Capital P

Last Thursday, we finally managed to get our outdoor lights up. And, really, there is nothing as rewarding as knowing you’re putting all that time and effort into something that will be irrelevant in less than two weeks.

Lucky for us, we have a four year old that we can put to work.

She acted like she wasn’t going to climb up the extension ladder and we had to remind her the lights weren’t going to hang themselves.

Seriously kid, there is no way you’re going to get those eaves lit up if you don’t get your little behind on that ladder.

We don’t tolerate slackers.

After all, the whole reason we put the lights up is to ensure she has the BEST CHILDHOOD MEMORIES EVER.

And that’s a lot of responsibility for a parent.

In all honesty, P and I decided hey! let’s spend the afternoon doing something that has the potential to put us on the fast track to marital counseling.

Hanging the outdoor lights seemed like the most obvious choice.

I made the executive decision to buy all new colored lights this year because Caroline enjoys the colored light, and I really wanted to go retro with the lights of ye olden days, otherwise known as my childhood.

I showed P the boxes of lights I purchased and he began to spend precious minutes, minutes that could be spent illuminating our home, reading the instructions.

Seriously.

I didn’t even know Christmas lights came with instructions.

He said, “It says that you can only string 60 lights together at one time, that means only two strands can be connected.”

Me: “And?”

Him: “Well, that means to do the house the way you want it done, we’re going to need about 11 extension cords.”

Me: “And the problem with that is?”

Him: “To do that we’d need to go buy 8 new extension cords.”

Me: “Those directions don’t know what they’re talking about. All the boxes say that. It’s just a suggestion. A GUIDELINE, if you will.”

Him: Looks at me skeptically and begins hanging lights.

Pretty soon he got into the whole spirit of proper outdoor illumination. The beauty of lighting your home with Christmas lights is to have the moment of flipping the switch a la Clark Griswold, then basking in the glow of maximum wattage feeling the sense of pride from a job well done.

And knowing your lights are so much better than your neighbor’s.

That’s the true spirit of Christmas.

The moment isn’t the same if it involves plugging in 11 different extension cords.

So, we climbed ladders and hung lights until, finally, the moment arrived. We plugged in those bad boys, flipped the switch and they all came on.

For about two minutes.

And then this is what we saw.

Apparently, they are not kidding about the whole 60 lights maximum thing.

So we did the only thing that could be done, went inside and ordered sushi.

The next day P found some extension cords, revamped our lighting system, and lo and behold, we have this.

Best of all, we get to enjoy it for a WHOLE WEEK.

I’m trying not to think about the fact that I have a scratchy, sore throat which I feel certain will develop into a full blown cold within the next 24 hours. I am also trying not to think about the fact that someone found my blog today by searching for a Spongebob Bra in a size 34A.

I’m not sure why anyone would want to wear a bra that depicts a big yellow sponge wearing pants.

Perhaps that was Victoria’s real secret.

So, here’s what I found hilarious yesterday. Y’all got so tickled over P and his emergency hunting trip, but you need to know that when I wrote that sentence I was in no way trying to be funny. I truly believed he had left on an emergency trip to go hunting.

Which tells me that we have been together for a long time and he has completely brainwashed me, because ten years ago the only emergency hunting trip I could have envisioned was a trip to the mall to find the right pair of shoes for a new outfit.

The sad thing is what qualified this trip as an emergency wasn’t that we needed provisions in the form of venison to get us through the not-very-cold Texas winter. I can always just run to HEB and pick up some ground chuck. The emergency was that a cold front had blown through, which means the deer are actually moving, therefore creating prime hunting conditions.

And there’s a sentence I would have never written eleven years ago.

So, P had to head down to South Texas.

Due to a cold front emergency.

And yes, he brought home a deer so we will, indeed, have food to get us through the long, mild winter.

Crisis averted.

The other question that came up was the Bible study that I am currently working on. My fabulous group of Bible study girls (l should probably say ladies, but that sounds a little Kenny Rogers-ish to me) just completed “A Woman’s Heart: God’s Dwelling Place” by Beth Moore.

And while I have never had the privilege of meeting Beth Moore in person, I feel certain she would understand that I had to bring my daughter, toting guns and jewelry, to a Bible study, while my husband was away on an emergency hunting trip. Because I’m willing to bet that her husband has also left on the occasional emergency hunting trip.

Anyway, we finished our study of the tabernacle and are planning on doing “Believing God” starting in January.

In other news, Gulley and I had lunch with AJ yesterday because she is moving to Dallas today. And I really can’t get into that because, while I am so happy for her, I’m so sad to see her go. I even shed a few tears much to her sheer horror at my display of emotion.

We let AJ pick the restaurant since it was her farewell lunch and she picked a restaurant that serves healthy Mexican food. I AM NOT KIDDING. The menu even said “WE DON’T USE LARD”.

As if it were a source of pride.

Gulley and I scanned the menu, wondering aloud what various things would taste like without the flavor…I mean, the lard. I finally decided on the bean and cheese nachos made with non-refried pinto beans (TASTY!) and fat-free cheese (DELICIOUS!).

Gulley ordered the tamales and the waiter asked, “What kind?”

She asked, “What kind do you have?”

“Non-refried bean, chicken, vegetarian, tofu…”

“Yeah, I’ll just have the chicken fajitas.”

Which, apparently, translated to “just dry the heck out of a chicken breast and bring it out on a plate with some non-refried beans”.

But, seriously, tofu tamales?

Tamales should be pork or beef. With a side helping of lard.

The lard is why Americans have stolen Mexican food from Mexico.

What kind of sick world are we living in when people are eating tofu tamales and wearing Spongebob lingerie?

And, hopefully, not at the same time.

Last Tuesday morning, I had to put my new car in the shop.

In the shop.

Last Tuesday.

Almost a week ago.

Granted, it’s a used car, but it’s new to me and it hardly seems possible that we’ve already reached this milestone of disappointment and betrayal. What happened to the love and the trust? Why did the honeymoon end so soon?

The good news is that part of the reason P and I decided on a used Volvo was because they offer a bumper to bumper warranty up to 100,000 miles.

Which is the only thought that kept me from weeping loudly when the car started to die on me periodically. If I had thought we were about to pay for a new transmission or flux capacitor or whatever, I would have been overwrought and there would have been crying and wailing and shaking of fists with declarations that begin with “As God is my witness…”.

Instead, I called the friendly Volvo service center that JoEL talked about so highly during his sales pitch and told them my check engine light was on, the car was dying on occasion (slightly inconvenient), and I needed to bring it in for service. I also informed them that I would be needing the complimentary loaner that was so hyped up during the aforementioned sales pitch.

They kindly let me know that a loaner would be available in 2 weeks.

It was all terribly convenient.

It’s not like I wasn’t enjoying the mild panic attacks I was experiencing every time my car died.

Anyway, I scheduled to bring it in once a loaner was available because there was no way I could survive without a car and everything is covered under the bumper to bumper warranty. What do I care if the engine blows up before a loaner is available? I have important places to go, like HEB and the pool.

And also, Hollywood Video to rent 3 year old crack in the form of Disney movies.

So, Tuesday was the day. I dropped off the car, lugged the carseat over to the loaner, and drove Caroline to school. I was especially thrilled to notice they had given me the loaner with less than 1/4 tank of gas because it’s not like gas costs thousands of dollars per gallon these days.

They called late Tuesday to tell me something was wrong with the fuel pump and gave me the estimate. I informed them the car was under warranty and therefore, repair away! Because it’s free! And throw in a new transmission while you’re in there!

Then service guy said something about needing my warranty information and my thought was, we bought it from you so why don’t you go ask JoEL if he can find it somewhere?

I called P and he said he’d handle it, which is my preferred method of handling things.

Then today, service guy called to tell me that since we’d just bought the car 5 weeks ago, a claim couldn’t be paid through the warranty yet, and they needed the loaner back, so could I please come in, pay for the repairs out of pocket with no hope of reimbursement and turn in the loaner?

Umm, that would be a no, but hats off to you for having the nerve to ask.

I called P with this update because, as y’all know, he’s my preferred method of handling things.

He drove over to the Volvo Center (but not in the loaner because we are clever like a band of foxes) and basically told them it wasn’t our problem. If they wanted the loaner, then they needed to give me back my car and then file the claim as soon as the warranty took effect.

Otherwise, the loaner? It’s a stayin’ with Big Mama.

I can’t believe JoEL wasn’t completely honest about the service we could expect from the Service Department.

It’s like you can’t even trust a used car salesman these days.