Capital P

  • Marriage requires commitment. Of course, so does insanity

    Today is my 9th wedding anniversary. So yes, pretty much all of my major life events are packed into a 2 week window during the hottest month of the year. Caroline’s original due date was August 15th, so I could have had them all in a 3 day time period, but in a true case of foreshadowing, Caroline had her own plans and showed up 2 weeks early.

    This last spring, P. and I were at a wedding and as we watched the bride and groom take to the dance floor P. got all sentimental and said “those fools have no idea what they’re getting into”. We agreed that when you first get married, you can’t even comprehend all the ups and downs you’ll go through together. New homes, new jobs, new babies, sickness and health, rich and poor…apparently they aren’t kidding around with those vows.

    As well as you think you know someone, there are still so many unknowns until you live with them day to day. From small things, like how they tear a paper towel in half and leave the other half for later, to big things like what kind of parent will they be or how will they handle hard times.

    I can say in all honesty that as I walked down the aisle towards P. nine years ago, I knew I loved him and I knew he was the man that God had for me, he was without question “the one”. But did I realize that someday I would watch him turn white while he hugged me in a doctor’s office when we found out we’d had a miscarriage or that he’d be right next to me (and see things I don’t even want to think about) as our daughter was born? Did I realize the extent of his integrity and character? Did I know that he would still make me laugh and that I’d still be glad to see him walk through the door nine years later? Did I know that he would be the best daddy a little girl could ask for?

    I didn’t know any of that to the extent that I know it now. I thank God for the blessing that is my husband. Of all the things that are good in my life, he is the best. And as “iron sharpens iron”, he makes me want to be better.

    Happy Anniversary P.

  • An extravaganza of entertainment

    This past weekend the Hunters’ Extravaganza was in town. Back in the days when P. and I were young and newly in love, I would go with him every year to survey the veritable wealth of all things hunting related.

    We would stroll up and down the aisles holding hands and y’all I was so in love that I didn’t even care that all the booths basically sold some version of deer urine, ugly camo clothing, or deer feeders made out of industrial size trash cans. The highlight of the trip for me was just being with P. and eating those sugared pecans that they sell in little plastic sacks shaped like a carrot.

    Pretty much after we got married, I quit making the annual trek to the Extravaganza. It really falls under the category of things that once you’ve seen them, you don’t need to see them again. Plus, once we got married we could sit at home and hold hands which in my opinion was preferable to being amongst the doe urine.

    Anyway, I give you all this useless information to share one of my favorite stories regarding the Hunters’ Extravaganza (and I know at this point you can’t believe that there’s more). Every year they have a penned in area where they have a rattlesnake roundup. Seriously, if you want to come to Texas I can get you tickets for next year.

    The rattlesnake roundup consists of a bunch of rattlesnakes and one clearly insane man that does tricks with the rattlesnakes such as putting them under his hat or picking them up or spinning them around really fast and snapping their head off (I’m sorry, that one’s not true I just made it up because the image in my sick mind made me laugh). So, everyone stands around and watches this guy who is obviously some sort of crazy.

    One year at the Extravaganza, a family friend of ours was watching the rattlesnakes and the whole thing was making him feel a little icky. You know how you start to feel a little creeped out, like maybe there’s one near you or something? So he’s a little freaked out by the whole thing and about that time he takes a step backwards and steps on something cylindrical that kind of rolls under his foot. He jumps up, spills his beer, screams like a little girl and looks down to see a completely squashed giant dill pickle. Don’t worry y’all, it was dead.

  • Invasion of the Bees

    P. and I took Caroline to the neighborhood pool on Saturday only to discover that the grill was closed due to an overabundance of bees. One lifeguard was quick to tell us that she even got
    “stung on the spine”. I have to agree with P. when he said that unless bees are now burrowing into our skin, she really just got stung on her back. I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic, but no one on staff at the pool seems that concerned about the grill being closed, while I, as the mother of a toddler, view the grill as crucial to our pool enjoyment experience.

    I met Gulley and her crew there today and yes, grill still closed. They now have it roped off with caution tape so it looks like maybe someone met a grisly end at the pool. The only fatalities I saw however, were bees floating in large jars of something that apparently is bad for bees.

    No one is saying when the grill will reopen but in the meantime you can still purchase popsicles, drinks and slices of Double Dave’s pizza (for $2.00 per slice). So we left this evening after having an ice cream sandwich, but no dinner for Caroline which there again (and I can’t overstate this) is crucial to the pool experience.

    So you might think I am a little overly obsessed with the pool food. Let me say that the food is completely mediocre for the most part. As P. says “what do I expect from food cooked by 14 year olds?” I have eaten a few meals there and it really all tastes the same, which is quite the accomplishment considering what a varied menu they offer.

    For me the grill isn’t about the quality nourishment, but the ability to go to the pool, swim our hearts out and eat dinner all in one glorious stop. Granted (and as Gulley can attest) I spend most of our dining experience saying “Caroline, THIS IS YOUR DINNER, YOU NEED TO EAT, or you will get NOTHING ELSE when we get home”, to which she usually runs off to play with Jackson some more. The point is that by the time we get home and are at the point of sheer exhaustion, dinner is already out of the way and we can move on the bathtime and pajamas.

    I realize that the bees got out of control, but have mercy call an exterminator, a bee keeper, anyone so that the proper order of things can be restored at the pool. I would kill for a soggy grilled cheese sandwich, which maybe explains the caution tape.