Road trips

I believe in the science

Yesterday morning, Hite called on my cell phone to see if we wanted him to bring us some Krispy Kreme donuts before we left Dallas. I kind of feel like he meant it as a rhetorical question because he’s known Gulley and me for almost twenty years and surely he must have known the answer would be YES PLEASE.

And as if Krispy Kreme delivery wasn’t enough, he also brought hats for everyone.

Even Ella.

Although she turned down the donuts in favor of one of Will’s matchbox cars, which AJ discovered later in the day when bits of Hot Wheels began to filter out of Ella’s mouth and other places we won’t discuss.

We ate our donuts, said our goodbyes and got back on the road for the second part of our Texas tour.

On the way to Waco, we called Gulley’s dad and asked him where we should stop for lunch. After he made fun of me for being a socialite due to my disdain for public transportation, he suggested we go to George’s Bar. It was a brilliant suggestion, so we played “George’s Bar” by Pat Green on the iPod for the kids (really it was totally for our own benefit) and headed that way.

Will didn’t make it into the picture because he was still back at the car searching for his Scooby Doo croc and the rest of us were broiling in the heat. We desperately needed to get in the air-conditioning and eat something fried.

After lunch, we made our big stop of the day, the Mayborn Museum on the Baylor campus. I have to say that it was one of the best children’s museums I’ve ever been to and was definitely better than sweating at the zoo looking at a bunch of lame birds and a gorilla who looks like he’s totally over the whole being in captivity thing.

Although I will admit that children’s museums can stress me out a little bit because some of the rooms involve science and exhibits like how a liquid turns into a gas and it’s only a matter of time before Caroline will ask a question and my shocking lack of anything and everything scientific will be put on display for a bunch of other moms to hear.

“A liquid becomes a gas by a process I like to call MAGIC.”

Fortunately, there were other things that required little to no working knowledge of anything useful.

My own little Mona Lisa.

Here they are in a Native American habitat formerly known as a tee-pee.

This was just like a real school bus but without the ripped green vinyl seats that stick to your legs and a surly, chain-smoking bus driver. Actually, the driver was a bit surly but he gave up smoking for his 3rd birthday.

Look! It’s what the ancient bloggers, also known as “writers”, used to use back in prehistoric times.

On our way out of the museum, we let the kids stop in the gift shop to pick one small souvenir each. Jackson and Caroline chose a small bag full of polished rocks and quartz. Will chose some kind of clear, plastic ball filled with bugs. When Gulley paid for it and handed it to him, he hugged her and exclaimed, “Thank you for buying this for me Mom! It’s a blessing to my heart.” I believe he absorbed some Baptist by osmosis while on the Baylor campus.

Finally, we got in the car and drove to the last stop of our trip, Bryan/College Station. The motherland.

Once the car was unloaded (again) and we settled in, there were three moments that made me so happy.

The first was this darling little ladybug cupcake cake that Honey (Gulley’s mama) had bought so we could have a little early birthday celebration for Gulley.

The second was when Nena came in and announced that she’d been in a terrible mood, but got a new permanent this afternoon and it changed her whole disposition. I’m sad to report that I have no pictures of Nena and her new permanent.

The third was when Gulley showed me this incredible magnifying mirror that belongs to Honey. She’d told me about it after her last trip because she said she couldn’t quit looking at her pores in horror and was certain it caused her to stumble in the way of over-tweezing her eyebrows.

Listen. I thought she was exaggerating, but once she showed me that mirror I was like the reincarnation of Narcissus, except instead of falling in love with my own beauty I was completely mesmerized by the fact that I not only have a unibrow, but some stray eyebrows growing down the side of my face. I can’t even discuss the fine lines around my eyes, it’s too painful.

So here’s my scientific fact for the day; It is never a good idea to look at yourself in a mirror that magnifies your face to 15 times its normal size.

Also, Gulley and I had a lengthy discussion (seriously, I’m embarrassed to even admit how long we passed that mirror back and forth and discussed it) about how we both have one really good eyebrow and one that is always a little unruly no matter how much we try to pluck and define. Our hypothesis is that all women have this eyebrow struggle.

Is it universal or is it just us? Do you have one good brow or are they equally appealing? Or perhaps you have a hobby that doesn’t involve staring at yourself in the mirror and have never really noticed one way or the other.

Whatever the case may be, we need to know. The science depends on it.
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway

Yesterday morning, Gulley and I loaded up the kids and embarked on a road trip, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Ingalls family left the Big Woods of Wisconsin for the Kansas prairie.

Except we were only driving five hours to Dallas. In a car.

And I’m pretty sure Ma Ingalls didn’t have to travel with her body pillow. Of course she also made her own soap so what did she know about the struggles that come with being high maintenance?

My little apple with her travel pillow doesn’t fall far from the high maintenance tree.

This is where I have to sing the praises of the new toll road that takes you all the way around Austin. It may be the best thing I’ve discovered this summer, second only to LifeSaver Gummy Sours. I was a little confused about how I was supposed to pay the tolls because nothing seemed to be clearly marked. At one point we stopped at a booth to get some clarification on the toll-paying situation (Thanks anyway, Ray. It may help if you read over your list of frequently asked toll road questions in the back of your employee handbook.) and Will got a little freaked out because he thought we were at a car wash.

Nope, not a car wash. Just a destination for absolutely no helpful information.

But, still, toll road=GOLDEN.

Let’s just hope there’s not a $200 ticket waiting in Gulley’s mailbox when we get home.

As we made our way to Dallas, we made several stops to keep the trip interesting, including a quick bathroom stop at a very questionable Shell Station outside of Temple, Texas.

Fortunately, there were helpful instructions posted for those not familiar with indoor plumbing.

When we drove through Waco we decided to make a stop that really goes against everything we believe as good Aggies, but were desperate for something interesting to show the kids so we decided to stop and look at some Baptist bears.

Please note we’ve trained them well because they all flashed the Gig’em sign as we took the picture.

After we spent five fascinating minutes peering through a very small window to watch some bears sleep (it came as no surprise to me that they weren’t dancing), we got back on the road.

We continued on down I-35 until we saw what was the best thing I’d seen since the toll road.

Who knew that Willie Nelson had his own gas station/rest stop/bar? It’s true what they say, travel really does broaden your horizons.

And you can’t tell because I am such a poor photographer, but the kids are standing in front of a larger than life picture of Willie.

Then, because apparently I don’t get out enough, I had Gulley take one more picture of the kids and me outside of Willie’s Place.

Finally, in the immortal words of Willie we got on the road again until we reached our final destination of Dallas, specifically AJ’s house. Which, by the way, is the cutest little house I’ve ever seen and is decorated just darling in spite of the fact that AJ led us to believe she had no decorating skills and might possibly have a T.V. sitting on some cinder blocks. Gulley even told the kids that staying with AJ would be kind of like camping, so imagine their surprise when we pulled up to a fully-furnished house complete with floral arrangements.

Here’s Caroline with AJ at Wild About Harry’s where we made an essential stop for ice cream.

And here is the entire road trip crew at the end of the evening because nothing says road trip success like a picture with a giant hot dog.

We went back to AJ’s, put the kids to bed and watched “The Bachelorette” while discussing important matters about how you know a guy really likes you when he makes the effort to cook a stuffed pork chop for you. That probably makes no sense to you, but it made a lot of sense to us around 2:00 a.m.

I’ll be back tomorrow with more updates from the road.
And I shall name these new five pounds “butter”

Listen.

Those cinnamon rolls were just the literal icing on the cake of food sins I committed in the last few days at the ranch. Forgive me, Jillian Michaels, for I have sinned; it’s been one week and 80,000 calories since my last confession or Shred workout or whatever.

I love that so many of y’all left comments or sent emails and have been all “Yeah, yeah, yeah you rode a horse. WHO CARES? What about the food?” It’s why I feel so close to you. Because as much as Peso and I had some precious time together riding on the prairie, it paled in comparison to how good this bread was that we ate with dinner Tuesday night.

When I took my first bite, I felt tears come to my eyes as I shoveled more in my mouth while asking, “Oh my word what is in this bread it is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

(Because apparently I use run-on sentences when I ask about delicious food)

Ree replied with an answer that would cause cardiologists everywhere to go ahead and buy that summer home on the lake they’ve been thinking about, “I just put a stick and a half of butter on each half of a loaf of french bread and bake it at 350 degrees until it kind of carmelizes.”

A stick and a half of butter.

On each half loaf.

Sure, it sounds like a recipe for heart disease but think of all the calcium.

The first night we were there we ate some jalapenos filled with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon, which was perfect because I love any recipe that combines my three favorite food groups.

And then Tuesday night we started with some homemade pico de gallo that was later mixed with some avocado. Together they were the most perfect pair since Donny and Marie.

(Please keep in mind that I am not a food photographer. I just play one on the blog.)

(Also, I didn’t get a picture of it mixed with the avocado because that would have required me to stop eating.)

When dinner was served, this is what it looked like.

I wish I could give more specific details, but I’ll tell you what I know. The meat was slathered in more butter and sprinkled with salt and pepper, then cooked. The corn had some sort of cream in it and something else and it was delicious. And the potatoes were full of yet more butter and some sour cream for good measure.

(The above descriptions are not exact recipes given the vague and probably inaccurate list of ingredients)

I could cry just thinking about the goodness.

I could also cry because I miss the Sponge Bob figure that Ree’s youngest son left at the Lodge for me to play with if I wanted to.

It’s not everyday that a little boy lets you borrow his horse and his Sponge Bob.

But it’s also not everyday that you eat about a pound of butter on one plate.

Sadly, it was time to head home yesterday so we said our goodbyes, grabbed our cinnamon rolls and hit the road, but not before I took one last look at the view from my bedroom window.

And at the pantry that caused me to add coveting to my list of sins.

And then we said what felt like an inadequate thank you to Marlboro Man and Ree for all the good times and good food. They are the best.

However, our day wasn’t over because when Shannon dropped Sophie and me off at the Tulsa airport, we met up with Kelly, her mama, and sweet little Harper. It was so much fun getting to meet them in person and I’m never one to pass up the chance to hold a sweet baby.

You can tell I have a real way with babies by how calm and peaceful Harper was in my presence.

Finally, I got on a plane and headed home to where my peeps were waiting on me.

And so was Jillian Michaels.

She’s going to make me pay the butter-filled piper by around 9:00 a.m.

Or maybe 10:00.

There’s no need to rush into anything.
Just like the Hat Creek Cattle Company except they might rent pigs

I realize I’m posting a little later than usual today, but I am trying to overcome my OCD ways and the inevitable twitch that comes when I don’t have something scheduled to go up by 6 a.m. every day. It’s a sickness really.

And before I continue, can we please have a moment of silence for Ed McMahon? I erroneously announced he was deceased about a year ago, but now that he is actually gone I feel I need a moment to reflect.

Okay, I’m all done.

Anyway, I mentioned that I was in Oklahoma for a little girls’ getaway. Ree from The Pioneer Woman invited Sophie, Shannon and me to come spend a few days at the ranch so I spent the morning working cattle.

There’s a sentence I never thought I’d write.

Actually, I didn’t so much work the cattle as stand around and watch the cowboys work the cattle while I said helpful things like, “Man, that looks really hard” or “Wow. You get really dirty working cattle.”

However, I did ride a horse.

Let’s all have another moment of silence for my bottom. It may never be the same.

I was a little hesitant about riding a horse but then Ree emailed and said she assumed I’d be riding. The night I read the email, I turned to P and said, “Ree assumes I’ll be riding a horse. Do you think I should ride a horse?” He looked at me and said, “Maybe you should ask if they have a small donkey you could ride.”

I don’t know why he didn’t feel my four years of riding trails at summer camp combined with various pony rides as a child didn’t qualify me for true horsemanship status.

Apparently they aren’t kidding around with this whole cowboy thing because Ree told me she’d be around to pick me up from the Lodge around 5:15 a.m. I didn’t even finish watching “The Bachelorette” last night so I would be rested and ready. Let the gravity of that sink in. I’ve only been here 24 hours and ranch life has already changed me.

Also, I can watch “The Bachelorette” on my DVR when I get home.

When I walked outside it looked like this.

Who knew that’s what 5 a.m. looks like in the middle of nowhere?

Ree drove me over to where the cowboys were waiting with the horses and that’s when I met Peso for the first time. Peso is the horse that her four-year-old son normally rides and all he really likes to do is eat and walk. In other words, we were a match made in heaven.

The other good news is that Peso was content to just follow along behind Marlboro Man and his horse, so I was able to not really think about where I was going and instead imagine that I was in a scene from “Lonesome Dove” except without Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones.

Before the cattle round-up or whatever it’s supposed to be called was over, Peso and I had both trotted and loped while I repeatedly murmured the Lord’s Prayer. It was seriously so much fun, but have I mentioned that my bottom will never be the same?

Once all the mama cows and their babies were in the pens, they began to separate the mamas from the babies so that they could vaccinate, castrate, and brand the calves. Just another day at the office.

Look at this one giving me the eye. I think he was hoping I might help him.

There’s nothing I can do for him now.

But I think he held a grudge because he kept staring at me with disdain.

Seriously, quit looking at me. I am helpless here. For goodness sakes, I can barely ride a horse.

If you don’t believe me, just ask my bottom.
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.
FYI, they have mountains in North Carolina

I have to start this post by saying a huge thank you to all of you who prayed for me this weekend. You need to know that I appreciate it more than words could ever convey. I’ve said it before, but y’all are the best part of this blog.

I’ve gotten so many emails asking about the weekend and how everything went, so I’ll do my best to recap in a concise, articulate form. But, really, when do I ever do anything that’s concise and articulate?

By Thursday morning Caroline had been completely fever-free for 24 hours and seemed to be feeling fine. She went to school and when I picked her up at the end of the day, she excitedly told me all about her day and appeared to be completely over the flu. I was so relieved that I wasn’t going to be leaving town while she was sick.

But I counted my flu-free chickens before they hatched.

She slept in my bed on Thursday night and I could tell she was restless. Then about 1:00 a.m., I could feel the heat radiating from her body like one of those little stoves that the Amish make. The fever was back. I gave her some Motrin and then spent the next two hours listening to her feverish ramblings about how her favorite Disney princess is Pocahontas because she has a pet raccoon.

Technically, I’m not sure that Pocahontas is really a Disney princess, but I didn’t want to argue the point at 4 a.m.

Anyway, she finally fell asleep again around 4:45 in the morning, just in time for me to get a refreshing 15 minutes of sleep before my alarm went off at 5:00.

Armed with about two hours and fifteen minutes of sleep, I stumbled into the bathroom to get dressed, stuff a few more things in my suitcase, and then head to the airport. I’ve never felt more refreshed.

Also, P was still asleep when I left the house so I just put a note by the coffee pot that read, “Caroline has fever. No school today. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Once I got on the plane, I was gripped with fear. Not fear that we might crash, not fear of the fact that I was speaking to a group of women, but fear that I would fall asleep with my mouth open in front of a plane full of strangers. And, horror of horrors, maybe even snore.

(Disclaimer: I don’t normally snore. I am way too delicate and feminine. I just thought the altitude might cause some freak sinus issues.)

Sure enough, I did the fall asleep, mouth open, head bob and jolt awake routine more times than I want to recall right now. To my fellow passengers on Delta Flight 5022, I apologize.

Once I arrived at the airport in Asheville, North Carolina, I was greeted by Becky and Beth who were holding a large sign that said “BIG MAMA”. At that moment I was so proud that I chose such a distinguished, sophisticated name when I started this blog back in July of 2006.

We headed to The Cove Retreat Center and the scenery was unbelievably beautiful. I asked a lot of intelligent questions like, “Are those mountains or just really big hills?” At that moment I bet Becky has never questioned her judgement more in asking me to be a part of their retreat.

The whole weekend was just one of the biggest blessings of my life. I spoke at four different sessions with an overall theme about being the woman that God calls you to be. All the prayers you said were absolutely answered because I didn’t pass out and I didn’t trip over anything. Each time I got up to speak, the nerves went away and I felt total peace.

More than anything, I have to say that the women of Lee Park Baptist in Monroe, NC are some of the most incredible women I have ever been privileged to meet. They could not have made me feel more welcomed or loved. As I heard bits and pieces of some of their stories over the twenty-four hours I was with them, I was amazed by their faith and strength. They inspired me.

I got to meet a woman who’s traveled to over 68 countries in her life and is celebrating her 60th wedding anniversary this year by traveling to about five more. She has more energy at 78 than I had, well, EVER. I talked to a woman who just found out last Monday that she has breast cancer. There were women there facing so many challenges and struggles that I don’t even know what to say except that it made me feel incredibly humbled to be there.

And, y’all, they made me laugh out loud. There is nothing I love more than a group of people who don’t take themselves too seriously. I got to see some stupid human tricks, a New Kids on the Block rap, and a preacher’s wife who wasn’t afraid to wear a paper plate bonnet.

I heard all about Harris Teeter, which is one of their local grocery stores, and I now know that if I ever need to find plastic, curved toothpicks that you can get them in the wine department and if you ever buy a rotten coconut, you can bring it back and they’ll replace it with not one, but TWO coconuts. And they have their London Broil on sale this week, buy one get one free, and if you put it in the crockpot with some Lipton Onion soup mix, it is delicious.

I never thought I’d feel sad over a grocery store, especially since we have HEB here in Texas, but now I feel like I’m missing out on a blessing because I’ve never been to a Harris Teeter. (Even though I never could remember the name and I kept referring to it as Humpy Wheeler. Which they all appreciated because Humpy Wheeler used to be the head of NASCAR and we were in North Carolina so they all actually knew who I was talking about.)

What I’m trying to say (so much for concise and articulate) is that they just took me in and made me feel like I was their own. And for a nervous, tired girl from Texas who wasn’t sure what she was doing there, it was a huge blessing. So, big shout out to Lee Park women. Thanks for everything.

When I finally got home late Saturday night, P met me at the door and told me there was leftover sushi in the fridge. California Roll is my love language. So I ate my sushi, talked his ear off, and then headed to bed.

Caroline was in our bed and when I tip-toed in the bedroom, she opened her eyes and said, “HELLO MAMA!” and then fell back asleep so she would be well-rested and ready to wake me up for a round of Candyland by 6:36 a.m.

I think she’s back to her old self.

Y’all have a great Monday.