Just for fun

Planes, but no trains or automobiles

We had a great Father’s Day. P was especially happy because he was able to spend it catching fish, which next to manufacturing his own ammunition and talking back to the political shows on T.V. is his favorite past time.

I’d made plans several months ago to go visit some girlfriends for the next few days so I spent most of the morning cramming things in a suitcase because I am strong believer in waiting until the last minute and also because I ran out of laundry detergent and didn’t have any clean clothes until about noon.

Caroline was all broken up about me leaving town for a few days as evidenced by this conversation we had on Saturday.

“Is tomorrow the day you’re leaving, Mama?”

“Yes, baby.” (preparing myself for the tears and sorrow)

“OH YEAH! That’s when the fun begins!”

In all honesty, it doesn’t hurt my feelings because she knew she was getting to spend the night with Mimi and Bops. And they have a pool. And two new puppies. And no enforced bedtime. Who can compete with that?

When I arrived at the airport, toting my suitcase that is embarrassingly too large for a three-day trip, I checked in at the gate, dropped off my (large) suitcase, and headed to the security line. Because I am a seasoned travel professional, I had my I.D. and boarding pass at the ready.

I handed them over to the security guy, he looked at my I.D., looked at me and said, “You look a lot like Jamie Lee Curtis.”

Sir, have you seen Jamie Lee Curtis lately?

It’s not that I don’t think she’s a lovely woman. It’s just that I don’t really aspire, at thirty-seven years old, to look like a woman who has graced the cover of AARP magazine. Maybe I just look like someone who could put away a lot of Activia yogurt.

I tried to console myself with the thought that his eyesight must not be very good, but found it strangely discomforting to think that the person standing between me and some kind of terrorist incident has sub-par vision.

After getting through security, I went to the bookstore in search of some reading material for the plane. I believe there is no better opportunity than a plane ride to enjoy some cultural enrichment in literary form, but unfortunately they were sold out of “Mommywood” by Tori Spelling which was the only book I was interested in reading, so I settled for the latest issues of People and InStyle.

It turned out to be a good thing because I had no idea that Chace Crawford is going to star in the “Footloose” remake. Last I heard Zac Efron had dropped out and I was not aware that they’d found another young actor with impossibly well-coiffed hair to replace him.

Also, did you know that a hot new past time is something called “cupcaking”? I was worried it might mean something dirty because I am just that up on cultural trends, but as it turns out it actually means that people now enjoy staying home and making cupcakes.

I’d like to think I helped start that trend because I have enjoyed making cupcakes for years now. Finally, I am back on the cutting edge. Or baking edge. Or whatever.

Eventually it was time to board my flight to Tulsa. We were supposed to have a quick stop in Dallas, but it turned into a long stop. As we sat on the runway, waiting on a gate to open up according to the pilot, they decided it would be a good time to cut the air-conditioning because everyone knows that metal tubes filled with hundreds of people and no ventilation stay surprisingly cool in 100 degree heat. After thirty minutes of pure torture, we finally taxied to the gate where the pilot confessed that the real story was that a suspicious package had been found in baggage claim and they had to evacuate the airport.

Basically, airport personnel are liars who tell you that a gate isn’t available when there is a terrorist threat and that you look like Jamie Lee Curtis.

Finally the plane was ready to head out, but due to the delay I’d finished all my magazines and was left with no reading material. In desperation, I picked up the Southwest Airlines magazine because if I let myself look through the Sky Mall catalog I’d become convinced that my life is incomplete without a gadget that warms up my house shoes before I put them on. And I don’t even wear house shoes.

I thumbed through the magazine, checking out all the places where Southwest flies and discovered the games in the back. Out of sheer boredom, I began to play one of them even though I am terrible at crossword puzzles and Sudoku and basically anything except the Word Finds in Highlights Magazine. Surprisingly, I was really good at this game. Like really, really good. I filled in all the blanks and decided that all those nights of playing Pathwords must have really sharpened my mind. My game-playing prowess was balm to my ego that had been bruised by the comparison to Jamie Lee Curtis.

Then I looked at the top of the page and saw the title, “GAMES FOR KIDS”.

Perfect.

I have the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old and the face of someone who’s fifty. It’s no wonder I often feel conflicted.
The care and feeding of Nemo

So last week I totally got conned into buying a fish for Caroline. I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it yet because, heaven knows, it’s about the most exciting thing that’s gone on around here in days, but I realized I needed to let y’all know we bought a fish so when it dies in the next few weeks and I write a post about our fish dying, you won’t be all like “What fish? You don’t even have a fish”.

Here is our fish.

Caroline really thought outside the box and named him Nemo. It was an exceptionally original choice, not only because of the movie “Nemo”, but our last fish was also named Nemo. I asked her if maybe she wanted to call him Nemo II, but she insisted on just Nemo.

It kind of reminded me of when we took in a stray dog for a few weeks a couple of years ago and Caroline decided to call him Uncle Bruiser. For three weeks, we had Scout, Bruiser and Uncle Bruiser. Although you have to admit that adding Uncle to a moniker really gives it that extra something special. Just ask Ted Nugent.

Anyway, it all started when we went to the hardware store to pick up some paint swatches. There’s a pet store right next to the hardware store and she asked if we could just go in and look around. Clearly, the heat has made me insane because I said, “Sure!”.

I have every reason to believe she walked into that pet store with a strategy in place. She immediately saw the bunnies and asked if she could have one. When I refused, she moved on to the birds. Oh right. Like I’m going to have a bird in my house. There aren’t enough sedatives in the world for me to have a bird that has the potential to learn to talk. It was bad enough that one of the birds in the store knew how to make a sound like a dog’s squeaky toy. Every time that dang bird squeaked, I jumped out of my skin like a nervous cat on amphetamines and Red Bull.

After she received the no on the bird, she began to look admiringly at the hamsters and gerbils, otherwise known as dressed-up rats. By the time she asked me for a betta fish, I was relieved to buy just a fish. I felt like I’d escaped some deeper level of pet hell, when in reality I’d just been totally played. There is not a doubt in my mind she was gunning for the fish the whole time.

We brought Nemo home in the requisite plastic bag with a rubber band and I began to search for our old fish bowl. You can imagine my delight when I found it out in the yard, filled with water and covered in algae. Apparently, Caroline had been using it to conduct “science experiments”. If her hypothesis was that leaving a fish bowl full of water out in the South Texas sun would cause it to grow green fur and drive her mama crazy with the all the bleaching, then she absolutely proved her theory.

After the bowl was clean, we dumped Nemo in the water, then I pulled out the instructions on how to care for your betta fish and read number one, “Leave your fish in the plastic bag and put bag in new water to give fish a chance to acclimate to the new surroundings.”

Oops.

I guess it would have been helpful to read the instructions beforehand.

P came home around lunchtime and we introduced him to the newest member of our family. P is a fan of fish. In fact, he brought an aquarium into our marriage that we kept in our dining room for the first two years of our marriage. It was a dark time that I don’t like to dwell on for too long.

(Having the aquarium in the dining room was a dark time, not the first two years of our marriage. Just wanted to clarify.)

(It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the fish, it’s just hard to decorate around a wooden aquarium stand that screams “Bachelor Pad”.)

Caroline told P all about her new fish and P said, “Hey! I wonder if he would eat one of your Sea Monkeys?”

“Oh Daddy! Can we feed him a Sea Monkey?”

What kind of sick people do I live with?

Those Sea Monkeys are pets. I have been through a lot with those Sea Monkeys. My sweet friend Amanda gave Caroline those Sea Monkeys about two months ago and in that time I have managed to kill them countless times only to have them rise from their overfed ashes like the Phoenix. I am emotionally invested in those Sea Monkeys.

I should have known Caroline didn’t feel the same way when she wore them around her neck in the Sea Monkey Friendship Locket to go eat sushi. It never even dawned on her that she was eating the larger version of her pets.

P told her they could feed Nemo a Sea Monkey when he got home from work. Sure enough, later that evening they sucked one of the Sea Monkeys out of its tank and took it into Caroline’s bedroom. I stayed in the kitchen because I couldn’t bear to watch. Two minutes later I heard excited squeals and laughter as Caroline yelled, “HE ATE IT!!! HE ATE IT!!”

And that’s the last thing Nemo has eaten. Ever since he had a taste of live Sea Monkey, he refuses to eat his normal fish food. Or maybe it’s not the Sea Monkeys. Perhaps we bought the fish version of Ghandi and he’s protesting something. All I know is boyfriend won’t eat.

(He may be a girl for all I know. He just seems like a manly fish.)

This is why I’m telling you we bought a fish. Because if he keeps up this hunger strike, it won’t be long before I have to inform you that Nemo has gone on to a better place.

Y’all have a good weekend.
The good news is that salsa and I have never been closer

Before I ramble on and on about the weekend, I’d just like to say how proud I am that I have written things here that cause people to find my site when they google “My dog has a big, stinky glob on his teeth”. If that isn’t a sure sign that I’m cranking out some fine literary material, then I don’t know what is. I feel certain that Hemingway is rolling in his grave from the envy.

It is with deep regret and sadness that I inform you that I have now been without a Diet Coke for five days. And it’s with even more sadness that I tell you that it’s made all the difference in the world. The constant burning I had in my throat for over a month has been totally gone since Saturday. I believe that the Diet Coke and I have been in a dysfunctional relationship for the last four years. I have loved it with all my heart and soul while it has been trying to take down my esophagus. It’s the classic tale of heartbreak.

Girl meets beverage. Girl loves beverage. Beverage breaks girls heart and stomps it into a million pieces.

Fortunately as I strolled the aisles at HEB on Friday in a desperate quest for a rebound beverage, something caught my eye, Lipton Green Tea Mixed Berry flavor. It whispered in my ear and vowed it would never leave me broken-hearted like the Diet Coke, so I took it home with me and we’ll see what happens. As of this writing, I find it to be delightful and refreshing.

I even mentioned to a friend that I felt kind of healthy drinking Green Tea because it has so many health benefits. Her comment was that it was healthy when brewed the way the Chinese do it, but now that Lipton has gotten a hold of it there are no guarantees. Whatever. It totally says something about antioxidants on the label so I’m going with it.

Anyway, I’m just thankful that I found a new source of caffeine on Friday because I had no idea how much I was going to need it before the day was over. Our church hosts the occasional family movie night during the summer and this past Friday night was the first one. P took Caroline and her friend S out to eat dinner and then to movie night. Since they weren’t going to be home until about 9:00, I called S’s mom to see if she could spend the night which was the cause of many squeals of delight from the girls.

They got home around 9:15 all jacked up on movie candy and the sheer exhilaration that only comes from watching an overweight panda do some sweet Kung-Fu moves. The next thing I knew my living room had been transformed into some sort of beauty salon/horse stable for their American Girl dolls.

In truth, Caroline doesn’t actually have a real American Girl doll but rather the Our Generation knock-off doll from Target because when she asked for an American Girl doll last year for her birthday I didn’t believe that she’d actually ever play with any kind of doll and certainly wasn’t going to bet $100 on it. It’s a decision that I have been proud of because that doll had laid half-clothed and isolated in some semblance of purgatory for dolls for the better part of eleven months before Friday night. Not to mention, Caroline doesn’t know the difference.

Although the day is rapidly approaching when she’ll be able to read the “OUR GENERATION” tag that sticks out of Jenny’s torso.

Really she has only herself to blame because Santa got totally burned by the pink Pottery Barn Kitchen that he spent way too much money on about three years ago only to have her play with it approximately two times, one of which was the other day when I threatened to sell it. Poor Santa, he was just so naive and enthusiastic about shopping for a little girl who, as it turns out, would rather have her very own hot pink rifle.

The girls were having so much fun that I didn’t have the heart to make them go to bed. I loved sitting on the couch and listening to all their little conversations that began with “Let’s pretend that…”

“Let’s pretend that Jenny is going to help Ruthie brush her horse.”

“Let’s pretend that the horse is going to the beauty shop for horses.”

“Let’s pretend that Ruthie wants to get her hair cut really short.”

“Let’s pretend that Diet Coke isn’t some sort of toxic substance.”

Actually, I think that last one was mine.
The spirit of Old Mexico with a little big city panache

Monday night I went to bed determined to wake up the next day and begin the search for the perfect urban sombrero for P. And when you live in San Antonio and find yourself in need of a big dang hat, where else would you go but to El Mercado?

That’s “The Market” for those of you who don’t possess my vast knowledge of the Spanish language. I can also tell you how to ask “how much for the donkey?” in case you ever find yourself in need of that particular phrase. Those eight years of Spanish really paid off.

I hadn’t been to El Mercado in years because it’s a touristy thing to do and I generally try to avoid all touristy activities because I have an aversion to being in crowds of people wearing socks with sandals, but I thought Caroline might think it was fun. I mean, how many places can you go these days that sell bullwhips and combs that look like switchblades all under one roof?

Not nearly enough is the correct answer.

We walked through the market as Caroline’s eyes got bigger and bigger. She had never seen so much useless, yet beautiful, stuff under one roof, which is saying a lot because we go to Target at least once a week. She’d pick up various things and ask “Is this Mexican?” And I’d say, “No baby, that was made in China because it wouldn’t be fair if Mexico cornered the market on making junk. It’s part of the Free Trade Agreement.”

She did manage to score an embroidered Mexican tunic and a darling headband, both of which she insisted on wearing immediately. I couldn’t bring myself to look closely at the labels because I didn’t want to know if they were made in China. The pain and disillusionment would be too great. It was disheartening enough when I recently discovered that the group Menudo was actually from Puerto Rico and not Mexico. Next thing you know I’ll learn that cheese enchiladas were originally made in Taiwan.

Finally, we got down to business and begin looking for the perfect hat. Oh, and we did find it.

Ladies and Gentlemen (as if I have more than two male readers), I present to you the Urban Sombrero.

It can provide you and your six closest friends with plenty of shade.

In the end I decided it was probably a little bit more of a statement than P is looking to make, unless it were to become his trademark and we renamed our business Big Dang Hat Landscaping, which doesn’t seem like a likely scenario. We sacrificed our desire to purchase the biggest hat in the place for a more understated, tasteful version.

And then we went to Mi Tierra, ate fresh flour tortillas and drank Shirley Temples.

Or as they’d say in Mexico, El Shirley Temples.
Music makes the people come together

From the time I was in second grade and learned how to push the RECORD and PLAY buttons at the same time on my mama’s portable tape recorder that had all the sleek styling of a 1976 GoodTimes Van, I have been a fan of the mix tape. For a seven-year-old in love there is nothing sweeter than listening to REO Speedwagon launch into “Take It On the Run” while a DJ continues to talk in the background.

Bonus points if you were ever able to time your mix tape recording skills with the moment the DJ actually announced your song dedication on the radio. That takes a special brand of dedication and skill possessed only by fifth grade girls with a lot of time and Doritos on their hands. And also parents who had a master bedroom downstairs and couldn’t hear that we were still up and calling local radio stations after midnight.

In the early days, mix tape perfection was achieved if I managed to get some combination of these five songs with minimal DJ interruption.

1. “Open Arms” by Journey
2. “Keep on Loving You” by REO Speedwagon
3. “Kiss on My List” by Hall and Oates
4. “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield (Oh Rick Springfield, I loved you most of all)
5. “Endless Love” by Diana Ross (To this day I have never seen the movie because clearly my mother wanted to ruin my life in 1981 and deprive me of everything Brooke Shields)

There was really no better music to listen to while spending an evening with friends as you all decorated your bookcovers with paint pens and took turns calling various boys to find out who they liked or maybe just to hang up them for the tenth time in the night. (Caller ID has spoiled all the fun for this generation)

In later years, my musical taste became more sophisticated and I preferred the song stylings of Tiffany (“I Think We’re Alone Now”) and Madonna (“Material Girl”).

And even in college, Gulley and I would occasionally make ourselves the best mix tape of all time (Bell Biv Devoe, Kid N Play, MC Hammer, and Dee-Lite to name just a few) to listen to while we got ready to go out. That’s right. I was in college when cassette tapes still ruled the world. In fact, my York stereo with its dual cassette player was perfect for making multiple copies of the best mix tapes to distribute to various friends. (I tried to ignore the fact that it also had an 8-track player)

We couldn’t have imagined the riches of iTunes. For that matter we couldn’t have imagined that one day everyone would own any technology more sophisticated than a Brother Word Processor. Music on a computer? That’s pure madness.

It makes my heart happy that my child is growing up in an age where she can have any song at her fingertips (ear tips?) in mere seconds. She will never have to spend her childhood listening to a DJ play “Whip It” by Devo a hundred times when all she really wants to do is record “Our Lips Are Sealed” on her super-cool mix tape.

God bless America. It really is the land of opportunity.

Anyway, the reason I’ve rambled endlessly is because the other day Caroline wanted to hear “Sweet Caroline” and I couldn’t find the mix CD (old habits die hard) that has that song on it. I suggested that when we got home we could sit down, listen to music and she could make her very own mix of songs that I’d burn to a CD for her. She is her mother’s daughter because no words can describe her delight at the power of creating her very own playlist. MUSIC IS POWER. Or whatever.

She immediately knew what songs she wanted on her CD. The following is her list:

1. “Our Song” – Taylor Swift
2. “I Like To Move It” – Will.i.am
3. “Little Drummer Boy” – Jars of Clay
4. “Sweet Caroline” – Neil Diamond
5. “Mama Tried” – Merle Haggard
6. “Walkin’ After Midnight” – Patsy Cline
7. “Every Move I Make” – Worship Jamz (the z makes it edgy)
8. “Big and Chunky” – Will.i.am
9. “Gonna Make You Sweat” – C&C Music Factory
10. “Redneck Girl” – The Bellamy Brothers
11. “Groove is in the Heart” – Dee-Lite
12. “Happy Song” – Chris Tomlin
13. “Ghostbusters” – Kidz Bop Kids (again with the z because marketers are savvy)
14. “I Missed the Bus” – Kriss Kross
15. “Batman Theme” – The Marketts
16. “Boondocks” – Little Big Town

While I question her selection of “Little Drummer Boy” for year-round listening, I applaud her love of Merle Haggard, Patsy Cline and Kriss Kross. Clearly, we are raising her right. Because what kind of world would this be if there was no one to appreciate kids who possess the fortitude to rap while wearing their clothes backwards?

A sad one.

(Although the question was meant to be rhetorical, I felt the need to insert the obvious answer)

The only problem is we haven’t been able to actually burn her list to a CD because the CD burning feature on my Macbook appears to be flat busted. Apparently when the nice folks at the Genius Bar replaced my bunk keyboard they replaced it with a bunk CD burner. Dang.

So now I’m going to have to schedule an appointment to let them look at it and you just know they’re going to want to keep it for a few days which makes me sweat just thinking about it.

The worst part is I can’t even make a good mix CD to listen to while I drive to the Apple Store.

Sometimes I think life with cassette tapes was easier.

Except for the times when my York stereo cassette player decided to eat one. I still can’t think about the tragedy that befell Def Leppard “Pyromania” without getting a tear in my eye.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on what constitutes the perfect mix tape present or past. I bet it doesn’t include “Ghostbusters” by Kidz Bop Kids.
I thought about using a Jeopardy format but wasn’t sure how it would work

It is so wrong that today is June 1st and yet I still have to send Caroline off to school for four more days. Someone please put this school year out of its misery. I’m especially bitter today because we stayed at the pool until 8:00 on Saturday night, came home and put Caroline to bed, and had to WAKE HER UP at 8:20 a.m. Sunday morning so we wouldn’t be late for church.

If not for the fact that we had to worry about last night being a school night, we would have been well on our way to establishing the perfect summer schedule.

But enough about my problems.

Let’s talk more about me.

Over a month ago, I wrote a post and mentioned that y’all could ask me questions in the comments. Then I spent the weekend in New Orleans and then I took a week off the blog and then I just completely forgot all about it until a few people emailed me and asked if I was ever going to answer those questions.

Truth be told, I didn’t remember that there were so many of them. I’ll answer a few today until I see something shiny and get distracted. Then if I remember, I’ll answer some more in the next few weeks.

Okay, the most frequently asked question was:

“Okay,my question is this. I wonder why you tell us your name and your daughter’s name but all we get with the hubby is a capital ‘P’. Is he a secret service outdoorsman?”

Yes. He is a secret service outdoorsman. Our secret is out.

“Do you and P plan on having more children (naturally or by adoption)? Has Caroline ever asked for a brother or sister, or does she like to have the whole spotlight to herself?”

This is a complicated answer filled with many layers like an onion or a parfait. The short answer is we don’t know. We are a happy little family of three and life is easy with a five and a half year old. She can make her own sandwiches for crying out loud. It’s just a matter of time before she’s doing the laundry to earn her keep. Why would we want to start over with a newborn that will require a significant portion of our income to be spent on diapers for the next three years?

Because of the chubby legs and the cheeks and the way they smell. And the onesies. That’s why.

So my official answer is it’s not necessarily in the plan but I’m good with whatever God has for us, however that may look. His plans always end up being better than mine.

(I don’t want to leave the impression that it’s a fertility issue because P could pretty much wink at me across the room and I’d get pregnant. At least that’s how it worked six years ago)

As for Caroline, yes she asks for a SISTER. And YES, she likes to have the whole spotlight to herself.

How do you eat all the junk you eat and stay thin? Do you work out tons? Eat sensible foods that you don’t blog about? Or is the love of guacamole and corn dogs just a clever facade to make us identify with you more?

I would never kid about my love of guacamole and corn dogs. I’ve always had a beautiful, meaningful relationship with both of those items.

Truthfully (and don’t hate me) I’ve been blessed with a pretty dang good metabolism, although it is with deep regret that I inform you it is starting to let me down as I venture later and later into my thirties. However, I do watch what I eat and eat junk food in moderation. Well, except for when I have PMS and there isn’t a piece of chocolate or a bag of Doritos that is safe for at least five counties.

As for exercise, we have a love/hate relationship. I love the way it makes me feel, but I hate doing it. There are people who talk about a runner’s high or whatever. Yeah, I don’t get those people. Which probably explains why the “30 Day Shred” has turned into the “52 Day Shred” and I feel like I’m going to throw up every time I hear Jillian Michaels say, “Are you ready?”

Because NO I AM NOT READY. I will never be ready.

Unless we’re talking about chips and queso because then I am always ready.

I feel bad for people who don’t watch “Lost” in a weird sort of way because it’s probably the best TV show ever written in the history of mankind. So would you just consider renting the first season and watching if for me?

No, but thanks for asking.

I’m sure it’s a lovely show but I prefer my television shows to be realistic. For example, finding the love of your life among twenty-five contestants during a six-week journey through various hot tubs, helicopter rides, and private concerts by Martina McBride.

How hard or easy was the decision to leave the outside work place and be a stay at home mom?

I spent ten years carting around Olive Garden to doctors’ offices in the rain, snow, sleet and hail (not really on the snow and sleet) only to listen to complaints about how I forgot to bring enough Diet Dr. Pepper for everyone. I sat in countless boring meetings where everyone seemed to be excited about lipoproteins and blah, blah, blah except for me. I lost hours of my life I’ll never get back attempting to fax sheets filled with scotch-taped receipts that did not care to be wedged through a fax machine and rebelled by becoming completely indecipherable to the accounting powers that held my reimbursement fate in their hands.

It was not a hard decision to leave.

Except for the nice salary, sweet insurance and free car.

Free gasoline? I think I miss you most of all.

In all seriousness, it was a decision that was one of the hardest of my life because it was a step of faith to walk away. We had no idea what the future would hold but we knew it was the right time for me to leave.

As for being a stay at home mom, I think we all know that I’m just in it for the glamour and the opportunity to clean my own toilets.