Year: 2007

  • It was a bad hair night

    Caroline woke up in the middle of the night the other night and when I went in her room to see what was wrong, she was sitting up in bed, crying.

    I picked her up and asked, “Sweetie, what’s wrong, why are you crying?”

    She said, “Mama, I’m sad. I’m just so sad.”

    “Why baby? Why are you sad?”

    “Because I don’t like my hair long. I want to go to the beauty shop and get it cut.”

    I’d like to say that I have never, myself, cried over my hair in the darkest hours of the night, but that would be a lie.

    As I crawled back in bed, P woke up and asked what Caroline was crying about, when I told him, he just shook his head, rolled over and said, “And so it begins.”

  • We prefer to use the term cooked sushi

    I realize that some of y’all may be concerned that we are so busy teaching Caroline how to hunt wild animals, that we may be overlooking some of the more important aspects of grace and decorum.

    So, just to ease your mind, here is a picture of her eating her dinner with chopsticks.

    And by the way, those are fish sticks she’s eating.

    We are nothing if not sophisticated here at the house of Big Mama.

  • A tale of two airports and four new friends

    Yesterday, I had to go to Dallas for some reasons related to my job at “the bank”. I’ll go into more detail on that another time, because it is an incredible story of God’s providence, but it will require some actual thought and I’m still trying to process all of it. Plus, I need to tell it in a way that won’t jeopardize my “banking” future, should anyone from the bank happen to stumble upon Big Mama.

    I am nothing if not completely and totally paranoid.

    Also, it just took me twenty minutes to figure out how to properly spell “jeopardize”, so obviously I’m working at full capacity.

    Anyway, I booked my flight for Dallas a few days ago and had been told by my manager that the best airport to fly in to was D/FW. Since I know as much about Dallas geography as say, nuclear physics, I booked my flights according to her directions or so I thought.

    I drove to the airport yesterday morning, got on my flight and everything went really well in spite of the fact that I was flying in one of those little death tube airplanes. Y’all know what I’m talking about; those planes that look like a good windstorm could blow them down, so you just take comfort in the fact that at least you probably won’t be a terrorist target because really, what kind of statement would it make to kill eight people who didn’t even get honey roasted peanuts or beverage service?

    The tube ‘o death arrived safely at the airport and I got off the plane. Because I am so perceptive or maybe because of the enormous sign that said “Welcome to Love Field”, I realized immediately that I was not, in fact, at the D/FW Airport. And since I didn’t know anything about where I was going, this caused me to have a mild anxiety attack.

    Or perhaps a full blown one.

    I walked outside, found a cab, and showed the cabbie my sad, little post it note with the address of the “bank” home office and basically said, “Do you know where this is?”, which in cab language means “Will I have enough money left after this cab ride to buy a diet coke?”

    He assured me that he knew where we were going and it wasn’t a big deal that I had flown into Love Field instead of D/FW. At least, I think that’s what he said because honestly, I couldn’t understand a word he said. To say that English was not his first language is an understatement along the lines of me saying I kind of like chocolate.

    Nevertheless, he didn’t let the language barrier stop our conversation and he proceeded to talk throughout the entire trip. I have never been in such a huge need for subtitles in my life, but I just smiled, nodded and agreed with everything he said which could have been, “I’m going to drive you to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead. Is that okay?”

    Smiling, nodding. Yes, sure, that would be great.

    “I’m going to charge you $150 for this cab ride and drive you all over Dallas.”

    Smiling, nodding. Oh really? That’s nice.

    It all worked out and I arrived at my destination, had my meeting, and then found myself in yet another cab, this time headed to the D/FW airport. Apparently, the agency that booked my ticket found nothing wrong with flying me in to one airport and having me leave from the other.

    In fact, I feel fairly certain that they did it because they were bored and liked the idea of making my brain short circuit.

    “Hey Martha, watch this, I’m going to have this poor girl fly in to Love Field and leave out of D/FW.”

    “Can we do that? Isn’t that kind of mean? Couldn’t that cause her some stress?”

    “Well, yes. That’s the whole point.”

    Anyway, I ended up having a change of plans on the way to the airport because I stopped off to meet Sarah from In the Midst of It and her kids, Caiden, Grayson and Addison at a coffee shop. We had exchanged emails the day before and decided that we would try to meet if time allowed.

    Time, indeed, allowed. And I am so thankful.

    If y’all are thinking you’re jealous that I got to meet Sarah, then let me tell you that you should be. She is cute, funny and sweet and I loved her instantly. I even got to hold Addison and let me tell y’all that she is a little bundle of pink heaven.

    And I don’t mean to brag, but by the end of our two hour visit, both Grayson and Addison felt comfortable enough around me to have blowouts in their diapers…or maybe they just couldn’t hold it any longer. But still, it was a special moment and I like to think it was their way of saying they really liked me.

    So after we talked and talked, Sarah sealed her place in my heart forever by sparing me yet another harrowing cab ride and driving me to D/FW to catch my flight. Let me tell y’all that the visit made a day that I had been dreading, totally worth it.

    And if y’all could see the plane I flew home on, that is saying something.

  • Chevy is still king of the road

    The other day I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. I was the only person in the waiting room except for a middle aged woman, without a tooth in her head, sitting on her electric cart. She had no problem with the fact that she was parked right in front of the door to the office, thereby blocking all entrance and exit routes.

    I sat there for about ten minutes, watching various people come into the office and figure out how to manuever around the cart lady, while she pretended to be completely oblivious to everyone around her.

    A few minutes later, a couple walked in wearing matching black and red Chevrolet jackets. The matching jackets, while classy, weren’t the most notable thing about them. The thing I noticed, as they sat down across from me, is that while they both had facial hair, the female member of the relationship had a mustache that was much thicker and robust than the male member of the relationship.

    Now, I’m not judging. I, too, have my own personal ongoing battle with facial hair because it is the curse of my Italian heritage, which is why I invest in some quality hair removing products and would be willing to forgo Caroline’s college education to pay for some laser hair removal treatments. All I’m saying is this lady would be well served to spend less on the Chevrolet jacket and more on a tube of Surgi-cream hair remover.

    Anyway, I guess while I was staring at her mustache, her boyfriend must have thought I was wanting to engage in some conversation. He looked at me and discreetly motioned toward the electric cart with his head and said in a voice that could have been heard throughout the building, “The problem with them carts is people try to drive ’em on the road like they’re REAL CARS”.

    Well, thank you for that insight, sir. Yes, that would be a problem if I had ever actually seen anyone driving an electric cart down the road in the major metropolitan area in which we live.

    I didn’t say that, however, because I felt like since he was wearing an official Chevrolet jacket and all, he might have more on the road experience than me. He might have daily encounters with all of those electric cart drivers that are apparently polluting the highway. So, I just nodded and smiled as if to say “Yes, thank you for speaking out against this roadway travesty” as I climbed over the front of the lady’s electric cart on my way in to see the doctor.

  • Other than raindrops on roses, here are a few of my favorite things

    All day long, I’ve thought about what I could post that would perfectly capture the essence of Valentines Day. I could talk about P and the fact that for years he had no idea that Valentines was a real date on the calendar, and thought it was just the second Tuesday in February.
    Have I ever mentioned that he was a real ladies’ man before he met me? Let’s just say that I carved that diamond out of some rough terrain.

    I could talk about Caroline and the fact that I spent all weekend making Valentines cards for her to take to school. I had these grand visions that it would be a fun mother/daughter project but I forgot two important factors.

    1. I have OCD. I admit it. I claim it. I own it. Let me tell y’all that OCD and a 3 year old with a huge bottle of glitter is just a recipe for a nervous breakdown that could require vast amounts of medication.

    2. Caroline has the attention span of a scared housecat. Once she realized I wasn’t going to let her dump an entire bottle of glitter on my kitchen floor, she was pretty much over the entire Valentine making process. She preferred to just sit and tell me how to do it like I was her own personal craft servant. Think Martha Stewart and those poor saps she gets on her show so that she can show her superiority at making tissue paper flowers.

    However, since we were halfway done with our cards, I had to press on because I couldn’t give half the class homemade Valentines and the other half of the class Dora the Explorer store bought cards. If any of her classmates end up in therapy it will be their parents’ fault, not because Caroline didn’t make them a special, handmade Valentine when they were three.

    Neurotic is the word y’all are looking for.

    Anyway, this afternoon I went to our nearest Hallmark store to buy cards for P and Caroline. It was so crowded that I just knew they must be giving away free chocolate, but they weren’t. No free chocolate; just cards and balloons and stuffed animals that were available for overpriced purchase.

    Somewhere I guarantee that Mr. Hallmark is counting his money and thanking God that the American public completely bought in to this marketing celebration o’ love. I honestly almost bought a cute Valentine gift bag today because it was only $1.99 instead of $3.99 with the purchase of a $10.00 Loveable, Huggable animal. Doesn’t it totally make sense to spend that $10.00 to get $2.00 off?

    Yes, I thought so.

    So, in celebration of Valentines Day, here are some things that I love, not in order of importance or priority.

    1. Sour Patch Kids. They are the perfect mix of sour and sweet and I still eat them even though my orthodontist, Dr. Kevorkian, would have a fit if he knew. I am a total orthodontia rebel.

    2. Cold, rainy days when we have nowhere to be but home and can stay in our pajamas all day.

    3. The sound of P’s truck pulling into the driveway because I know he’s home. And for me, home isn’t quite as nice without him here.

    4. Diet Coke with Lime because before the Coke people got together with the Lime people, I couldn’t stand the taste of Diet Coke. Now, I can drink three Cokes a day with no guilt.

    5. My friends. They are funny, they are supportive, they are the best and if need be will pick me up in their Trailblazer.

    6. Reruns of Friends because they always make me laugh and different episodes always remind me of things that were going on in my life when they originally aired. Specifically, I have many memories of standing in front of a mirror trying to get my hair to look just like Rachel’s because good hair is the key to a better life.

    7. Quality movies that make me laugh and cry like Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby.

    8. Chocolate in just about any form but specifically, Ghiradelli Double Chocolate Brownies. A pan of them will help solve just about any crisis. Two pans? Could bring peace to the Middle East.

    9. The way Caroline looks when she’s sleeping with her little hand tucked under her chin. It’s like I’m seeing an angel straight from heaven. To quote Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona, “I just love that baby.

    10. Watching P and Caroline together because it makes me love both of them that much more.

    Happy Valentines Day. I hope y’all are spending it enjoying the things that you love.

  • And they have fried apple pies!

    I mentioned a few days ago (or weeks ago, I can’t remember and I won’t pretend like I do) that Caroline’s social schedule is increasingly busy. I mean, it is just one party after another here. In fact, we have been to so many parties in recent weeks that Caroline has started asking for party favors whenever we leave anyones’ home. And yes, we’re working on that, but it’s hard for a girl to leave any kind of social gathering without a bag full of plastic clown yo-yos, fake tattoos, and one of those wooden paddles with the ball attached.

    The thing about the parties around here is, for the most part, they are a study in excess. I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, and I am all about a good party, but it’s just a matter of time before some of these parents start hiring Beyonce to sing Happy Birthday to the birthday boy or girl.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, I would actually crash a child’s party to hear Beyonce sing (especially if she’d sing something like ‘Diaperlicious’ for the preschool set), but my point is that the whole party thing can start to feel like one more leg of the relay in the great race to be the BEST Mommy Ever.

    This past Friday, Gulley had a birthday party for her youngest son Will, and in a stroke of pure, unmitigated genius, she went old school and had the party at McDonalds. Can I tell y’all that it was the best birthday party we have been to all year? I know Gulley won’t mind me telling y’all that the whole thing including Happy Meal lunches for ten kids, lunch for the Mamas, the cake WITH ice cream, AND the invitations cost $60.00.

    $60.00. SIXTY DOLLARS.

    I’ve been to parties where they paid more than that for just the cupcakes and the kids didn’t even get to wear birthday hats with Grimace on them. Seriously, did y’all know that Grimace still exists? He does, y’all. He does.

    Caroline thoroughly enjoyed herself. She sat and ate her Happy Meal while occasionally stopping between bites of her cheeseburger to drink a little ketchup out of the paper container. At one point, I told Gulley to look at Caroline compared to her little friend Sadie sitting next to her.

    Sadie was sitting, delicately eating her chicken nuggets, blonde hair up in a neat ponytail with her Grimace crown perfectly balanced on her head and she’d stop from time to time to wipe a small dab of mustard off her lips. Meanwhile, Caroline was hopping up and down in her seat with her little pigtails plastered to her head under the Grimace crown that sat askew on her head while she ate her cheeseburger, drank her ketchup and periodically opened her mouth full of food really wide to yell “CHEESEBURGER!!!” as her picture was being taken.

    She is a delicate, delicate soul.

    My point is (yes, I have a point!) the kids loved this party and not one of them complained that the cast of Cirque de Soleil didn’t show up to spell out the birthday boy’s name by contorting their bodies or that the centerpieces weren’t made entirely of gourmet lollipops and peonies.

    In fact, I have a strong feeling that Caroline may be celebrating her 4th birthday with Ronald and Grimace because her birthday is in August and that $60.00?

    Includes air conditioning.