m pretty sure the only reason “Thou Shall Not Cut Off Thy Neighbor and Be Rude” isn’t one of the Ten Commandments is because Moses and the Israelites didn’t have cars.

    It was 11:15 at night. Gulley and I were both starving in spite of the granola bar in our plastic bags and discussed going to eat chips and queso somewhere. I was so eagerly anticipating the Mexican food goodness, but Gulley decided she needed to get home since she was hosting a birthday party for three-year-olds the next day.

    And like I told her, the dry Smart Start I ate was really just as good as the chips and queso would have been. Except not.

    But considering I’m the one that encouraged her to buy those Target boots that will henceforth be known as Instruments of Torture and Suffering, I owed it to her to let her go home guilt-free.

    Which is more than I can say for how I feel after eating all those Girl Scout cookies.

  • I can’t come up with a title that doesn’t sound like a Garth Brooks song

    Guess what we did Tuesday night?

    We went to the rodeo. Again.

    And what can I say about the rodeo that hasn’t already been said? I’ll be completely honest.

    Not a lot.

    It feels a little bit like Go Western Week here at Big Mama, which if you’re not from Texas probably means nothing to you. But when I was growing up in Houston, we always had Go Western Week at our elementary school. Everyone would wear their best cowboy or cowgirl clothes and the highlight was an art contest.

    I have no idea what the prize was for the art contest, but I remember entering it every year in hopes of winning. This was back before I came to terms with my lack of craft abilities. As a third grader I didn’t realize I was artistically challenged and just because I could conceptualize how cool it would look to make a ranch fence out of old popsicle sticks and use leftover Easter grass to simulate the rolling prairies, didn’t mean it would actually translate to my 11 x 16 poster board.

    And even though Sheila Barker, who was completely obsessed with all things equine, had personally taught me how to draw a horse, didn’t mean I could actually draw a decent looking horse. You know, a horse that looked like a horse, as opposed to a big, brown dinosaur with an abnormally large head who was roaming through fields of Easter grass and towered above his popsicle stick enclosed pasture.

    I can’t even talk about the year I thought it would be a good idea to use real yarn for his mane and tail.

    So, now that I think about it, this isn’t really like Go Western Week at all because there will be no crafts. However, there has been much Western activity in these here parts.

    Last night, we all got ready to head to the rodeo. Caroline has developed a deep love and appreciation for barrel-racing and couldn’t wait to go see those cowgirls ride their horses. Here she is waiting for our friends to come pick us up.

    Not that she was anxious or anything.

    And by the way, she tucked her jeans into her boots all by herself. I am so proud of her innate fashion sensibilities. I think she’s fashionally gifted.

    Here she is after she asked if she could go wait in the backyard and I told her yes, as long as she didn’t get dirty.

    So she decided to dig in the flower beds with a shovel because everyone knows that won’t get you dirty at all. Of course, other than her mother being anal, why did it matter if she got dirty? We were going to an arena filled with horses and horse poop.

    And y’all don’t even want to know about the smell coming from the goat pens.

    Here are my people right before we headed out the door.

    I’m not entirely sure, but I think she may think her daddy hung the moon.

    Rumor has it there was a time in P’s life where he always wore Wranglers and cowboy hats. And sometimes even spurs. I didn’t know him during this time so I can’t confirm the rumors, but I do have to say the hat agrees with him.

    We got to the stockyards a little late, so we had to prioritize our activities to make sure we got to the arena before the rodeo started.

    Priority #1 for the adults: Corndogs and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Because, hello, food.

    Priority #1 for the kids: Pony rides.

    Guess what we did?

    And then we got corndogs. Oh my word, they were like heaven on a stick. There is something about a rodeo corndog that cannot be replicated by lesser corndog establishments. The batter is perfection.

    Perfection.

    Speaking of perfection, Caroline had herself some cotton candy. In her opinion it is the perfect food.

    Especially when topped off with a lemon.

    This created a substance similar to super glue all over her face that defied the powers of several wet paper towels. I’m hoping it will come off by the time she graduates from high school.

    After watching all the rodeo festivities, we were tired and it was time to head home. But we made great memories.

    And tomorrow, we’re going to go pick up crafty-type materials to make homemade Valentine’s Day cards. While we’re there I may pick up some popsicle sticks, poster board, and Easter grass to create an entire rodeo re-enactment.

    Complete with horses that look like dinosaurs.

  • God bless Texas

    Last week, Caroline and I went shopping to buy her some new cowboy boots, or as she kept reminding me cowGIRL boots. It is rodeo time, and according to Texas state law all children attending the rodeo must have boots. And big cowboy hats.

    As we drove home I said, “Man, those pink boots sure are going to make the rodeo special!”

    “Mama, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about our friends, and the cowboys, and God.”

    It’s like the holy Texas trinity.

    On Saturday we went to the rodeo with Gulley and her family. The plan was to meet Gulley at her house at 11:30 that morning, which was no problem for us because Caroline had her new boots on as soon as she got out of bed at 7:15 a.m. Fortunately, I convinced her to crawl in bed with me, boots and all, and watch “Dora the Explorer” for about 45 more minutes. It would have been a lovely, leisurely way to spend the morning other than having a cowgirl boot continually wedged between my neck and shoulder while being grilled about “What time are we leaving? Is it time yet? Can we go now?”

    Eventually, it was finally time to go so I loaded up Nicole Richie and we headed to Gulley’s.

    She looked fierce.

    But remember, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.

    On the way to Gulley’s, I said, “When the rodeo starts we can yell YEE-HAW and RIDE ‘EM COWBOY and WHOO-HOO!”

    She said, “Mama, please don’t say any of that.”

    I have a feeling her adolescent years are going to be chockfull of times where she is completely mortified by my behavior.

    Caroline and Jackson were so happy to be together and on their way to the rodeo.

    The experience of trying to get them all in a picture was not unlike herding a group of rabid cats.

    We finally made it down to the AT&T center where we were greeted with the sweet, sweet smell of a place that has large quantities of livestock in one location. Since it was almost time for the rodeo to start, we didn’t have time to walk around the stockyards so we went right inside. I bought Caroline and I each a $5.00 hot dog and a $4.00 bottle of water. It was $18.00 plus tax that was well spent, especially because there was absolutely no price gouging going on.

    In fact, the hot dog was a bargain compared to the coin we shelled out on cotton candy. But obviously cotton candy has to be expensive because it’s air and sugar. The price of air is sky-high right now.

    But those smiles almost made it totally worth it.

    Almost.

    We sat back and watched the fireworks, the bull-riding, the barrel-racing and the rodeo clowns. The kids clapped and cheered. Caroline might have even yelled a few “Yee-Haws!” after she got in the spirit of the event. I know I did because I like to be authentic.

    Look y’all. Pictures of bulls and rodeo stuff.

    And confirmation that I am not a photographer in spite of the fabulous picture I took of Caroline’s face in the bubble bath. A picture that, by the way, I will have blown up and framed to serve as proof of that one time I took a good picture.

    Alan Jackson performed and if he had been any more laidback, he would have been asleep. Speaking of sleep, that’s what Gulley’s boys did. They fell asleep. At the rodeo.

    Guess who didn’t fall asleep?

    Guess who kept asking when it was going to be over and kept begging to go ride the ponies?

    I finally told Gulley that we’d ride the ponies after the show was over but could she please be quiet so I could hear Alan Jackson sing.

    After his performance we went out to the stockyards.

    Caroline was so excited to see the Pillsbury Doughboy. After all the cookie dough we’ve eaten in this house, it was like seeing an old, familiar friend.

    Finally, it was time for the pony rides.

    And we’re doing it all over again tomorrow night.

    But this time I’m eating a corn dog and a funnel cake.

    Because the rodeo isn’t about new pink boots. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.

    And what can make you feel closer to God than dough that’s been deep-fried and covered in powdered sugar?

  • The pain is because of my gain

    Well, y’all will probably be as relieved as I was to know that according to some “experts” on the internet, my eyelashes should grow back in six to eight weeks. In the meantime I will be walking around with a naked eye because false eyelashes aren’t really in the cards for me due to the fact that I have the manual dexterity of a monkey with oversized hands that has just finished a bottle of cheap tequila.

    It’s really for the best because I’d probably end up developing some sort of addiction to long, lush lashes and before you know it I’d look like Zsa Zsa Gabor but younger and brunette. And possibly alive.

    Is Zsa Zsa still with us? I don’t want to put someone prematurely in their grave. I already did that once upon a time to Ed McMahon and I just felt awful about it for nearly three seconds.

    Anyway, yesterday Caroline had school. It was pajama day and also, pancake day. Can anyone guess what letter they are learning this week?

    I knew that you could.

    I dressed her in new pajamas that I purchased at Target. I knew she would love them because they had an iron-on transfer kitten on the shirt and she is a fan of kitschy. Sure enough, when she saw them she jumped into my arms and gave me a big hug. It’s just a matter of time before I completely give in to her fashion desires and begin purchasing shirts that glitter and sparkle and feature twee little animals like puppies and unicorns.

    After I dropped Caroline and her homage to the 70’s t-shirt off at preschool, I headed home. I was determined to do some form of exercise because it has come to my attention that I am officially three months away from having to wear a swimsuit in public almost every day.

    If that doesn’t strike fear in your heart then you are a better woman than me.

    As I sadly discovered while looking in the dressing room mirror at Target, my backside is not really swimsuit ready. It has spent this chilly winter comfortably wrapped in flannel pajama bottoms, yoga pants and jeans. It has led a sheltered, pampered life since October when it discovered the evil that is candy corn, and then binged on in to December in the form of homemade toffee. And now it must pay.

    I put the dogs on their leashes and we headed out with all the grace of the aforementioned monkey. We walked, and jogged, and got horrendous side cramps from the exertion. Of course that might have just been Scout and me because Bruiser seemed totally fine. He’s always been so athletic.

    When we finally arrived back home I decided I needed to continue to pay the toffee piper and did about forty lunges on the back porch and then some stomach crunches. I say “some” because I lost count about the time I started crying from the pain.

    At that point my legs and abdominal muscles let me know that I am a dirty, rotten, toffee-eating hag and they would like to go live on someone else’s body.

    Which makes me hopeful that perhaps Giselle Bundchen legs are also looking for a new body and if so, I am totally available.

  • The bald and the beautiful

    Last night I had Bible Study. I believe I have mentioned that my Bible Study Group is doing “Believing God” by Beth Moore this spring.

    We are also looking for a more creative name for ourselves than Bible Study Group, although you have to admit it’s pretty catchy.

    We are starting week three of the study, but since we fell behind due to excessive talking and sharing the week before, we listened to week two and week three last night. It was a lot to digest all in one sitting and frankly speaking, God kind of absolutely rocked my world. I was challenged, I was encouraged, I was moved beyond my understanding.

    So, on the way home from Gulley’s house, I had myself some church in my car. I poured out my heart and all my shortcomings. I told God that I didn’t want it to be about me and my pride and my vanity and all those other things that I cling to for security. I let it all go.

    Later in the night, Caroline got in bed with us. We all slept peacefully until about 3:00 a.m. when I made the unfortunate decision to get up and go to the bathroom. With that move, I disrupted the balance and equilibrium of the entire universe and Caroline could no longer sleep.

    She spent the next three hours contemplating her existence and experimenting with various ways to completely drive me out of my mind while ensuring that I not be allowed to go back to sleep. And yes, I realize I could have put her back in her own bed and I threatened such action many, MANY times. However, I was too tired to go to all that effort.

    Finally, at around 6 a.m. when P was getting out of bed, she and I finally fell asleep and slept until 9 a.m. Which was heavenly except for the fact that we had thirty minutes to get dressed and to gymnastics.

    We were rushing around…actually I was rushing around while Caroline rode her scooter, said good morning to the dogs, dumped all her crayons out of the box to find the pink one, and then after the 184th time that I told her to get her leotard on, began to get dressed.

    Once I had her moving in the right direction, I headed to the bathroom to try and make myself look decent. I had no time for makeup but decided to curl my eyelashes in a sad, feeble attempt to make myself look bright and impossibly fresh.

    And that’s when it happened.

    I will reflect on this moment for years to come, wondering where it all went wrong.

    For some reason, while my eyelashes were in the grip of the curler, I turned my head. Now, I am not an eyelash curling rookie. I have been curling my lashes for lo these last twenty-three years. I have no excuse for my lapse in judgement.

    Needless to say, I immediately felt some pain in my eyelash region and looked down to see a vast multitude of lashes in the sink and in my eyelash curler. And in the words uttered by a woman whom I have never met but whose story I immediately remembered, I said, “Y’all”.

    I stood and stared at those eyelashes, willing them to reattach themselves to my now pink and slightly swollen eyelid. I think we all know how that turned out.

    After a day spent assessing the damage, I believe I am missing about 1/4 of my eyelashes between the inner corner of my eye and the center of my eye. I can’t even bear to do a google search to find out how long it will take them to grow back.

    Apparently, God took me seriously when I told Him I didn’t want it to be about my pride or my vanity. It’s hard to be proud or vain when you find yourself missing a 1/4 of your eyelashes.

    And now if y’all will excuse me, I need to go shopping for some false eyelashes.

  • Internet Cafe

    I wrote a guest post over at Internet Cafe today. Head on over if you want to read what I have to say at the cafe. That rhymes.

    And I’ll have a post up here a little later on.