Year: 2007

And now, a word from my sponsor

Today is my 36th birthday. I’m officially on the fast track to 40 but, in the whole scheme of things, the 40’s are the new 30’s, so really, it’s like I’m only 26. But without all the hours spent trying to get my hair to look like Jennifer Aniston’s on “Friends”.

Oh, who am I kidding? I will spend the rest of my life trying to get my hair to look like Jennifer Aniston’s.

Anyway, since today is my birthday, I’m handing the blog over to P. It’s not like he has anything going on. Well, other than lying around talking on his cell phone about his back surgery and calling me to come lift up the toilet seat. And have I not mentioned that I have a broken toe? And it’s my birthday?

I’m taking the day off.

I originally told him he ought to write 36 things about me in honor of my 36th birthday, but he said to come up with 36 things he’d have to include stuff like, “she has brown hair” or “she has two arms”. And as entertaining as that might be, I told him to stick to 10 things about me that y’all may or may not know.

Or care to know.

And by the way, I am blindly turning over the blog and have no idea what is about to be revealed. See how good I am at surrendering control? I am, I really am.

Really, I am.

Now I’m going to go sit somewhere and hyperventilate.

And now, here’s P.

I thought I’d treat y’all to a look into my world…10 things you wouldn’t know about Big Mama.

1. She’s outrageously funny, beyond what she lets out because, after all, she is a lady.

2. She’s a published poet. I’m not sure what idiot published her…none of her stuff rhymes.

3. She’s a total klutz. We always joke that my gravestone will read “…and he died at the loving hands of his wife.”

4. Deep down, so far down only a husband could bring it out, lives her fiery Italian temper. Luckily, so far the only casualty has been a cordless phone and some sheetrock (I’ll let her elaborate).

5. She’s a total chicken and can’t even watch trailers to scary movies.

6. She’s a great mom; just the right balance of teacher, nurturer, friend and disciplinarian. “Hey Caroline, if she reaches for the cordless phone, RUN”.

7. She’s such a bad skier that she once faked an injury to get a snowmobile ride off the mountain. Of course her tight-fitting outfit probably helped a little. “Um excuse me, her ankle is down there”.

8. She can’t stand supense. So much so that I promise you she is reading this at 12:00 and .0000000000000000001 am.

9. She has an eye for style and decorating that leaves others envious, and her cooking…I gained 30 pounds in 2 months…that’s what I’m talking about.

10. Her taste in men is impeccable.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Big Mama.

Love,
P
Though broken and bruised, I still cooked and cleaned: An inspirational tale of perseverance

Friday evening, Caroline and I left P lying in bed while we went to pick up some dinner and his prescriptions at the pharmacy. As I signed for the medications, I noticed that, along with Lortab for the pain, the doctor had also given him a prescription for Valium. After his previous surgeries, he never got a prescription for Valium and I was a little confused as to why he was given one this time. However, by the end of the day Saturday, I realized the doctor gave us the Valium because he knew I would need it.

Note to self: Next time (heaven forbid) your husband needs surgery, do not schedule said surgery while your parents and your best friend are out of town. It’s a cocktail for a nervous breakdown with a side of crazy.

Friday night, Caroline woke up several times during the night with a cough and congestion. I was a little worried she might be coming down with a cold and, truth be told, decided that might be a good thing because then she would be content to just hang out around the house all day Saturday, and sleep, and watch Disney movies.

I live in a world of delusion and fantasy that would make Mr. Roarke and Tattoo very proud.

She woke up for the day around 6 a.m. demanding pancakes and entertainment. Frankly, after a long night of listening to her cough and making sure P was doing okay, I just wasn’t really up to a morning of rolling Barbie around in her Beach Glam Cruiser with her miniature friend, Polly Pockets. But I did the best I could, in between getting P his medicine, lifting up the toilet seat for him and helping him get dressed. It’s amazing how limited a person is when they can’t bend or twist or reach for anything.

The morning was going along reasonably well, until tragedy struck. I was walking into the living room to get something and neglected to see Caroline’s Cozy Coupe sticking out from the hallway. And in case y’all don’t know what a Cozy Coupe is, which probably means that you don’t have kids, a Cozy Coupe is a delightful little red plastic car that allows children to happily Fred Flintstone themselves around the house or the neighborhood. It is a toy bargain at just $39.99 and appeals to all ages and genders. Plus, nothing cracks me up more than when Caroline comes scooting around the corner driving the Cozy Coupe like she’s late for a job interview.

Anyway, apparently, the wheel was turned at a funny angle, which left the front tires sticking out, and as I walked by I hit my baby toe on the wheel. I looked down to see my baby toe sticking out from my foot at something resembling a 90 degree angle.

And then I picked up the Cozy Coupe in a fit of pure rage and threw it out the kitchen windows.

No, I didn’t. But only because the pain had brought me to my knees. I limped to the couch, moved my toe back to where it belonged, and cried like a little girl. About that time, P came hobbling into the living room because he had heard all the commotion, but seeing as how he just had back surgery, it took him about 10 minutes to arrive on the scene. He told me to put ice on my toe but, since we have a bottom freezer, he couldn’t bend over to get the ice for me, so I had to hobble my sad little self over to the freezer to make an ice pack.

So, really, enough about P and his bad back and his surgery. Let’s talk about my toe. It isn’t pretty, y’all. And we all know there is nothing you can do for a baby toe injury, except whine and complain about the pain and discomfort. So, on that front, I am taking excellent care of my baby toe.

On Sunday, I rebounded somewhat from my critical toe injury and, in a fit of OCD that I assume came from the stress of the surgery, plus the toe injury, plus sitting around my house for 48 hours looking at all the things I wanted to get done, I did some serious, serious house cleaning. I am not exaggerating when I tell y’all that I hauled about 240 bags of trash out of this house today…or at least 4 or 5.

I started by cleaning out under our bed. We don’t really have a linen closet, so I’ve just kept assorted comforters and blankets under the bed, along with a huge Rubbermaid container filled with gift wrap supplies. Oh, and also a photo collage from my college days and a photo album from high school. Obviously, it’s part of a strategic home organizational system.

I washed all the various blankets, comforters, dust bunnies, etc., then folded them and put them away in the top of one of Caroline’s closets. It’s not exactly a linen closet, but it will do. Then, I cleaned out the closet in the playroom, otherwise known as the storage facility for enough camoflauge clothing to make Cabelas weep with envy. That particular closet has a really cute little window in it (I have no idea why. I guess back in the 1920’s people wanted little windows in their closets).

Anyway, when P and I bought this house 9 years ago, we talked about how a child would be fascinated with that little window and it could be a magic little hideaway. It dawned on me that Caroline had never seen that little window because of all the junk that has accumulated in that closet. So, I cleaned it all out and sure enough, she made herself a little nest of blankets and sat in there looking out the window for at least 30 seconds.

It was magical.

Next, (I know, I was on a roll) I cleaned out Caroline’s closet and made her try on all of last year’s fall and winter clothes to see if anything still fits. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of it she’ll still be able to wear, especially considering that she’s grown about 2 feet taller in the last 3 months. She loved our little impromptu fashion show and I swear at one point she had some black velour jogging pants, turned around, checked out her bottom and said, “Oh, these just look DARLING on me!”

It’s like living with my own little J.Lo (well, back when J.Lo was still J. Lo, and not the refined, low key Mrs. Marc Anthony)

Finally, I ended the day by Windexing the OUTSIDE of my kitchen windows. THE OUTSIDE. Like, up on a stepladder, cleaning my windows, OUTSIDE. They had been driving me crazy with all the smudge and haze, so I seized the OCD moment and cleaned them.

And that is how I spent my Sunday.

Did I mention that my toe really hurts? And did I also mention that I am crazy and have no idea why I chose this particular weekend to do my entire list of to-dos for the next 6 months?

However, I do feel an incredible sense of accomplishment and, as a bonus, P even rubbed my feet for me tonight, sans the right baby toe. Because hello! all he had was back surgery, I BROKE MY TOE.
The attack of the back

I haven’t mentioned this yet, but P is having back surgery tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. I’m not sure why I haven’t written about it, especially seeing as how it has been foremost in my mind and heart. I think sometimes it’s hard for me to write about the things that are really affecting me in the moment that they are actually affecting me. In fact, when I look back over old posts, I realize I tend to write about struggles or hard times after they have been tied up in a neat little bow and I can add a scripture at the bottom for extra impact.

But this isn’t like that.

This will be P’s third back surgery in four years. In the whole scheme of things, it’s a pretty minor thing. He has a herniated disc that keeps re-herniating, which means it keeps needing to be lasered off. The “laser” (anyone else picturing Mike Meyers as Dr. Evil right now?) is minimally invasive and most likely, we’ll be home by 3:00 tomorrow afternoon and P will be up walking around. The next 6 weeks will involve lots of walking, and rehab, and absolutely no bending, twisting or picking up anything even remotely heavy. However, he’ll still have to go under general anesthesia and I will sit by his side as they fill his IV full of liquid margaritas, and then I’ll be back by his side as he wakes up from the whole process. I’ve become an old pro at this point.

Funny story, when we were first married, P had to go in for surgery for a deviated septum and when the doctor guided me into the recovery room, I took one look at P and started crying my eyes out. He looked like he’d been hit by a bus and I just knew his nose would never look the same again. Oh yes, I was a rock. A soothing, calming Florence Nightingale.

10 years and 4 surgeries later, I’ve had lots of recovery room practice. I no longer cry in the recovery room, and I know the process for recovery, and bandages, and robotic arms that he can use to pick stuff up off the floor.

The thing I’m struggling with this time is deeper than any of that stuff. From the time he started talking about his back pain, which was back in June, I have been desperately treading water in a sea of worry and insecurity. Things look different this time than they have in the past. I no longer have my sweet pharmaceutical job with a nice income and outstanding insurance. He is our sole provider and his job requires manual labor. Our insurance is decent, but I gambled with a fairly high deductible in return for lower monthly payments.

And I lost.

I’ve been concerned about whether or not insurance would even pay for it because it’s a pre-existing condition and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t pictured scenarios that involve us selling off all our possessions to pay the medical bills. In fact, at one point last week it got so bad that Gulley told me I needed to spend some time venting all my frustrations and concerns about this to God, because I was just pushing all those fears down and repeating my mantra of “It’s okay, it will all be okay, it’s okay”, when I didn’t really believe it was okay and couldn’t really get the words out of my mouth without crying.

I came home and spent some time confronting all my real fears, my real feelings, my real doubts. Things like why won’t God just heal P’s back, and why did this happen at this moment during this time of financial change for our family. I was mad and I was scared. But as I sat with my Bible in my hand, I turned to Psalm 118 and my eyes went to verses 6-8. “The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me? The Lord is with me. He is my helper. I will look in triumph on my enemies. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man”.

And I realized those verses are God’s promise to me. He will fight for us. He will protect us. He will go before us and fight these battles. He is more powerful than the insurance companies. He is more powerful than the almighty dollar. He is more powerful than any man, even me and my need to control everything.

We’ve since found out that insurance will cover the procedure, and yes, we’ll have to pay the deductible plus 20% of the remainder of the cost up to a certain amount, but that’s okay. We have the money and, while it would be more fun to use it to spend a week in the Bahamas, it is probably more prudent to go ahead and use it to ensure P’s spinal future.

Last night after the movie, we came home and talked for a long time. P knows me and he knows this fear, doubt and worry are my thing, the place I run to and tend to let myself become mired down in. He asked me why I worry when God has always been so faithful to our family. And that’s a good question. He has been more than faithful to our family. To quote Psalms again “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” We have been more than blessed throughout our 10 years of marriage. And I’m not saying that like some Christian cliche’. We have truly, absolutely been blessed above and beyond.

Yet, still I struggle. Still I look for security in what’s written on a paycheck, the balance in a money market account, or what I view as my ability to take care of everything (which is sad because my ability basically consists of wringing my hands in worry and bouts of insomnia). Those things are nice, but none of them should be the source of my security. My security needs to lie in God’s provision. As Matthew 6: 26 -27 says, “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

P and I are valued high above the sparrows. My prayer is that this reality will sink into my soul, into my heart, and the next time we face a challenge that feels so huge, I will turn to God as the sole source of my security.

So, that’s my struggle. That’s what is on my heart. This is me letting all my non-funny neuroses hang out all over the blog. But if I’m not honest, then what am I?

I’d appreciate y’alls prayers for P as he goes under the “laser” tomorrow morning. Pray for sure and steady surgeon’s hands, speedy recovery and that this would be the surgery that finally takes care of the problem once and for all.

Y’all are the best.

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him. Lamentations 3 : 25
(This is the verse on my Bible promise thing today. Coincidence? I think not.)
I’m usually not big on ultimatums, but this was different

I can never thank y’all enough for all the hair advice. I’m still weighing all my options and will let you know when I decide the best course of action. Honestly, at this point in the summer, my hair is so fried from all the chlorine that it needs all the help it can get and cutting a few inches off probably isn’t a bad idea. Also, I don’t even want to discuss the fact that I’ve pulled 3 gray hairs out of my head in the last week. 3 gray hairs.

Also, have I mentioned my back pain? I seem to have wrenched my back at some point this past weekend and so I’ve been spending time sitting with a heating pad on my lower back. I mentioned my infirmity to Boomama a few days ago, and she was kind enough to inquire if I might have injured it while doing water aerobics at the YMCA as part of some new geriatric workout program. That’s always a possibility. Or it could be that I jumped up at a funny angle from the BINGO table at the Knights of Columbus Hall.

Anyway, last night we got a babysitter for Caroline and went to see “The Bourne ULTIMATUM”, and, truly, ULTIMATUM needs to be in all caps because it is just that good. I honestly forgot to breathe about 2 minutes into the movie and spent the next 2 hours periodically gasping for air. In fact, at one point, I’m pretty sure I was squeezing P’s hand harder than I did when I was in labor with Caroline. And that is a BOLD statement.

If I am ever in any kind of distress due to an association with corrupt government officials or am needing to go deep, deep undercover because I have secret information about classified things, I want Jason Bourne to come to my aid. Forget Superman and his tights, Spiderman and his sad, little webs, Wonder Woman and her fancy bracelets, The Captain and Tenille…I want Matt “almost as cute as P” Damon to rescue me. He is wily and unstoppable and can kick some serious, serious tail end.

I won’t give away any plot points because that would just be wrong, but, needless to say, it had me on the edge of my seat. I’m not always an action movie kind of girl, but I adore the Bourne series because, in my opinion which is really more of a fact, he is the thinking man’s action hero.

And I am a thinking (wo)man.

In fact, if not for the undeniable truth that Sydney Bristow had better outfits and rocked some serious wigs, I might call Jason Bourne my ultimate action hero.

And did I mention that Julia Stiles has really cute hair in the movie? Really cute. With fun, streaky highlights. I wonder what kind of product she uses?
I probably should spend more time focusing on inner beauty

I started yesterday like I start every other Tuesday morning, with a trip to the orthodontist. The only difference was that yesterday I brought Caroline with me and it really made the whole experience more meaningful to have someone standing right at my head asking, “WHAT’S HE DOING, MAMA? DOES THAT HURT? THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HURTS, MAMA!”

And now is when I usually whine and complain and give my overall sob story about how I didn’t get my braces off. So yeah, I didn’t get my braces off. I got the same old song and dance about how he doesn’t want to take them off until my bite is perfect, and the Earth is in alignment with Jupiter, and the planets of Venus do a dance around the sun. Then, he showed me how to use a variety of rubberbands to create a web that even Charlotte would envy and that seems to have given my mouth the ability to move of its own free will. I am a little bit like a ventriloquist dummy, but without the ventriloquist…which I guess just leaves a dummy…which makes me think of “Sanford and Son”.

Hey Dummy.

As usual, I am firing on all cylinders.

Anyway, my braces should come off sometime between now and never. As I scheduled my next appointment, the receptionist said, “It looks like next time you’re getting your permanent retainer!” I just looked at her blankly and said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” My attitude has taken a serious nose dive to the south.

We topped off the morning of orthodontia with a trip to Target. I can’t really remember what we needed. Oh! We needed a Rubbermaid bin for our new pocket-sized friend Polly and her wee wardrobe. We found a lovely bin with a lid that clicks into place, and then I directed our attention to the childrens’ apparel. They had these cute little capri yoga pants with a matching hoodie in a peppy shade of blue with Super Star written across the front, but instead of spelling out “Star” there was just a little picture of a star. The outfit was 50% off and I have an affinity for anything that says “Super Star” because great is my love for Mary Katherine Gallagher. So, I showed the outfit to Caroline, she looked it over, and announced, “Oh no. I will not wear that.” Apparently, 4 year olds aren’t wearing sassy tracksuits this fall, they are so over.

Finally, our morning of fun culminated in a trip to HEB where Caroline realized, for the first time, that the letters above the store are, in fact, H. E. B. It was a moment filled with awe and wonder at the symmetry of it all. Anyway, we loaded our cart with all the essentials; milk, eggs, cheese, hot dogs and Sour Patch Kids. Then, we headed over to the toiletries section because I needed razors and shampoo.

So, here’s where I have to make a confession. I have broken up with the Schick Intuition. I haven’t been ready to publicly admit that until now because I haven’t been sure if we’re just “on a break” or if we’re actually past the point of reconciliation. Yesterday, in the razor aisle at HEB, I accepted that whatever we once had is gone.

Those little inserts, with the soap and the razor all in one convenient package, were so appealing at first, but I began to notice that the soap part breaks off way too soon. It can’t commit to a long term relationship, and I really need the security of knowing I won’t be left in the shower with nothing to shave my legs with but a dry razor blade. I know I led many of you astray with my earlier glowing review of the Intuition, but it was all so new and exciting. I was blinded to its flaws and I kept giving it chance after chance for redemption, but, yesterday around noon, I accepted it was time to move on and went back to my old friend, The Venus.

We were reunited and it feels so good.

After all that angst amongst the hair removal products, I headed to the hair care aisle. I saved it for the end of the trip because I knew exactly what was going to happen. About a month ago, I ran out of my Biolage Normalizing Shampoo. I accepted it and decided that, given our new budget constraints, I could live with Pantene Pro-V. The Pantene ran out on Sunday. On Monday I was reduced to using Caroline’s Barbie Shampoo and, although my hair was tangle free and smelled like strawberries, I didn’t feel that I was getting the hair care that I need. It was time to buy new shampoo.

I stood on that aisle for a long time, concentrating so hard that at one point I even asked Caroline to “Please, just quit talking for one minute so that Mama can think.” This is important, baby, this is about Mama’s HAIR.

It was a crucial decision and, in the back of my mind, I could hear Gulley’s warning that trying to go cheap on her hair care regimen resulted in damage that she is still dealing with to this day. I gazed longingly at the bottle of Biolage. I even picked it up and put it in my cart because my flesh is weak. Then, as I walked down the aisle, I noticed the $3 bottle of Clairol Herbalessence with COCONUT MILK which, I have no idea what that means for my hair, but it sounded calming and ALL NATURAL. So, I put down my Biolage and picked up the Clairol.

But I’m not sure I feel good about this decision. I mean, I can give up the Biolage, but I need a good replacement. Any recommendations on haircare products?
I need a siesta after all this fiesta

Well, I don’t think I need to tell y’all that we had quite the celebration on Friday. The day started with P and me singing to Caroline as she pulled back the covers and examined her feet. It seems she needed to see if they had gotten bigger in light of her new status as a 4 year old. Those tiny 3 year old feet just weren’t going to cut it anymore. Age 4 requires new, big feet. She also felt certain she had gained 10 pounds overnight, which proves there is actually an age when that kind of news excites a female, as opposed to sending her spiraling downward in a brownie-fueled depression.

Not too many 30-somethings wish for a 10 pound weight gain as they blow out the candles on their birthday cake. Unless of course, the 10 pounds is in the form of a new diamond ring or something like that.

First thing out of bed she ran to the kitchen to open the present from us. Please note the look in her eyes. She maintained that look of sheer raw energy fueled by anticipation and sugar for the rest of the day.

P left for work and so I asked the birthday girl what she’d like for breakfast. Pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. Blueberry pancakes in the shape of a gingerbread man. Apparently, she thought perhaps I had morphed into Martha Stewart during the night. If I had taken the time to take a picture of the purple batter that I eventually formed into a decapitated gingerbread man, you would know for sure that somewhere Martha Stewart wept for my creative culinary future.

I presented my creation to Caroline, she looked at it for a moment and said, “That is one ugly pancake.” Don’t I know it, sister, don’t I know it. However, the dogs were not as discriminating. Remember the scene in “Coalminer’s Daughter” where Doo takes the dinner Loretta fixed and whistles for the dogs? It was a little piece of cinematic re-enactment history here on Friday morning.

Her party started at 3 p.m. so I spent the rest of the day answering the question, “Is it time for my party, yet? Is it time? When will it be time for my party? IS IT TIME YET??” until I finally took two Valium and went back to bed.

Oh, I’m kidding. I continued to answer her until it was FINALLY time for the party and we headed up to the pool to get everything set up. My prayers had been answered and it didn’t rain, even though the forecast called for afternoon showers. P asked me what my backup plan was and I really had no answer other than the possibility of taking tequila shots and letting 4 year olds take over the interior of my home while I sat in a corner and cried.

I think everyone had a great time. They swam, ate cake and beat the unicorn piñata senseless so that they could get all the candy. It was a little bit of a mob mentality as they went after that poor unicorn, but 4 year olds take their candy very seriously. Don’t get in their way…especially if you’re made of papier mache. I’d been a little concerned about whether or not Caroline would be okay with the destruction of the unicorn since she had spent the last week carrying him around and wanting to sleep with him in her bed, but I underestimated her enthusiasm for sugar even if it meant placing her beloved mythical creature in harm’s way.

You have to admire a man that can swing at a pinata while jauntily wearing a Little Mermaid tiara. It’s the perfect combination of style and grace.

After the sugar high from eating all the icing began to subside, the party guests began to head home.? Caroline was thrilled with all her presents and immediately wanted to make snow cones with her new Snoopy Sno-Cone maker. I told her it was too late and promised we’d make them the next day.

Guess who was making Snoopy Sno-Cones at 7 a.m. Saturday morning? Oh yes ma’am, the mama without enough intellect to realize that the “next day” means 7 a.m. Nothing starts the day better than grape sugar poured over ice and, for the second morning in a row, my child started the day with some sort of purple breakfast food. That is a serious nutritional achievement.

And on another note, let me tell y’all, if you’re looking for some kind of workout for your forearms, the Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker may be just the ticket. I didn’t even have a Dixie cup full of shaved ice and my arms were burning with the heat of 100 suns. I’ll be shopping for some shirts with 3/4 length sleeves just to show off my new forearm muscle definition.

Caroline also received some Polly Pockets paraphernalia and, as she opened it, I felt this sense of dread realizing these tiny, little pieces of marketing genius were now, irrevocably, a part of our lives. However, after she spent 2 hours Saturday morning playing quietly with all her new Polly Pocket treasures (2 hours which I may or may not have spent going back to sleep on the couch) I realized that Madison Avenue is brilliant in its realization that, for whatever reason, little girls like to play with rubber shoes that are invisible to the naked eye.

Here is the birthday girl wearing one of her new princess outfits. She had it on all day and even wore it to dinner. She was a little overdressed for pizza but didn’t seem all that concerned about it.

Friday night as she went to sleep, I asked her what her favorite part of the day had been. She looked at me with sleepy eyes and said, “Being 4. That’s the best part of the whole day.” Lucky for her, being 4 will last a whole year which, I guarantee, is longer than any of the Polly Pockets stuff is going to last.