Year: 2007

  • We have spacious skies and amber waves of grain

    Happy 4th of July!

    That’s Caroline when she was just an 11 month old firecracker. I wanted a new picture of her with an American flag, but she isn’t nearly as cooperative or as immobile as she was 3 years ago. Plus, she felt the need to put on her pink fleece pajamas with the cows all over them around noon today and they just don’t really convey patriotism or you know, the month of July.

    Anyway, I hope the hotdogs and apple pie are plentiful wherever y’all are today.

    And happy birthday, Nanny. I hope you have a wonderful 89th birthday!

  • BM stands for Beth Moore, Big Mama and something else

    Yesterday morning, I took advantage of Caroline being enthralled with one of the Muppet movies while I sat at the kitchen island to work on my Bible study. Gulley, some other girls and I are doing “Jesus, The One and Only” this summer and I am loving it. And I have to say, I thought I knew a lot about Jesus, but this has made me look at some things in a different light, which really needs to be a post of its own at some point.

    But for today, I’m just doling out the really profound material.

    So, I’m sitting with my workbook and my Bible, pen in hand. The picture of studious. The portrait of a Godly woman.

    Caroline can sense me having a moment to myself a mile away, so she came over to see what was going on.

    “What are you doing, Mama?”

    “I’m doing my Bible study”

    “Oh, I’m going to do my Bible study, too!”

    She climbed up on the barstool next to mine, grabbed a pen and started scribbling on a notepad. I watched her for a few moments and thought this is what it’s all about, I’m showing her my love for Jesus. I’m creating an example of living a life dedicated to God, and how precious that she wants to model that behavior. And secretly, I even wished the other person who lives in this house (that would be you, P) would notice this moment of mother/daughter/God closeness and take a picture of the sweetness.

    I went back to reading my study when Caroline said, “Mama?”

    “Yes, my precious angel baby darlin’?”

    “I just drew this picture. It’s a picture of what my poop looks like.”

    And with that, I bowed my head and thanked Him for the dose of humility.

  • Here she is, not Miss America

    Summer television makes me sad. Back before I had a child I didn’t really notice how bad summer T.V. can be. I mean, who cares about T.V.? Let’s go to the movies, or out to dinner, or whatever. Oh, but now I find myself flipping through the channels hoping that Lifetime will air some quality, quality movie about a woman who was taken advantage of, but fought her way back to the top, and got custody of her children, and became CEO of some corporation while fighting breast cancer.

    And the odds of that movie being on Lifetime are actually pretty good.

    Other than that, I watch Top Chef because y’all know what a sophisticate I am when it comes to my palate. I’m waiting for the episode where they see who can make the best meal using Long John Silver’s fish and chips with malt vinegar sauce as the base ingredient. Now that would be a meal I could get behind.

    So, last night, I was going through my 452 channels looking for something to watch, when what did I spy? A gift sent straight from heaven.

    Miss Texas USA.

    When I was little, I adored watching all the pageants. I remember sitting in front of the T.V. with a pad of paper so that I could keep track of everyone’s scores and make notes about various performances which, looking back, was maybe a little more intense than a 3rd grader needs to be. In my mind, I truly believed that boys grew up to be President of the United States and girls grew up to be Miss America. It was the pinnacle role of womanhood.

    Obviously, I grew up in a household with strong, feminist sensibilities.

    And really, other than the fact that my mama kept my hair rolled in pink, foam rollers and attempted to teach me how to twirl the baton, there wasn’t a whole lot of pageant-y activity going on at my house during my childhood. But once a year I would sit in front of the T.V. and dream about being crowned Miss America.

    It’s not that I dreamed of dressing up like a giant oil well and coming out on stage and yelling, “HOWDY Y’ALL! I’M BIG MAMA AND I’M MISS JEFFERSON COUNTY!” because let’s be honest, is that anyone’s dream? It’s just that the whole pageant thing seemed so glamorous with all the evening gowns and swimsuits worn with high heels. And the hair. Oh, I coveted the hair.

    In fact, I remember being about 8 or 9 years old and pointing out a picture of Loni Anderson on the cover of Redbook Magazine to my mama and telling her I wished my hair looked like that. And really, what 8 year old wouldn’t look just PRECIOUS with some peroxide and Aqua Net creating a flaxen helmet on her head?

    Watching Miss Texas USA last night, I realized I would have been all wrong for the role. For one thing, I would have collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that would have caused my double-sided tape to come loose, if I ever found myself being serenaded by a choir boy dressed up like a sailor as he looked into my eyes and sang “I need you beside me, to hold me, to scold me ‘cuz when I’m bad, I’m so, so bad”. I feel certain that Donna Summer never intended for her disco anthem, “Last Dance”, to be sung by faux sailors. It’s just wrong.

    And the fake press conferences where they make contestants field all the questions? So painful.

    I actually had to hide my head under a pillow while willing the contestants to please stop talking while they were ahead. Please don’t say “world peace” is the reason you’d make a great Miss Texas USA.

    Then, at the end as the judges tallied their final results, they brought out all the girls that didn’t make the top 5 to do a little song and dance routine for the crowd. Find pillow. Hide head.

    I don’t have a problem with pageants. I know they provide scholarships, and new Ford Mustang convertibles, and diamond tiaras, and those are all good things. Very good things. I’m just saying that I haven’t seen choreography that bad since Mr. LaForge made us do arm movements to “Human Nature” by Michael Jackson in 7th grade choir at Marshall Middle School.

    The pageant ended as they all do. The reigning Miss Texas USA took her farewell promenade as her pre-taped voiceover thanked everyone from her parents, to God, to her hairdresser, to her double-sided tape for their vital support in her life. They shuffled her off the stage and got down to the real drama.

    The runner-ups. I don’t know if y’all have ever heard this, but the runner-ups are vital because if for any reason the new Miss Texas USA is unable to fulfill her duties, then all power is transferred to the 1st runner-up. Who knew?

    The last two girls stood facing each other, clutching hands, vowing that the other one deserved to win, and that they would always be BFF no matter what. The witty emcee did a priceless stalling technique to add to the mounting tension. Then, the first runner-up was declared, leaving the new Miss Texas USA crying and speechless as they speared her crown to her head.

    I yelled in the kitchen to P that this was just bad, bad television and questioned why I would even watch something this hokey and contrived. But then, they asked the new Miss Texas USA how she felt and she said she was so excited about the new car because she was currently driving a 1995 Ford Escort. With that admission, I decided I liked her. Anyone who will own up to driving a 12 year old Ford Escort on national, or at least statewide, T.V. is my kind of girl, even if she does put tape on her bottom to minimize the appearance of cellulite.

    It’s just proof that America is still the land of opportunity. One day you’re driving an old Ford, the next day you’re driving a new Ford.

    And wearing a tiara.

  • There ain’t nothin’ wrong with eatin’

    I’ve seen this restaurant meme going around all over the place and I kind of filed it away as something I might do at some point, but I’ve been so busy, what with all the fish death and cake baking, that I forgot about it. But then, Tracey at More than a Minivan Mom actually tagged me, so here it is. I go back and forth on whether or not I like doing memes, but today? I like them.

    Let me also state that I’m breaking all the rules and changing the meme to suit my own purposes, because I can’t be confined by the man and his rules. Since I live in a city that has, at last count 852 Mexican food restaurants, we eat a lot of Mexican food, and if I were to write about my 5 favorite local restaurants, it would look like this.

    1. Taco Taco Cafe
    2. Taco Garage
    3. Patty’s Taco House
    4. Taco Taco Cafe #2
    5. Taco Taco Cafe #3

    That would just be boring and, in spite of what y’all may think, I try to not be boring.

    So, with apologies to Julio Iglesias, this is a post to all the restaurants I’ve loved before.

    1. Casa Ole’ – There was a time in my life when my idea of great Mexican food was Casa Ole’. Back in high school, when I was in posession of a 16 year old metabolism, I would eat here at least three times a week. I always ordered the Dinner El Paso, which consisted of two cheese enchiladas covered in queso with a crispy beef taco on the side.

    And they had green sauce. Love the green sauce. Pledge my undying love to the green sauce.

    Throughout high school and college, Casa Ole’ was my answer to any of life’s events; heartaches, hangovers, girls’ night out. But sadly, now that I’ve experienced real Mexican food, the love affair is over.

    2. The Grapevine – My sophomore year at Texas A&M, I discovered The Grapevine. College Station had about three restaurants at the time, Lubys, The Blackeyed Pea, and Fajita Ritas. Grapevine was an oasis in the desert of restaurants.

    Gulley, Jen, Tiff and I ate at Grapevine multiple times a week. They made the best twice baked potatoes EVER and their salads were the best. They had these perfect cubes of cheese and tomato and served it with Parmesan Pepper dressing. And because I was so healthy, I would ask for a whole bottle of Parmesan Pepper dressing and dip Club Crackers in it.

    My arteries are still feeling the effects.

    Sadly, The Grapevine is no longer with us. It closed down sometime after I left A&M and this saddens me to no end. In fact, when the restaurant went up for sale, we talked about buying it but since the price was like $3 million dollars, it seemed like an excessive amount to spend just so I could keep eating Parmesan Pepper dressing. I still dream about the Parmesan Pepper dressing.

    When Gulley and I were in College Station last month, we drove by in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone had resurrected Grapevine. But in an ironic twist, the property is now home to Lighthouse Christian Church, which makes sense given the religious experience that was Parmesan Pepper dressing.

    3. Carrabbas – Once upon a time, Carrabbas was a family owned restaurant on Kirby Drive in Houston. Now, it’s a chain and that makes me sad. It’s not that chain restaurants can’t be good, but the chain factor sucks the soul out of a place.

    Gulley and I used to drive to Houston to visit our dads during college and one of the big events was getting to go to Carrabbas. I always ordered the Pollo Rosa Maria with a side of fettucine alfredo, otherwise known as Heart Disease On A Plate.

    And I don’t know why I feel the need to tell y’all this, but I once ate so much there one night that I had to change my pajama bottoms during the night because the elastic was too tight.

    That’s just shameful.

    Anyway, now Carrabbas is a chain and it’s lost its charm and appeal, but on the bright side, I don’t have to worry about my pajama bottoms anymore.

    4. The Gristmill – We don’t eat here too often because it’s in Gruene, Texas, which is about 45 minutes away, but I love it. It’s right on the Guadalupe River and next to Gruene Hall, the oldest dancehall in Texas.

    There is nothing better than spending a day floating on the river and then heading to The Gristmill to eat a chicken fried steak while listening to the sounds of Texas music coming from the dancehall. I haven’t done it in years, about 4 1/2 to be exact, but it’s a great way to spend the day.

    Not to mention, eating chicken fried steak while wearing a swimsuit? Awesome.

    5. Rosarios – It’s hard name just one favorite Mexican restaurant, so I’ll pick Rosarios. It’s located downtown and has some of the best Mexican food in the city, which is saying something in a city of 852 Mexican restaurants. It’s more upscale than your average taco house and the guacamole is unbelievably good.

    P took me to Rosarios for our first night out after Caroline was born and when I took a sip of my first margarita in a year, I started crying. Granted, there could have been some hormones responsible for the tears along with “Raising Arizona” declarations of “I just looove that baby”, but I like to believe it was just the pure, top shelf goodness of the perfect margarita accompanied with chips and guacamole.

    And there it is, the restaurants that have meant the most to me over the years. I have eaten at nicer places. I’ve eaten at gourmet restaurants where the food is perfectly presented and oh-so-arty and trendy, but these are the places that are close to my heart. When it comes down to it, I will always take a good chicken fried steak or chili con queso over slow roasted wild salmon on dilled cucumbers and avocado served with hydroponic baby lettuces.

    I’m just sophisticated like that, not to mention, I think it’s cruel to eat the baby lettuces.

  • An update on the newly bereaved…and also, cake

    Last night in our panic to dispose of Nemo’s body, P provided a moment of distraction by taking Caroline out to look at “something” on the front porch, while I frantically ran, fish bowl in hand, towards our master bathroom to flush away the evidence. I was in a state of panic over the need to hide the dead body so, clearly, if my Sicilian ancestry includes any ties to the Mafia, I didn’t get those genes.

    Don Corleone would never sweat over having to dispose of a beta fish.

    It’s not so much that I thought Caroline would lose her mind due to the excessive grief, but it was close to bedtime, she was tired and that tends to turn everything into drama worthy of a very special episode of Diff’rent Strokes. Plus, she looks for any excuse to put off bedtime, so a fish funeral would have been a fine angle to work.

    Anyway, I was sloppy in my work. I left Nemo’s empty fish bowl sitting on the dresser in our bedroom and when Caroline woke up this morning (yes, she ended up in our bed around 5 a.m., but it’s totally worth it because she’ll sleep until 8 a.m. if she’s in bed with me. I figure she’ll sleep in her own bed by high school. In the meantime, I am enjoying mornings that start after the sun is actually up)…okay, where was I?

    Oh, Caroline woke up and immediately noticed the bowl sitting on the dresser. She said, “Mama, Nemo slept in your room last night!…Oh, where’s Nemo?”. And with that observation, she caught me completely offguard at the time of day when I’m the slowest on my feet. So, I eloquently stated, “Nemo died.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Her lip started to quiver and she said, “Why did he die Mama? I took such good care of him.”

    That’s debatable.

    I told her that fish don’t live very long and of course she took good care of him, but he just got sick and died. She then hypothesized that perhaps a coyote had come in to our house and speared Nemo during the night which, had I been thinking clearly, would have been a much better answer to her question. And with that, she moved on to wanting waffles for breakfast. Obviously, she was all broken up about it.

    Now, let me tell y’all about the rain. It rained cats and dogs and, perhaps, even beta fish today. I dropped Caroline off at school this morning right as the rain started and by the time I picked her up 3 hours later, the streets were flooded. In fact, on our way home, one of the main streets to our house was barricaded and I wasn’t sure how we were going to get home. Fortunately, I am a navigating genius and realized I just needed to go over one more block to higher ground. We had planned to go play at Gulley’s to get through the rainy afternoon but, alas, there was no way we could make it over there without a canoe.

    So, we baked a cake. And I thought y’all might like the recipe and a step-by-step pictorial.

    Yellow Cake with Chocolate Frosting

    Open box. Dump cake mix in bowl. Now, normally I prefer Duncan Hines Butter Recipe Golden cake mix, but this was all we had and did I mention the torrential flooding?

    Next, add in water, butter and eggs. Eggshell is optional, but highly probable if you let a 3 year old crack your eggs.

    Note to self, do not turn your back on child with Kitchenaid. Mess. Big Mess. Photo does not do justice to mess. Also, not pictured are the bits of my head that exploded shortly after this happened.

    Clean cake mix, egg, butter residue from the walls. And the floor. And the Kitchenaid. And the child. And the entire side of the refrigerator.

    Pour batter in cake pans and bake at 350 for 25 minutes.

    Relax while enjoying a little cake batter and wonder why Mama is so freaked out. It’s just a little cake batter spewed all over the kitchen. It will come off the ceiling in its own good time.

    Have internal debate as to whether or not to make homemade chocolate frosting to compensate for boxed cake mix. Decide to fully commit to Lazy Cake Baking 101.

    Tell husband to step away from the canned frosting. He can have whatever is leftover.

    Realize you’re writing the longest blog post in history. Oh wait, wrong tutorial.

    Find it ironic that you’re frosting a boxed cake mix with canned frosting while looking down at your new issue of this.

    Wonder if anyone is still reading to see the results of this labor of love.

    Pass can of frosting to P. He really had no idea before he married me the full extent of my baking skills. It was just pure luck on his part.

    Prepare a light dinner of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes with cream gravy so that you’ll have plenty of room for cake.

    Wonder how this post started with our fish grief and ended up with chocolate cake. Also, hope that was only an eggshell I just bit into.

    Have a lovely weekend, y’all.

  • Nemo sleeps with the fishes

    Nemo is dead.

    No, not that Nemo. Not the little clownfish from the reef. I’m talking about our Nemo, the betta fish that Santa brought for Caroline this past Christmas.

    I noticed yesterday that he was, literally, looking a little green around the gills. Who knew that was a real thing and not just something people say? He was also swimming upside down and frequently laying on his side. P and I kept exchanging looks across the kitchen because we knew Nemo’s time was limited.

    And honestly, I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did. I thought for sure Caroline was going to love him to death within his first 48 hours in our family, but he made it a whole 6 months, mainly because she often forgot that he existed.

    I’m not sure what went wrong, but as his primary caretaker, I blame myself.

    Not to mention the guilt I feel because, really, I’m glad he’s gone. When Santa brought him down from the North Pole, the intention was that Nemo would reside in Caroline’s room, but due to her constant need to pet him, he was transferred to my kitchen island. Which wouldn’t have been so bad since Santa had the forethought to buy a pretty bowl with pretty pale blue stones in the bottom, but Caroline wanted Nemo to have some sort of fish structure and she picked out a dragon at the pet store.

    So, for the last 6 months I have had a fish bowl with a dragon in it adorning my kitchen island. It’s not really something you see in Southern Living. It’s not even something you see in Redneck Digest.

    I was also completely grossed out every time I had to change his water. It just all seemed so unsanitary. And true confessions, more than once I thought about just setting him free in our plumbing system and calling it a day. But I endured for the love of my child. A child who, by the way, hasn’t noticed yet that Nemo is no longer with us.

    And he is, in fact, no longer with us. As soon as I saw his dead, bloated fish carcass floating next to his dragon, I immediately flushed him down the toilet and in hindsight, I guess I should have let Caroline say her final goodbyes. So now I’m wondering how to handle the situation so that one day Caroline’s not in therapy saying, “It all started when Nemo died and I didn’t get to say goodbye…”

    So what now? Do I wait until she notices he’s gone or do I just tell her what parents everywhere have said for years?

    Honey, Nemo went to live on a fish ranch with lots of other fish. It’s the best thing for him. He’ll be so much happier living where he can swim free in the wide open spaces.