Year: 2007

  • Photographic evidence of all the non-excitement

    Let me preface this by letting y’all know that I have nothing of interest to say. Nothing at all. Well, except that Caroline told me today that I am no fun. Gulley and I have always said that being accused of being no fun is the thing that gets us the most, because while we have been accused of being many things, not being fun had never been one of them until we had children.

    I guess we better get used to it. If Caroline thinks I’m no fun when she’s three, just imagine what a buzzkill I’ll be once she hits puberty.

    Anyway, I uploaded some pictures from my camera today and just thought I’d share what I found.

    What on earth is that? Well, I wondered the same thing until I realized that this is a picture of bullets that have been used to kill animals. P has actually taken the time to not only measure them, but to get photographic evidence of the measuring process. Once again, I’ll tell y’all sorry, but he is taken.

    This is a picture of an angel that I bought at 50% at an after Christmas sale. I had my eye on her before Christmas and at 50% I couldn’t pass her up. It was truly meant to be because the store was only taking cash and checks during the sale. Now, I never carry cash because I can’t account for it’s whereabouts. Someone must steal it out of my wallet, because there is no way that I can possibly spend money that quickly. Anyway, I had one check left in my checkbook and I happily used it to pay for this angel.

    These are roses that came from our yard. I can take no credit for them because I have a strict no yardwork policy. P takes good care of our antique rose bushes and as a bonus, brings in fresh cut flowers for the house. It more than makes up for the pictures of bullets that have been in dead animals.

    This picture didn’t actually come from my camera. My brother-in-law took it at a birthday party for my nephew. I just think it’s cute and it perfectly sums up her love for all things icing related.

    And last but not least, Caroline has started calling me Pizza Guy today. So, between that and the advice that Boomama gave me this week after I wrote this post, I just wanted to give y’all the heads up that I may change the name of this blog to:

    Pizza Guy

    Serving as a precautionary orthodontia horror tale for preteen girls

  • As Carol Burnett used to say, "Reading is Fundamental"

    For as long as I can remember, I have loved to read. I will honestly read just about anything I can get my hands on. If y’all don’t believe me, let me just say that I have even been known to read articles in Bowhunter’s Magazine and learn all about how Dale done shot his first 8 point buck using some kind of fancy new broadhead.

    Let me repeat. I will read anything.

    Now, before I mistakenly earn a reputation as someone who yearns for knowledge, let me set the record straight that, for me, reading is relaxing. It’s a way of slowing down one part of my brain and letting another part work. And lest y’all think my brain is oh so complex, I just mean that when I’m reading something, I’m focused on whatever it is and not the millions of other things that might be going on around me.

    When I was young, I read all of the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books over and over again. I adored Ramona Quimby, Ralph the Motorcycle Mouse, Little House on the Prairie and Soup. Then, as my reading tastes changed I adored anything by Judy Blume. I bet I read Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself, Otherwise Known as Shelia the Great, and Are You There God, It’s me Margaret?, no less than 50 times.

    One of my favorite things to do was go to Waldenbooks in the mall and pick out new books to read. I remember I always begged to get at least two or three at a time and one time I even cleaned off the shelves in my closet to make my own library.

    I realize that between that admission and the fact that I just confessed yesterday that I dressed up like Sandy from Grease, that y’all might be picturing a trampy looking elementary school age librarian wannabe. And you might be right.

    I’ve read everything from the latest chick lit to the classics, and for the most part, I really prefer to read fiction. The last time I read something non-fiction it was What to Expect When You’re Expecting and it scarred me for life. It was the reading equivalent of wanting to put my fingers in my ears and say “LALALALALA I CAN’T HEAR WHAT YOU’RE SAYING”.

    Anyway, my point is that I adore reading.

    I will never forget that the day after P and I got married, we boarded a three hour flight headed to Miami and then the Bahamas. We were sitting in first class (because we played the honeymoon card) and as the plane took off, I pulled out the first of three books I had packed for the trip. I sat back, sipped my wine, ate my heated mixed nuts (oh yes, they heat them when you’re in first class), and started to read. Next to me, P pulled out a hunting magazine, thumbed through it for about five minutes, put it up, looked at me and said “what next?”.

    It was at that moment that I realized I had married a non-reader. Don’t get me wrong, he can read if he can sit still long enough to read, it’s just not an activity he prefers. The only books I’ve ever really seen him read are by this Capstick guy who writes about hunting in Africa and uses sentences like a leopard leaving someone with “a bloody, red toupee”. And how can anyone resist that?

    For the most part, P sticks to reading hunting magazines and of course, his hardcover edition of the Cabela’s catalog.

    So, seeing that I already have one family member who doesn’t hold reading in the esteem he should, I have worked hard to instill a love of books and reading in Caroline. From the time she was born, I would read at least one book to her every night and now that she’s older, she loves to go to the library and pick new books to read. Some of my favorite times are when she’s sitting in my lap as we read a book together before bedtime (and not just because she’s going to bed).

    Last night, I had to attend a dinner for the “bank” and so I got her fed, bathed and in jammies, but P had to put her to bed. I got home and he said everything had gone really well.

    Tonight, we’re sitting in the living room after bathtime and she looks at me and asks, “Mama, do you have to go to work tonight?” and I told her, “Nope, Mama’s staying home.”

    She looked at me in all seriousness and said, “I’m so glad because Daddy doesn’t read very good.”

    She’s obviously never heard him read the Cabela’s catalog.

  • Tell me about it, stud

    There is a group of women that fall somewhere in the 30-40 year age range, who at one time in their childhood, were completely in love with the movie Grease. It’s okay to admit it.

    Be proud, ladies. Be proud.

    I know that for me, I dreamed of the day that I could be as cool as the Pink Ladies and hang out with the T-Birds. My friends and I spent whole afternoons re-enacting scenes from the movie and actually dressing up like Sandy. I’ll always remember a girl named Libba Fletcher, who lived down the street, trying to convince us that she looked more like Olivia Newton-John than the rest of us.

    It never failed to start a huge debate because of course all of us wanted to look like Olivia and in reality, since we were about 6 or 7 years old, I don’t think any of us qualified, even though we had teased our hair, cut up our black Danskin leotards and paired them with our mama’s Candies to recreate the final scenes of the movie.

    We would beg our mamas to take us to the theater to see it “just one more time” and we had it so completely memorized that we knew the first notes of Beauty School Dropout, which was a scene we didn’t care for, and we could make a run for more candy or popcorn because NO WAY were we missing Greased Lightning (which is a totally dirty song, but I didn’t figure that out until years later).

    I had the Grease album on LP and 8 track and wore both of them out from listening all the time. I would lipsync in front of my mirror and dream of the day that I could be like Sandy. In fact, I think it was the summer before 4th grade when I had the brilliant idea that maybe I should wear dresses like Sandy to school everyday and on the last day of school, shock everyone by wearing my Jordache Jeans with my black t-shirt with the sparkly iron-on rainbow and my red satin jacket from Weiners, which looked just like the ones the Pink Ladies wore except it was you know…red and from Weiners.

    So, in light of all these embarrassing revelations, imagine my excitement when I heard about the new reality show that starts January 7th called “You’re the One that I Want”. It is a reality show wherein contestants vie for the chance to play Sandy and Danny Zuko in the Broadway production of Grease.

    It’s like a dream come true that combines my love of reality television with one of the greatest movies of all time.

    I will be glued to the television come January 7th. In fact, I’ve got chills, they’re multiplying and I’m losing control.

  • Look away, I’m hideous

    This morning I had to return to the real world and get back to work at the “bank”. Of course, in all honesty, the bank can be a pretty cushy job at times, so my morning actually consisted of eating breakfast at one of my favorite breakfast restaurants with my co-worker Dee, while we strategized about the new year.

    Dee’s daughter is the one who had the misfortune of babysitting Caroline the other night. Y’all can read about it here if you missed it. Anyway, Dee and I were catching up on what we did while on vacation and other miscellaneous things, when she says, “You know I’m so glad that K. babysat the other night because we’re going to the orthodontist this week and since she saw you she can’t quit talking about how horrible it would be to be an adult with braces. She just keeps telling me how terrible you look and can’t believe you had to get braces when you were old, so I’m hoping it will make her realize that she needs to do what the orthodontist tells her to do”.

    How many insults are in that statement?

    It was just the pick me up I needed to kick my New Year’s into gear.

    Really, like a ray of sunshine.

    In Dee’s defense, she had no clue what was coming out of her mouth and meant no harm. She falls into that category of people that talk so much that they’re bound to say something dumb on a fairly regular basis, so I honestly didn’t take it personally. In fact, I’ve been laughing about it all day.

    How nice to be able to serve as a cautionary orthodontia horror tale for pre-teen girls.

    And speaking of pre-teen girls, as I was leaving the restaurant I noticed a group of about five cute high school age girls eating a late breakfast on the patio of the restaurant. About that time a Suburban drove slowly through the parking lot and a woman rolled down her window and said “Hi Jessica!” to one of the girls and drove off.

    The girls all looked at each other and I overheard one say “Omigosh, was that your MOM?” and the other girl shook her head in disbelief as she reluctantly said, “Yes”. One of the girls said “Oh my mom is always doing stuff like that and I just want to DIE”. As I walked to my car they all continued to commiserate about how “like totally embarrassing” that was and “why would she do that?”

    Because like saying hi to your daughter is so wrong and can totally destroy their whole social image…much like adult orthodontia.

  • Just so you know

    For the people who stumbled upon this blog while doing google searches for “Big Mama wearing miniskirt” and “hydrogenated oils”, I think you’ll understand that due to the hydrogenated oil, there is no photo of Big Mama wearing a miniskirt.

    Thank you for your time. You’re always welcome here.

  • Hunting Royale *

    I had imagined that today I would write a post reflecting on my deep thoughts regarding the end of 2006 and the beginning of 2007. I would detail my goals, plans and hopes, but honestly…I’m just not feeling very reflective today. Maybe next week once my outdoor Christmas decorations finally join my indoor Christmas decorations in the attic, I’ll feel a little more coherent and be able to share something beautifully and succinctly (and really, isn’t that a goal in and of itself?)

    So, instead of a deep, meaningful post, y’all are going to hear about our big New Year’s Eve at the ranch. And I’m sure none of y’all imagined that your 2007 would be off to such a wonderful start!

    Caroline and I headed south about 9:00 yesterday morning and arrived at the ranch around 10:30. P came to meet us at the gate on a 4 wheeler and she insisted that she get out of the car and ride with Daddy. I didn’t see her again for about 3 hours.

    Apparently they rode all over the ranch and she has never had so much fun in her life. It incorporated everything she loves…speed, adrenaline rushes, and getting completely muddy. Which aren’t those things every girl’s dream?

    At some point, they finally made it back to the house and Caroline continued to run all over the place. She was thrilled to have 60 adults who all wanted to play with her, chase her and throw her up in the air. As I mentioned, none of them have kids so it’s a complete novelty to them to have her around.

    P decided he wanted to go hunting and so I had the brilliant idea that Caroline and I should also go sit in a deer blind. After all, she had been talking the whole time about hunting and wanting to see deer. So in one of the great ironies of all time, I took my daughter for her first “hunt” in a deer blind.

    We drove the four wheeler over to the blind while singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of our lungs (Caroline’s choice) and since for me hunting is all about convenience, I parked it all of about four feet from the blind. We climbed up into the blind and in my mind I was imagining a fun mother daughter experience involving looking at beautiful deer while eating animal crackers and watching the sun set over South Texas. You know, the stuff memories are made of.

    Here’s what happened. We got up in the blind and played musical chairs for about ten minutes which involved much loudness and banging around. Then, we had to see how the door of the blind opened and managed to open it just as a huge gust of wind caused it to slam into the railing creating yet another loud noise. And in case y’all don’t know, loud banging noises are not conducive to seeing deer.

    I have actually proved this theory because back when I used to go hunting and P would put me in a blind by myself, I would watch the deer for awhile and then start making noise to see how loud I could get before they went away. You do what you’ve got to do to pass the time in a deer blind.

    I digress.

    Anyway, in between all the banging noises and the loud talking, I notice two things. The first is that I can see deer skirting the perimeter of the field but staying well within the tree cover because we were broadcasting our presence to anyone within a 15 mile radius. The second thing I notice is that there is an odor coming from my daughter’s bottom. So I ask, “did you poop?” and she answers, “yes, I did”.

    I wasn’t sure that I was going to tell this part of the story, but I will serve a greater good and provide a public service by letting y’all know what to do in case you find yourselves in a deer blind, 15 feet off the ground with a child with poopy pants. Consider it a little New Year’s treat.

    I became much like MacGyver with my incredible skill and ingenuity. I tore off part of the bag that the animal crackers were in, used it to pick the poop (which was thankfully solid and I know that’s too much information but it’s pertinent to the story) out of her underwear and threw the poop out of the window of the blind.

    Oh yes I did.

    Needless to say that between the noise and the flying human excrement, we had created a less than ideal hunting situation and did not see one single deer.

    We headed back to the house on our four wheeler, waited for P to get back from his hunt, packed up our stuff and headed home.

    Caroline was asleep before we even hit the highway.

    And we all were home in our beds by 10:30 last night. That’s the stuff memories are made of.

    Happy 2007!

    *Please note that this is a play on the name of the latest James Bond movie because I tried desperately to come up with something that would reflect the year now being “007” and sadly, it’s the best I could do.