Year: 2007

  • Smoking, bling bling and the Sweet 16…not necessarily in that order

    Last night, I was up half the night because I am like a little kid at Christmas due to the fact that my sister and I bought tickets to go watch the Aggies play in the Sweet 16 this Thursday, and then, the Elite 8 on Saturday (I’m all about positive thinking). And true to form, I spent a lot of time lying awake wondering what on earth I’m going to wear to the games.

    The thing about being an Aggie is you should really “maroon out” at all the sporting events, but in case y’all haven’t noticed, there is not a surplus of maroon colored fashionable items. And if I’m going to the Sweet Sixteen, I am not wearing an oversized Texas A&M maroon t-shirt because you know, I might be on TELEVISION.

    Anyway, after the Aggies won on Saturday, I spent most of the weekend plotting how I was going to secure a ticket to the game. When I first looked, the cheapest tickets were $250, and seeing as how we might need to buy groceries and pay our electric bill, it seemed a little extravagant to spend that kind of money on a sporting event, even if it is a once in a lifetime opportunity considering the last time the Ags made it to the Sweet 16 it was 1980 and my biggest concern was learning to skate backwards at Magic Skate.

    After trying to get through to the ticket office for an excruciatingly long time, they finally decided to answer the phone and informed me that they did indeed have some tickets available at a cheaper price. So, I called my sister to see if she was interested in spending the money to be there in person, even though it means we will be sitting so high up that it will be like watching maroon ants run up and down a matchbook cover, and because she is smart and practical like me, she was totally up for it.

    In spite of all the time I spent listening to a busy signal while repeatedly calling the Alamodome ticket office, I did manage to do a few other things this weekend.

    On Friday, Caroline spent the night with Mimi and Bops, which allowed me to get so much done it made my head spin. I have been behind on so many things, and once I had some quiet, I was able to get a ton of things accomplished. I also managed to squeeze in some time to go to Target to buy the cute shoes I mentioned on Friday, and pick up dinner for myself at Church’s chicken.

    And just so y’all know, I didn’t feel convicted in the least seeing a woman rollerblading around the track at the junior school while I was driving home with my spicy chicken tenders, mashed potatoes and honey biscuits and thinking about the brownie I was going to eat for dessert.

    Saturday morning, I was working on the computer when I heard P gasp and say, “You have got to come look at this”. It was the neighbor lady who is in the middle of renovating the house next door, and she was mowing the grass in a downright fancy ensemble.

    I, personally, have spent a lifetime avoiding mowing yards, but I can guarantee that if I found myself having to mow a lawn, I wouldn’t be wearing black pants with rhinestone pinstripes, a black paisley tunic and a black cap with the words “Bling, Bling” written in rhinestones. Of course, I wouldn’t wear that outfit while doing other things either, like for example, breathing.

    Ironically, the only part of her outfit that disturbed P, otherwise known as the safety police, was the fact that she was wearing rhinestone, open toe slides and kept repeatedly pushing the mower closer and closer to her exposed feet.

    Once I joined P at the window, neither one of us could look away. It was a do-it-yourself foot amputation waiting to happen, and as much as we didn’t want to see it, we couldn’t close the shutters and walk away. I tried to justify our peeping tom activities with the rationale that at least we could call 911 the minute the foot came off.

    Somehow, neighbor lady managed to finish mowing, with rhinestone slides and foot intact, and just as we were about to get on with our afternoon, I noticed the mailman walking into the port-a-potty set up for the construction workers who are working on neighbor lady’s house.

    I asked P, “Is our mailman using that port-a-potty?” And he affirmed that yes, the mailman uses it everyday, but not to perform a biological function. He said, “Just wait for it”.

    And about 5 minutes later, our mailman stepped out of the facilities, surrounded by a great cloud of smoke. It seems that he goes in there to take a smoke break during his route.

    My question is, how desperate do you have to be for a nicotine fix to smoke in a port-a-potty facility used by no less than 15 different construction workers on any given day?

    I think instead of making him toffee next year for Christmas, I’m going to get him a pack of Nicoderm CQ patches. It will be the gift that keeps giving.

  • Sweet 16 baby, sweet 16

    Because to write about it on my own will cause me to weep excessive tears of joy.

    Gig’em Ags!

    LEXINGTON, Ky. (AP)- A hostile crowd. A big shot. A season on the line.

    All in a day’s work for Acie Law.

    The Texas A&M point guard whose cool demeanor earned him the nickname “Captain Clutch,” did it again. Law took over late and led the Aggies past Louisville 72-69 Saturday in the second round of the South Regional.

    The third-seeded Aggies (27-6) reached the round of 16 for the first time in 27 years, surviving a raucous Rupp Arena crowd.

    Rick Pitino’s Cardinals had their chances, too. Especially Edgar Sosa.

    Sosa scored 31 points but, after going 15-for-15 from the foul line, missed two free throws with 30 seconds left and Louisville trailing by a point.

    The sixth-seeded Cardinals (24-10) caught a break when Texas A&M’s Joseph Jones missed two free throws at the other end. Sosa got another chance, but hit the back of the rim on a long 3-point attempt.

    With a large sea of red-clad Louisville fans who made the short trip to Rupp screaming, Law made two free throws with 1.7 seconds to go, giving him 26 points.

    Sosa’s halfcourt heave bounced off the top of the backboard at the buzzer, setting off a jubilant celebration for the Aggies.

    In the end, Law and the Aggies were simply too tough, too poised, too ready to make the next step under third-year coach Billy Gillispie.

  • If I can remember anything that happens this weekend, I’ll post about it on Monday

    Maybe it’s because I’ve had a 3 foot tall person, who sleeps with the grace and ease of a Tasmanian devil all hopped up on over the counter cold medicine, sharing my bed for several nights this week due to serious thunderstorms, but I am drawing a blank on having anything worthwhile to share. I mean, after this week’s riveting posts on Diamond Darlings, my impending nervous breakdown, and American Idol, there is really nowhere to go but down.

    So, in lieu of an actual post that contains crucial elements like a point, I’m going to share what is going on inside my head at this moment.

    1. I have realized over the last few years, my memory is horrible, and I mean both short term and long term memory. I can’t remember to buy stamps at the grocery store when STAMPS is written across the very top of my list. The other night I went to dinner with Gulley and when I realized how extensive her memory is, it made me believe that I should invest in some sort of Sudoku puzzles to sharpen my cognitive skills and try to ward off what is, apparently, complete brain rot.

    The only problem is I think Sudoku involves numbers and if I remember correctly, I don’t really like anything that involves numbers.

    2. I talk so much about how rough and tumble Caroline is because it astounds me and truthfully, makes me a little proud that a daughter of mine can be so brave about things that are dirty or crawl across your hand. However, one day last week we took a little mother/daughter shopping trip to the huge outdoor mall here, and I have never felt like we were such kindred spirits as when I wheeled her stroller into the dressing room in Anthropologie so I could try on some jeans and she gasped and said, “Oh Mama, it is JUST beautiful in here!”

    I told her, “I know! And we haven’t even looked at their housewares section yet.”

    Ultimately, she was most impressed with the dressing room, but still it gave me great hope that there will be times she may prefer to go shopping with me, as opposed to going on a mass killing spree with her daddy.

    3. And speaking of her being like her daddy, tonight I put her on the potty right before bed and she said, “Mama, get me a hunting magazine, it’ll help me go.”

    Oh, if I had a dime for every time I’ve heard her Daddy utter those very words.

    To top it off, as she was browsing through her Bowhunters Digest, she looked at a picture of someone all in camo holding a camo rifle and said, “Oh, this is handsome.”

    4. This is a picture of a Mountain Laurel blossom. South Texas is covered with them right now and it makes the whole outdoors smell like grape soda.

    It’s just a little piece of heaven all wrapped up in a lovely purple flower.

    5. I saw these shoes at Target the other day and I didn’t buy them. They have been calling my name ever since so it’s just a matter of time before I go buy them. How cute are they?

    $19.99 y’all. That is $20.00 worth of sassy I’d be wearing on my feet.

    6. Something is going on with our home email address and I just discovered that we haven’t been receiving certain email. I can’t figure out why we get some things and why we don’t get others, but now I am totally and completely paranoid that some critical email, letting me know I have won buckets of money, has found itself in the Bermuda Triangle that is SBC Global.

    7. I’ll leave y’all with this sweet picture of Caroline that I took at the butterfly exhibit at the zoo the other day. This is obviously the side of her that finds the beauty in God’s creation and lovely dressing rooms.

    Although, if that butterfly hadn’t flown away when he did, my money would have been on his untimely demise.

    Y’all have a great Friday!

  • It’s only a matter of time before I’m calling in to vote

    Well, let me just say, honesty? Definitely the best policy. I wrote yesterday’s post in a flurry of emotion and frustration and posted it without thinking twice. Later on I thought, “Sweet mercy, what did I just post on the internet for everyone, including my mother-in-law, to read?”

    And for the record, I cried again while I read through all of your sweet, encouraging comments. I think all mamas just need to know that we’re not the only ones who have contemplated running away from home, or better yet, packing our child’s bags and letting them run away from home, because after all, we’re the ones paying the mortgage.

    So, thank you from the bottom of my heart for responding to my raw honesty with your heartfelt sincerity. Seriously, I can’t express how much all of your encouragement meant to me. We’re all in this motherhood business together and I personally don’t have room for someone who claims to LOVE! EVERY! MINUTE! of being a mama.

    But now, let’s talk about something really important.

    American Idol.

    I normally don’t talk about American Idol because I believe that Boomama does an excellent job of covering the highlights and lowlights every week (much like she does with her hair), but I just have to make a few comments because Gulley called me yesterday and asked, “How is it that I am late for the party known as American Idol?”

    All I could tell her was I have no idea, but I am equally guilty. This is the first season I have ever watched AI and truth be told, I only started watching because Boomama promised it had more drama and tears than The Bachelor, and if that’s the case, then count me in.

    I partially blame my initial lack of AI interest on Survivor.

    P and I were big Survivor fans during Season 1 and 2 while Survivor mania gripped the nation, but then Season 3 came along and we lost interest. I quit believing in the entertainment value of reality T.V. and chose to watch more highbrow television, such as reruns of Seinfeld and ER.

    If I am perfectly honest, I felt like maybe I was too good for American Idol and its throngs of devotees, which is more than ironic when you consider that I watch The Bachelor.

    I can’t believe how wrong I was.

    It’s a travesty of epic proportions that I have been missing out on this level of entertainment season after season. In fact, Gulley and I even wondered today if we could rent the past seasons on DVD. We don’t even care that we know who won and we wouldn’t be able to watch Kelly Clarkson without wanting to hear her sing “Since You’ve Been Gone”.

    We feel like we were late for the prom, but without all the pastel taffeta and alcohol concealed in flasks.

    Tuesday night was Gulley’s first night to ever watch, and she only turned it on because there was nothing else on. She called me Wednesday and before I could even say hello, she asked, “What is up with Paula Abdul? Girlfriend acts like she’s taken a baker’s dozen of the Percocet.”

    And with that comment, we were off and running.

    “Oprah needs to call Sanjaya and tell him she wants her hair back”

    “Why would anyone try to make Motown all electronic and modern?”

    “Endless Love is a bad enough song without changing it to make it worse.”

    “Don’t tell Diana Ross (after she tells you that she wrote Missing You because of her sadness over the tragic death of Marvin Gay) that you’re singing it because you miss your fiance in San Antonio.”

    “I have got to find me a dress like the one Stephanie Edwards had on last night. She may not win AI, but she’s my vote for best dressed.”

    “Why does everyone think Simon is so mean? He’s just honest.” (Granted, I am married to someone who lives by the code that if you don’t want to hear the truth, then you better not ask.)

    Two new American Idol fans have been born, and along with Sanjaya and his hair, we’ll be back next week.

  • Mama guilt, it’s the gift that keeps giving

    This morning has shaped up to be one of those mornings that, in all honesty, makes me feel like an inadequate mother. And I don’t mean that in a funny “Ha-ha, I serve my child chicken nuggets for every meal” kind of way, I mean it in the “I have completely lost my patience and am at the edge of all reason and sanity” kind of way.

    It’s a little hard for me to admit, because I know there are many of you that read this blog that have multitudes of children. I realize I only have one, and I know from experience there are plenty of people who love nothing more than to say, “If you think it’s hard with one, you ought to try having three or four or eight…”.

    So let me say, I applaud mamas of more than one, good for you. However, part of the reason I only have one is because some days I feel like it’s all I can handle and even as I type this, that realization makes me cry. I would love to be the kind of mama that can host story time for seven kids, let them finger paint all over the walls, and never get tired of the endless stream of questions and demands, but that’s not me. Sometimes, as much as I adore my little girl and wouldn’t trade motherhood for anything in the world, I need order and quiet.

    I need silence.

    This morning I got the paints out in an attempt to keep Caroline entertained while I tried to get some work done. And let me just say that if Lee Iacocca had attempted to work from home while raising a three year old, Chrysler would have gone belly up in the first six months.

    I looked over in time to see her covering herself with paint. She had paint all up and down her arms, on the bottoms of her feet, on her legs, it was beyond anything a damp paper towel could handle. So, I stop what I’m doing, go run the bath and drop her in.

    Nothing thrills her more than a morning bath, so I thought I could sit in the bathroom with my computer and get some things done. It was a perfect plan until she started splashing huge amounts of water throughout the bathroom despite my warnings that I was going to yank her out of the tub if she kept it up. When I did, in fact, yank her out of the bathtub, I had to listen to all the whining and crying about how I am not nice and I’m not her friend and she just wanted to splash.

    And it’s moments like these where the childish side of me wants to say, “Well, if I’m not very nice, then why did I drive you over to Gulley’s house right at bedtime last night for the sole purpose of retrieving Cee the Unicorn because you wanted to sleep with him?”

    But I don’t say that because I’m the mama.

    The rest of our morning consisted of a series of whining about being hungry and then not eating what I offered, stomping Chex Mix into the carpet to the point that the pretzel residue has become a permanent part of the rug fibers, crying and throwing a fit that her Cinderella inflatable bed was deflated, and endless whining about everything else she could possibly think of, including the air she breathes.

    It’s at this point that I just put my head down and start to cry. I am tired. She has spent the last three nights in our bed because of thunderstorms and I realize that’s part of the motherhood deal. I don’t expect her to lie in her room afraid of thunder with no one to comfort her, but the problem is I start to feel like I haven’t had a break. I need a few moments of no one touching me, no one talking to me, and most importantly, no one crying about something…like I’m one to talk.

    I realize this isn’t the kind of post y’all are used to reading over here, but I am tired and frustrated. The worst part is, feeling this way makes me feel guilty, which then just makes me feel worse about my mothering skills.

    Most days I try to remind myself that all of this is fleeting and I need to soak in every moment. One day she’ll be older and I’ll long for the days that she wanted my total and complete attention all the time. One day, I’ll be nostalgic for the days that my life was taken over by a three foot tall tyrant.

    But today is not that day.

    Let’s hope tomorrow it all looks a little better.

  • I bet I know which option the raccoons would prefer

    Caroline and Bops were visiting in his front yard the other day.

    Caroline: Bops, is that your chimney?

    Bops: “Yes, that’s the chimney.”

    Caroline: “If raccoons lived in your chimney, could you trap them?”

    Bops: “Yes, we could set a trap, catch them and then take them to the ranch and let them go.”

    Caroline: “Yes, or we could shoot them and throw them in the ocean and let sharks eat them.”

    Bops: “Well yes, that would certainly be another way to go.”