Month: September 2008

She can bring home the bacon

Here’s Caroline as she prepared to go dove hunting with her daddy after school yesterday.

I guess she couldn’t find the baseball cap with the large bill.

Here’s a little video I took right before she walked out the door.

Going on a dove hunt from Big Mama on Vimeo.

I think she wonders on a daily basis why she has to deal with people who are so dense.

And here she is after a successful hunt.

It appears that dove attempted to trade liberty for security and found neither.
Lady liberty

Last Thursday, P headed down to South Texas with a group of men from our church to help rebuild a church that was damaged by Tropical Storm Dolly.

Or was it Hurricane Dolly?

I can’t remember. Poor Dolly was the second runner-up in the Hurricane race this year and no one ever remembers the second runner-up.

If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who has ever been one.

When P called home on Friday night, he mentioned that they had attended a dinner for the National Rifle Association.

Church group, mission trip, NRA.

It’s like a bad right-wing cliche’.

Anyway, I helped host a baby shower on Saturday night so I was literally walking out the door to go to the shower as P was coming in from his trip. He said he was exhausted and would probably be in bed by the time I got home.

I arrived home a little after 9:00, set my purse down on the kitchen island, looked up and saw this hanging on the wall.

Where am I? What is happening? Did the ghost of Charlton Heston come to call?

Apparently, P failed to mention that he was a big winner at the NRA banquet.

And considering the prize, I am playing fast and loose with the word “winner”.

I walked into the bedroom and he was still awake.

“What is that thing hanging on our wall?”

“I won it!”

“I’m not sure ‘win’ is the word I’d use.”

“I thought I’d hang it in the kitchen.”

“Why do you hate our kitchen?”

We went to bed with the “art” still hanging on the kitchen wall because we’ve been married for eleven years and, clearly, P knew it would be relegated to the backhouse within 24 hours. He even bet our associate pastor that it would take me less than three seconds to notice that he’d hung it on the wall.

He underestimated me by a half second.

Yesterday morning, Caroline woke up and came into the kitchen. She immediately noticed the new picture and started to cry, which gives me great hope for her future in art appreciation.

But the main reason she was upset is because this is what normally hangs in that spot.

So as she began to cry she said, “But where is the beautiful picture of me?”

The good news is she appears to have both liberty and security.

The NRA would be so proud.
Edition 38: Fashion Friday

Well, before we get started I feel like I need to tie up a few loose ends from the week since I just throw all these things out there and then have no follow up.

First of all, Caroline totally smoked those three year olds with her superior dance abilities and celebrated her victory by throwing her stuffed Barney prop to the ground and yelling, “How ya like me now?”

That’s actually not what happened.

In reality, the dance studio called and said Caroline could go ahead and move up to the big girl class without an evaluation. Clearly they just want to make sure they keep my monthly tuition money, but whatever works.

Also, I haven’t decided on a hiking shoe, but am seriously leaning towards the Keens because they seem to be a popular choice plus I can get them free from Cabelas because we have Cabelas Reward Points on our credit card.

This will be the first time I have ever benefited from Cabela’s Reward Points.

In fact, one time I mentioned to P that maybe we could get a card with Reward Points for something more useful like Disney Dollars or Southwest Airline tickets, but he looked at me like he wasn’t sure who I was and yelled, “BLASPHEMER!”

And that was the end of the discussion.

But now, not only will I get my Keen hiking shoes, I’ve discovered that Cabela’s also sells the Frye Harness boots that I adore so it’s just a matter of time and Reward Points before I make them mine.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

Now for the questions.

1. Becky asks: “I need some help with fall shoes. I love these shoes from Boden (Am I wrong to love animal print?), but need something a little more budget friendly. I would love to have the budget to buy them, but girlfriend is trying to put herself through school!!!”

Becky, if loving animal print is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Seriously, it’s become a classic and will never go out of style when used in moderation.

Here are some great leopard print shoes that will be kinder to your checkbook, but maybe not necessarily your feet. Just remember, the important thing is that you look good.

And maybe that you carry a pair of comfortable flip-flops in your purse.

2. Kim asks: “I just graduated from A&M at the beginning of August, and am starting a job in The Real Corporate World but my business casual attire is pretty sad. Can you suggest some places I can go to build a classy wardrobe?”

Congratulations, Kim! Welcome to the Real Corporate World!

It’s probably not going to be as fun as hanging out in the MSC and eating chicken fingers, but we all have to grow up sometime.

At least that’s what my daddy told me back in 1994.

The real key to building a great business casual wardrobe is to spend a little bit more money to buy some good basics. A good pair of black pants, a pair of gray pants, and a few other classic pieces that will last you for years.

Once you have these pieces you can mix in some less expensive, trendy things to keep it fresh and up to date.

One last piece of advice, buy some comfortable shoes. When I first ventured into Corporate America, I made the dire mistake of outfitting my feet in Payless Shoes. Let’s just say it’s hard to practice effective capitalism when you have huge blisters on your feet.

I wish you all the best. You’re going to be great!

3. Elizabeth asks: “Do you have any advice for maternity clothes for the fall and winter?”

The nice thing about being pregnant in the winter is that you really won’t need a coat because the hormones will keep you toasty warm all winter long.

I was pregnant in June, July and August. You know what’s nice about being pregnant in the summer?

Nothing.

Well, other than the fact you get a baby.

The good news is the maternity clothes just keep getting better. I’d suggest finding a good pair of maternity jeans and then I’d go find a few cute sweaters, jackets and tops because how cute is this? And this? And this?

Also, remember that accessories are the pregnant girl’s friend. You can buy some basic maternity shirts and then dress them up by adding a cute scarf or a fun necklace.

The accessories will be the gift that keep giving long after the pregnancy is over.

Oh, and so will the baby.

4. Becky asks: “If you were going to a Presidential rally what would you wear? “

No question.

You have to go big or go home.

Nothing says “I support the democratic process” like taking a hallowed symbol of freedom and turning it into some fine leather goods.

God bless the U.S.A.

One last note, several people have asked how to find a good pair of jeans. I have written about jeans extensively in the past as evidenced by the fact that at least fifty different posts came up when I searched for the word “jeans”. However, this is the best summary of how to find jeans that fit and look good. It’s from last fall so some of the links may not work anymore, but the denim wisdom still holds true.

Y’all have a great Friday!
Prima ballerina

From the time I first knew I was having a baby girl, I dreamed of the day I could sign her up for ballet class and dress her in a pale pink tutu.

So as soon as she turned three years old, I signed her up for a weekly ballet class.

Which, soon after, became known as my weekly beating.

Oh sure, she loved the tap shoes and the ballet slippers. She loved the leotards and the tutus. She loved watching herself in the mirror as she performed all sorts of dance moves, none of which happened to be the same routine the class was actually doing.

But because I had a deep-seated need to see my baby girl perform in a dance recital, and am also constantly searching for ways to make my life more difficult, I signed her up to participate in the recital and wrote a check for upwards of more money than I care to admit to pay for the costume.

What I envisioned was a delicate little pink tutu with yards and yards of tulle. The reality was a hot pink costume with glaring polka dots complete with a huge neon yellow bow to wear on top of her head. It was a costume that would cause Charo to say, “Wow. It’s a little gaudy.”

And then as soon as the recital check cleared the bank, Caroline decided she didn’t like dance anymore.

I barely survived that year of ballet. In fact, it’s hard to talk about even now.

It’s as if some latent stage mother tendencies rose up in me and caused me to act like a crazy woman. Next thing you know I could have found myself sitting backstage saying, “Sweetie, put down the sippy cup and let’s get this eyeliner on before we take out your hot rollers and tease your hair.”

I wept with relief when Caroline announced that she was done with ballet.

But now, after a year off, she has decided to enter back in to the dance arena.

And I will support her because that is what parents do. It’s just like when my mama bought me those new roller skates with green wheels and a stopper because I had set my sights on becoming a professional roller skater.

I blame the movie “Xanadu” for that ill-fated career ambition.

When I went to sign her up for lessons, the instructor informed me that Caroline would have to retake the class for beginners because she sat out for a year.

Of course everyone knows the year you turn four is crucial for proper dance mechanics.

I was okay with it because it seemed to be dance studio policy, but on the day of her first lesson I noticed she was about a foot taller than any of the other little girls in her class.

And also, one of the only ones not wearing a Huggies Pull-Up since the beginner class is really more for three-year-olds, which explains why it was the class she took when she was three.

She thoroughly enjoyed the class the first week because she knew all the music, plus she was kind of the star of the show if for no other reason than that she didn’t tee-tee in her leotard.

But then after last week she told me she didn’t want to be in a class with babies.

Yesterday I called the dance studio and explained that Caroline was the only five-year-old in a class of three-year-olds. Was there any way she could move up to the class with the other five year olds?

They told me to show up for our scheduled class and they would evaluate her abilities to see if she could be promoted.

What exactly are we evaluating? Her ability to hold Barney in front of her while she points her toe out to the side? Or maybe her ability to pretend to be a firetruck as the whole class runs screaming around the room in their little ballet shoes? Or perhaps her proper use of the fake binoculars as they play the theme song from “Dora the Explorer”?

You just know that’s exactly how Baryshnikov got his start.

I gently explained that it’s not so much about her brilliant interpretation of Dora the Explorer leaping through the rain forest as much as the fact that she knows how to go to the bathroom by herself.

And with those kind of ballet goals, it’s just a matter of time before she wins the role of Sugarplum Fairy.
The missing piece

The other night I was reading a Bible story to Caroline before bed and it mentioned Jesus’s disciples. It had never occurred to me that maybe she wouldn’t know what “disciple” meant, so I asked, “Do you know what a disciple is?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s kind of like a friend. “

“Oh, okay”

“The disciples were Jesus’s friends while he was here on earth.”

“WHAT?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT JESUS WAS ON EARTH?!”

I feel almost certain that I have mentioned that detail at some point in the last five years.
I don’t think this is what they mean when they say, “Drill now!”

Yesterday morning was the kind of day that made me want to walk out on the back porch and say “Hello Fall! Welcome back my old friend! You are delightful!”

After I got Caroline dressed and off to school, I took Scout and Bruiser for a long walk and didn’t even listen to my iPod because I just wanted to soak up all the nature and the fall-like temps.

Also, there have been reports of some shady characters loitering around our neighborhood (Canadian booty cleavage man possibly included) and P basically told me I’d be a fool if I went walking with my iPod because it limits my ability to sense an impending attack.

So I enjoyed all the nature as opposed to a diverse musical mix that includes Chris Tomlin and Justin Timberlake.

I returned home just as P was getting back from an appointment with the dentist. Last Christmas, P’s dentist informed him that he needed a titanium implant and a tooth carved out of diamonds to replace an antiquated crown that had broken loose more times than we could remember, including one incredibly romantic evening when we’d just started dating and the crown came out in his Milkdud.

To tell the truth, I’m not sure if the implant and new tooth are carved out of diamonds. It’s just an assumption based on the cost.

So about six months ago, P got the implant and yesterday was the day he finally got his new tooth.

When he walked in the back door, I asked how the new tooth felt and he said, “It’s a little sore, but I’m more worried about my finger.”

Well sure.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with your finger?”

Apparently after they put in the new tooth, P asked the nurse if he could see what the tooth looked like. She handed him a mirror and walked out of the room. After he looked at the new tooth, he attempted to set the mirror on a table next to the dentist’s chair but the mirror slipped and he tried to grab it. As he grabbed it, his middle finger landed right on the dentist’s drill which drilled far enough into his finger that the drill became stuck.

It was a million to one shot.

The dentist was able to pull the drill out of his finger, but needless to say the finger did not escape without some injury.

Anyway, last night we were sitting around and P mentioned that I was probably going to need a new pair of comfortable boots for my trip to the Dominican Republic.

I got so excited because how often does your husband mention that you might need a new pair of boots?

So I showed him this pair that I’ve had my eye on for the last year or so.

Evidently they aren’t exactly what he had in mind.

He seems to think I’m going to need more of a practical, hiking, outdoorsy type of boot.

But what does he know? He drilled his own finger yesterday.

Just in case he’s right, I thought I’d ask for some help. Do y’all have any suggestions for comfortable, practical shoes that would work for the trip?

Preferably something not too hideous?

Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated, as well as any other useful hints for traveling to a third world country.

Muchas gracias, peeps.