Just for fun

After yesterday’s post so many of y’all (and by many, I mean Jeana and lurker) inquired about what exactly a Diamond Darling is, that I feel compelled to answer. I’m also sure many others were wondering, but just didn’t want to ask.

Appease me here, people.

I started writing this post earlier and realized when I typed the words “Texas A&M was a land grant institution founded in 1876”, that I was, in fact, writing the most boring post of all time. All the two of you wanted to know was what exactly a Diamond Darling is, not the entire history of the Texas higher education system.

If y’all would have asked me during college what my major was, if I answered truthfully, the answer should have been Diamond Darlings. I spent more time and energy on this extracurricular activity that I did on anything else I did in college, as evidenced by the fact that when my dad came to visit during my sophomore year in college, I pointed at the wrong building and told him it was the library.

Oh yes, that tuition was money well spent.

Diamond Darlings are essentially bat girls/hostesses for the Texas A&M baseball team. They are chosen through a series of applications and interviews with athletic department personnel and now there is even a test to assess their knowledge of baseball. The test is part of the tryout process because during my first year as a Diamond Darling, one of the girls kept referring to the umpire as the catcher.

So, obviously not everyone was trying out for pure love of the game.

And no, that girl wasn’t me.

Now, I usually hesitate to mention that I was a Diamond Darling (so why am I posting about it for all the internet to see?) because unless someone went to Texas A&M and knows what all the Diamond Darlings do, there is a certain stereotype that seems to come with saying you were a bat girl. It’s kind of an assumption that all we did was hang out and date the players, which was strictly forbidden and we never did unless there were extenuating circumstances, like if he was really cute.

The thing is though, being a Diamond Darling gave me some of the best memories of my college career. It’s how I met Gulley, Jen and Tiff, who still remain my best friends in the world. It’s the reason that to this day if I hear Van Halen singing Top of the World on a spring day, I feel an urge to get in my car and find a baseball game to watch. It’s the reason that I watch The College World Series every year and cry no matter who wins.

My last year as a Diamond Darling, the Aggies actually made it to the College World Series. Gulley and I were dying to make the trip to Omaha with the team, but summer school was starting that same week and we were both supposed to start school. My dad agreed to let me go, but Gulley’s dad told her she needed to stay and go to school. Y’all can imagine his surprise when he turned on ESPN one night to watch the Aggies play and saw Gulley sitting on the bench outside the dugout at Rosenblatt Stadium in Omaha, Nebraska blowing a huge bubble while looking at the camera.

And we both agreed, it was totally worth it.

So, there you have it. A little history of the Diamond Darlings. I’m sure I could have done other things that probably would have looked better on a resume, but I guarantee they wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun, given me nearly as many good memories, or taught me that you should never bend at the waist to pick up a baseball bat while wearing short white shorts.

Always bend at the knees.

There are some lessons that can’t be learned in a classroom.

Yesterday was a momentous day at our house. First of all, Caroline slept until 10:00 a.m. Let me say that again. Ten ‘o clock in the morning. Granted, it was really 9:00, but with the time change the clocks said 10:00 a.m. And now that the government conspiracy to force us to spring ahead is upon us, it’s all about what the clocks say, not about what the people may want, such as an hour of their life back.

Anyway, sleeping in until 10 a.m. was pure, unmitigated bliss.

By the time we got up, it was way too late to make it to church, so P fixed us all some breakfast complete with honey biscuits. Then, after breakfast, the second landmark moment of the day arrived. It was raining outside and I had been promising Caroline that on the next rainy day, I would set up her ladybug tent. So, I asked her if she wanted me to put up the tent.

Stupid question.

OH! MY! TENT! MY! BEAUTIFUL! LADYBUG! TENT! YES! YES! YES! I AM SO EXCITED!!!

And since I am so astute, I realized that she did, indeed, want me to set up the tent. I set it up in her playroom, put her Cinderella inflatable bed in it and got her portable DVD player out of the closet. Y’all, she stayed in that playroom with her tent for the better part of the day. She played with her dolls, her letters, read her books, and watched her movies. The only peep I heard out of her was when she needed some animal crackers or lemonade.

So, while she was so wonderfully occupied, the third momentous thing of the day occurred. I did my bi-annual closet clean out.

Shall we all have a moment of silence and reverence for the winter clothes that are no longer with us?

Every year at the end of Summer, I do a complete closet clean out and figure out what I need for Fall and Winter. Then, when Spring arrives, I do the same thing. I cleaned, I rearranged, I assessed my wardrobe needs for Spring and Summer.

Maybe it was because I was a little bitter about losing an hour as I slept on Saturday night, but I showed my closet no mercy. I got rid of things I have held on to for way too long, but couldn’t bear to get rid of them. Brighton belts anyone? I have always saved them before because they weren’t cheap and I kept thinking they might come back in style.

Today, I realized that even if shiny braided belts with tons of silver were to come back in style, there is no way one of these belts would fit around the waist of low rise jeans. They are made to go with high waist, tapered jeans….and if that look ever comes back the least of my issues will be what belt I’m going to wear. The belts are gone.

I also purged my closet of all maternity wear. Granted, it’s going to my friend E if she wants it, but even if she doesn’t, it’s not going back in my closet. It will be lucky if it gets a box in the attic.

I got rid of pajamas I’ve had since the mid-90’s, costume jewelry that was made to go with the Brighton belts, and underwear that I wore throughout nine months of pregnancy that no longer had a prayer of staying up without the use of safety pins and duct tape.

So, y’all would think with all that extensive cleaning out that I didn’t keep anything that isn’t going to be worn on my body in the next 12 months…well, you would be wrong.

After my cleanout last season, I posted a few pictures of things that I continue to hold on to and all of those items still remain in my closet. However, I discovered a few more things that still have a home, despite the fact that unless I undergo a complete lobotomy, will not be worn any time soon…or ever again.

This is my Diamond Darling jacket from college. I had to cover up part of it because it has my maiden name in cursive writing for that extra classy touch. Why do I keep it? It was covered in dust when I pulled it down from my closet and I can assure you that I wouldn’t put it on if it were 30 degrees outside and it was the only jacket in my closet.

However, I will keep it, along with my beautiful, gold Diamond Darling pendant that spelled out Diamond Darlings in cursive…you know, to match the name in cursive on my jacket.

Nice.

Now, these are a pair of black ropers modeled by Caroline (and yes, she was still in her pajamas at 3:00. So was I.). I haven’t worn them in at least ten years and don’t see that I will ever wear them again, but they are a part of a great romantic story. P bought them for me for our second Valentines day when we were dating. Actually, he didn’t so much buy them for me as tell me “Hey, why don’t you go buy yourself some black ropers and I’ll make that your Valentine’s Day present.” Oh yes, he has always been a smooth talkin’ devil.

The real mystery is why I wanted a pair of black ropers to begin with. I think it had something to do with going to the rodeo that year and I needed them to complete my outfit. It may be the only time I ever wore them.

This is not a large, mutant caterpillar. It is the removeable fur collar from a leather jacket that I used to own. The jacket was this gorgeous, black leather and was from Harold’s. It was one of the first really nice things I bought for myself with my own money and it was stolen out of the back of my car in a parking garage in Austin, Texas along with a faux fur leopard print coat.

I can’t talk about it anymore or I’ll start to cry.

At least I’d have this nice fur collar to wipe my tears on.

The last item that still inexplicably still has a place in my closet is this.

The bridesmaid dress that I wore in my sister’s wedding. I don’t know why I still have it other than the fact that I paid more to have it altered than the dress actually cost. This wasn’t on purpose. I was just naive and took it to seamstress who told me what needed to be done and I said “Sure”. After all, how much can some minor alterations cost?

I’ll tell you, ALOT.

The thing is even if P and I had some big, swanky party to attend, I would never, NEVER say “Oh, I’ll just pull out that periwinkle blue bridesmaid dress. It will be perfect!”

But, in spite of the things I can’t make myself get rid of, my closet is all ready for Spring. I am embarrassed to admit how many times this evening I’ve gone in there to admire it. Here, I’ll show y’all some pictures.

Please notice that there are no wire hangers to be found. I don’t know much, but I am certain that hell is full of wire hangers. They are a menace to society. But in true fashion, opposites do attract because look at P’s side of the closet. It’s where the wire hangers go to die.

Oh, and the big, white box way up at the top of my closet contains my wedding dress, which of course, I would never even consider throwing out. I’ll just keep it up there and let it take up a huge amount of space so that in twenty-five years Caroline can have the time honored tradition of telling me “There is no way I’m going to wear your wedding dress. I want my own.”

Maybe she’ll want the Diamond Darling jacket.

When I started blogging back in July, I wasn’t sure that I would even last a week. I didn’t tell anyone about it until almost a month later when I realized that this may actually be something I’d continue to do on a regular basis.

Lately the question has been going around asking why you blog. In fact, I was tagged for that particular question by Rachel at RPL Communications. For me, I started blogging because I wanted to record memories and I’ve always felt like I might have a book in me somewhere and writing more often might help it come out. However, I’m not entirely sure there is a market for a book that details one’s experiences cleaning up toddler poop, OCD tendencies and burrito riots that took place in their high school.

Really, it’s all the makings of a best seller.

Anyway, the unexpected thing I discovered about blogging is it’s so much more than that. I have made some real friends. P is always just thrilled when I blurt out a piece of information that I learned from “my internet friends”. I realize that in some circles it might make me sound a little dorky, but I’m in my mid-30’s and do plenty of other things that would qualify me for the less than cool crowd.

The best thing about blogging for me, other than being able to write, is reading about other mamas and knowing that we all share many of the same experiences. It creates a whole new kind of community.

Shortly after I told my sister about Big Mama, she told me her friend Janet also had a blog. I have only met Janet once or twice, but I started reading her blog because it made me laugh. Then, through Janet and the magic that is the internet, I got to know her whole little circle of friends.

They are funny, smart and make me laugh, even if some of them are admittedly tree hugging liberals who are affiliated with a university which shall remain unnamed, but is located in Austin, Texas. I forgive them for that and they forgive me for being the new poster child of the NRA.

We are all mamas and understand the things that are truly important in life, such as trying to maintain some semblance of sanity and a sense of humor while raising our kids.

So, if y’all are looking for something new and different to read, go take a look at these posts.

Janet at Life with the Wisners and read about her adventures in babysitting

Amy at Franklin Five and read about her new love of minivans

Tracey at More than a Minivan Mom and read her sweet tribute to her Poppi

And if you’re looking for some gorgeous photos to admire, then go visit Jen at The Sweet Life, it will make you want to pack up your children and take them immediately to wherever she may be so that she can take pictures of them.

Thanks for the laughs, girls.

One of P’s very best friends is a member of a branch of the U.S. Special Forces. They met each other about six years ago, through a series of random circumstances, and quickly discovered that they shared an intense love of all things gun and ammo related. And y’all know that old saying, friends that kill together, stay together.

Well, maybe that’s not exactly right, but it worked for Thelma and Louise and it works for P and his friend, except for the part about driving off a cliff in a car.

The thing that makes me laugh is P will get on the phone with this friend and they’ll talk about lethal weaponry in such detail, and for so long, that you would think they were talking about something really interesting, like shoes or jewelry.

Back in January, P’s friend realized he was going to get to fly to South Texas for a visit. Y’all have never heard more strategizing in your life. I don’t know what kind of preparation goes into planning a war, and heaven knows I should with all the Military Channel watching that goes on around here, but the U.S. Armed Forces have nothing on these two.

For weeks, I overheard conversations that sounded like this.

“Oh, we’ll definitely need three mags, maybe even four.”

“The best thing about that caliber of bullet is that it will cause massive internal hemorraghing for a quick kill.”

“With the night vision, we’ll be able to maximize our kill time.”

And my personal favorite, “Kip is going to rent a helicopter so that we can shoot hogs out of it.”

I read somewhere one time ( yes, that’s as specific as I can get, if you want sources cited you might want to go read something else) that there are satellites or some other such foolishness that track things people say, and if keywords are triggered that might lead the CIA or FBI or whoever else is listening to believe that you might be plotting something sinister, such as taking over a small country or paying full price at Gap or Banana Republic, then you will be closely monitored.

If that’s true, then let me take a moment to give a big shout out to the CIA agents who are, at this very moment, monitoring this blog and all other communications that stem from our home address.

Don’t worry, y’all…they’re just trying to kill pigs. It’s all very innocent, well, unless of course, you’re a pig. And I don’t mean a pig in the 70’s street slang for a cop sense. I mean hogs, wild hogs.

At the crux of all this plotting and planning was the aforementioned helicopter rental. Kip, who is another of P’s friends, owns a ranch, and the wild hogs are destroying the place. They dig under fences, they tear up roads and breed like rabbits or you know, wild hogs. Kip wanted to seriously decimate the hog population, so he chose the occasion of P’s friend’s visit to rent a helicopter to orchestrate an aerial attack on the pork insurgents.

Now, I realize the appeal of hanging out of a helicopter and shooting semi-automatic weapons is, for the most part, lost on the majority of females. So, to help y’all envision their excitement, imagine someone helicoptering you into the Nordstroms’ parking lot and telling you to gather up as many pairs of shoes as you possibly can.

Exciting, right?

And wait, it gets better. This wasn’t just gratuitous killing because it served a purpose. Our church has a Feed the Homeless ministry that processes wild game to provide meals to people living on the streets. The hogs that were killed were donated to the church to supply them with enough meat to serve over 3,000 meals.

Ham for the homeless, y’all. What could be better than that?

Except for this.

After dinner one night, they lured me in with the night vision equipment and weaponry. Y’all know how I love all things Sydney Bristow and for just a moment, I could pretend like I was about to bust in to some chemical plant in Germany and work somebody over while using terms like “covert op” and “infiltrate”.

For all of us, the visit was like a dream come true…well, except for maybe the hogs.

It’s a blog party. A big blog party. Big blogs, little blogs, red blogs, blue blogs, yellow blogs, green blogs, black blogs, and white blogs are all at a blog party! What a blog party!

Can y’all tell we read a lot of Go Dog Go! around here?

Let me tell y’all a little something about myself. Ever since I first read about the blog party, I have spent way too much time wondering what on earth I could post about to properly convey a party like atmosphere. I mean, how do you serve chips and guacamole via the internet? Do I tell everyone to meet me back here at 5:30 p.m. central standard time so that we can all make a big bloggy toast and drink margaritas at the same time?

That certainly wouldn’t be fair to the folks on the West Coast because it would only be 3:30 there, and for those who work it’s been my experience that most companies frown upon drinking in the office…well, unless it’s a Christmas party…or maybe if it’s a blog party. Anyone want to test that theory?

Probably not.

Of course, it only makes sense that I would spend so much time wondering what to post, because if this were a real life party I can guarantee that I would spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about what to wear. I have spent way too many hours of my life worrying about what to wear to certain events, and now?

It’s so rare that I get to go out that when I do, I go through more wardrobe changes in my closet than a Versace fashion show. Because if I’m wearing something that will actually be seen by grown ups, in a restaurant other than McDonalds, I’m going to find something cute to wear and make it count.

So, if you’re new here…welcome to Big Mama’s party. I can guarantee that you’ll never know what you’re going to get when you come here, because I never know what I’m going to write until it comes flying out of my head and onto the computer screen, but you can rest assured that in any given week I’ll cover everything from poop to my neighbors, from my family to God. And sometimes, I even talk fashion trends.

It’s what I like to call a mixed bag.

I know…the mind boggles.

So with that, I’ll leave y’all with a clip of Caroline and let me give the disclaimer that for some reason the sound and audio don’t quite match up. It’s a little like watching Ashley Simpson on Saturday Night Live.

Photo Sharing – Upload Video – Video Sharing – Share Photos

Y’all have to admit the girl has a knack for the knock knock joke. There’s no doubt where she gets her sharp, witty sense of humor.

Thanks for stopping by. Really, everyday is a party here so come on back anytime.

And now, I’m going to go visitin’.

In my opinion, one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century was the Pledge Grab-it. Y’all know what I’m talking about, those little electromagnetic cloths that catch all the dust? Some people use the Swiffer version, but they all serve the same function of getting dust and dirt off your floor that is barely visible to the naked eye.

We have all wood floors and I have a child and a husband that like to play in the dirt, so needless to say my floors get dirty. I sweep in the kitchen once a day since that’s our biggest high traffic area. Then, after I sweep, if I really want to give the floors that extra something special, I will use the Grab-its.

I know that everyone is on the edge of their seat to see where this post is going.

Me too.

We have a housekeeper that comes every other week. I realize that I am blessed to have someone to clean my house twice a month, and truly I am grateful for those Fridays that I know the house will be really clean through no effort of my own. It’s like a little present all wrapped up with a big bow.

She is actually more like a member of the family, seeing as how she is the same housekeeper that P’s mama has used since he was a little boy. In fact, at this moment, she cleans P’s mama’s house, his sister’s house, Mimi and Bop’s house and my house.

We like to keep it all in the family.

Anyway, every other Friday, Cata shows up, drinks her coffee, listens while Caroline talks her ear off and then starts cleaning the house. Here is where the problem lies.

Cata is a Grab-it-aholic.

She opens up the first pack at 8 a.m. and by 8:45 has burned through it like she’s in a race to rid the world of all electromagnetic dust cloths. By 10:15, another stash of Grab-its has literally bit the dust and at 11:00, she’s asking me to go to the store to buy more Grab-its.

Cata has a fever and the only cure is more Grab-its.

My home is not that dirty.

No one’s home is that dirty.

I’m afraid Cata is giddy with the dust wielding power of the Grab-it and it’s time for us to take a step back and re-evaluate our cleaning arsenal. At this rate, we’re not going to be able to afford to keep her because keeping her supplied in Grab-its is taking a huge chunk of our savings, and if we’re going to be blowing through money like that, it needs to go to a good cause, like new summer sandals.

However, since I am such a confrontational person, I haven’t had the nerve to just say no. Cata asks me for the Grab-its and I continue to be an enabler. But it’s got to stop.

I asked P’s sister if she has had a problem with Cata’s Grab-it abuse and she said no, because at her house Cata became all strung out on the Windex wipes. Her advice was to hide the Grab-its in a secret spot, which has helped her cure Cata of the Windex wipe addiction.

At this point, I’ll try anything. I’ve just got to get her down to one pack a day.