Year: 2008

The suns of my youth

P keeps asking me if I notice a difference driving my car with four new tires. And I’m really trying to feel the difference but, as far as I can tell, it’s not something tangible that instantly improves a situation, like say a great pair of wedge heels.

Even as Caroline walked out to the car this morning, she said, “Those tires don’t look any different”.

Yep.

A whole lot of not different.

But here’s something that’s different. Apparently I turned into an eighty-year-old woman over the winter months.

Over the last six or so years, I have become pretty diligent about keeping sunscreen on my face. Just call it a desperate attempt to make up for an ill spent youth that consisted of days spent getting the perfect tan on my face with no sunscreen.

The 70’s were a kinder, gentler time when people didn’t know words like OZONE or LONG-TERM SUN DAMAGE.

Oh sure, I was on the swim team for much of my childhood and I always wore the requisite zinc oxide smeared across my nose, but that was more for the look. THE COOL SWIMMER LOOK.

I didn’t care if my nose got sunburned and I certainly wasn’t concerned with any reapplication after swimming, I just wanted to look like all the cool older swimmers as we sat and ate our packets of dry Jello gelatin in between races.

Why did we eat Jello gelatin? I can’t remember but I think it involved some theory about providing energy. Or maybe just a sugar high that could fuel a nine-year-old to victory in the 100 meter freestyle. Whatever. ALL THE COOL KIDS DID IT.

Anyway, at some point in my late twenties, it became apparent that my skin had suffered some sun damage. The main thing that concerned me was the fact that it wouldn’t really tan in the sun anymore. It would just turn red and splotchy. HOT LOOK BY THE POOL.

Are you suffering from heat stroke? No, I just fried my skin throughout childhood. This is my consequence.

Then, after Caroline was born almost five years ago, my hormones exploded in the form of melasma, also known as evil mask of pregnancy. The first summer after she was born, in spite of my liberal use of sunscreen, I developed dark, patchy spots in the perfect form of a mustache.

Horror doesn’t begin to describe it.

When I close my eyes, I can still hear my screaming.

Thankfully I managed to micro-dermabrasion and bleach away that bad boy. Otherwise I would currently be wearing a veil over my face for all public outings lest I scare the little children or cause them to think they’re at the circus.

So, these days I wear some heavy-duty sunscreen in addition to various big, floppy hats to provide maximum sun protection. Even though between the hat and the big sunglasses I look like someone’s Aunt Maude having a day at the pool.

I fully expect that Caroline will end up in therapy over the hats her mama wore to the pool throughout her childhood.

While we were in Florida last week I became giddy with all the freedom, threw caution to the wind and played in the ocean for at least an hour without a hat on. My face didn’t burn because I had on my SPF 170, but it did get some sun for the first time in five years.

There are vampires that have seen more daylight than my face.

Anyway, that little moment of indiscretion in the waves came back to haunt me in the form of not one, but TWO age spots. I’d like to say they are freckles, but I’ve never seen a freckle a 1/4 inch in diameter. For that matter, I’ve never seen a freckle that looks like a map of the former Czech Republic.

Needless to say, the micro-dermabrasion has been working overtime since I returned home to the harsh reality of my bathroom mirror with overhead lighting. Also, there has been many a prayer for skincare redemption being lifted to the heavens.

I think at least one of the age spots has faded to the point of looking like it could at least be a distant cousin to a freckle, but I will never make such a grave error again.

So, if you need to find me at the pool just look for Maw-Maw sitting in the shade with a hat that could be mistaken for a satellite dish.
Two explosions in one day has to be a record

Yesterday morning I dropped Caroline off at this little half-day summer camp that she’s doing this week. Of course, half-day is really a misnomer considering that it starts at 9:00 and ends at 11:30.

Which is really more like a half-morning.

However, those two and a half hours are like precious gold to me right now, except I don’t really like gold. Unlike Caroline who announced yesterday that gold was her favorite color and whenever she saw it she was going to “HOWL AT THE MOON!!!”.

I have no idea what that means but she was very passionate about it.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that small little morsel of free time is invaluable especially because I have about a million different things I’m working on, none of which are more easily accomplished by the constant narration and interrogation of a four-year-old.

So, I dropped Caroline off and headed to the HEB. I certainly did not want to go to HEB during my small window of free time, but we were literally about out of everything (meaning Q-Tips and York Peppermint Patties) and the grocery store couldn’t wait unless I wanted to go in the afternoon when I knew it would be hot enough to make me long for a vacation on the sun.

I raced through HEB with the speed of a woman on a mission, pausing only long enough to mourn two great losses.

1. HEB has quit carrying Tyson’s Roasted Chicken Breasts and is offering no replacement item. Does this mean I’m going to actually have to prepare recipes using raw chicken? Because if it does, then I’m about to swear off poultry forever.

2. When I went to talk to my favorite manager, Dwayne, about the Tyson Chicken Breast Fiasco of ’08 because I knew he’d make the situation right, I found out he is no longer at our neighborhood HEB.

I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to Caroline that her prime source of Buddy Bucks and helium balloons is no longer there. It will be a dark day.

As I’m pushing my cart down the cosmetic aisle (after surveying my nail polish inventory in the midst of the cabinet makeover I realized I was sorely lacking) I heard a loud POP.

And when I say loud, I mean LOUD. I thought it was gunfire.

Gunfire from a disgruntled HEB shopper who just discovered that she was going to have to cook with raw poultry since some moron in the home office decided to quit carrying Tyson Roasted Chicken Breasts.

I didn’t hit the linoleum floor, but I glanced around to see if anything was awry. Not seeing anything, I moved on in to the checkout line and started unloading my groceries. All of a sudden I saw the source of the POP. A can of biscuits had exploded in my cart.

EXPLODED.

As it turns out, the great biscuit explosion was a little thing known in the literary world as FORESHADOWING.

Later on, after I’d picked Caroline up, we were driving along when I heard a loud POP. Of course my first thought was that I’d left a can of biscuits in my car, but then I realized that my car was shaking and veering off the road.

Probably not because of biscuits.

I pulled over on a side street and realized my front tire had experienced a complete blow out.

So I did what any self-sufficient, independent woman of the 2000’s would do.

I reached into my purse for my cell phone and called P to come rescue his damsels in distress.

Fortunately, we were close to where he’s working right now and he made it in record time even though my directions were along the lines of “You know where that building is that used to be next to the Starbucks and then they turned it into the Sushi Restaurant? Yeah. We’re not really by that. But if you go there and then head maybe a mile or five past that, then we’re either on the right or left side of the road but I can’t tell because I can’t remember my right from my left at the moment.”

I have a navigational gift.

He put the spare tire on my car while we discussed the fact that the Swedish people were nice enough to include one glove in the spare tire changer kit thing. One glove.

Like in case Michael Jackson had a flat.

With spare tire in place, Caroline and I went to Discount Tire to purchase a new front tire. And GOOD NEWS! It turns out all the other tires were on their last legs, or treads as the case may be, and we had to purchase FOUR NEW TIRES.

There is no way I’d rather spend that amount of money than on automotive repair.

It was a joy.

Yes, I know. Safety, schmafety. Precious cargo, blah, blah, blah.

But that money could have gone towards a lot of new shoes.

Or perhaps to mail order some Tyson Roasted Chicken Breasts.
This is for my mother-in-law who inspired my cabinet makeover

In my quest to show the internet that I am task-oriented and focused on results, I am proud to present my new and improved bathroom cabinet.

And, seriously, whatever on the task-oriented stuff. I am a charter member of the why do today what you can do tomorrow club.

But I did finish the bathroom cabinet.

I even have some pink stripes in my hair to prove it.

I’m a little concerned it’s not pink enough.

Anyway, I wanted to share it with y’all because I know that many times I quit reading a blog because it just doesn’t offer enough bathroom cabinet stories. I think to myself, AWESOME BLOG! but needs more bathroom cabinet.

Y’all may notice that there isn’t much in the bathroom cabinet and that is largely due to the fact that prior to this renovation it was far too scary of a place to actually use for anything other than an air cast that P wore on his arm back in 1998 (never know when you might need it again!) and the plastic sitz bath thing that came home with me from the hospital after I had Caroline.

Here’s hoping I never need that again.

Now I have a place to store ALL FIVE of our beach towels, Caroline’s various cough and cold medications, and a basket full of miscellaneous dried-out bottles of OPI nail polish.

Anyone looking for an eight-year-old bottle of “I’m Not Really A Waitress”?

The truth is this is Caroline’s bathroom and she doesn’t use it much right now. She prefers to take a bath in our bathroom which means our antique clawfoot tub is filled to the brim with all manner of plastic fish, a water trumpet, and, at last count, six rubber duckies.

It’s like something you’d see in Better Homes and Gardens.

Anyway, for right now this bathroom is still pretty much mine. I’ve actually redone it three different times since we moved in because it’s a small space that doesn’t overwhelm me. But I adore the black and white toile that’s in there right now and the pink accents are new.

What you can only see a little bit of is a fluffy, pink bathmat that I immediately regretted purchasing because it looks kind of old-fashioned and dated. I bought it anyway because it isn’t that easy to find a pink bathmat, and once it made it into the house Caroline saw it and pledged her undying love and devotion to its Pepto-Bismal shagginess.

She even asked to sleep in the bathroom because the mat was “THE BEST THING” she has ever seen.

We don’t get out much.

At some point, if I find a suitable replacement, that bathmat may have an unfortunate accident and go missing.

Anyway, I figure I better enjoy looking at the bathroom while I can because in about eight years Caroline will hole up in there for days while she examines every pore on her face and experiments with the different ways she can style her bangs, all while yelling at me through the door that I don’t know what I’m talking about and she doesn’t need to pluck her eyebrows.

After all, it’s her legacy.
I have always believed in all the access I can get

About two months ago, I was checking email and noticed I had an email from Pam Case, the Director of Women’s Ministry for LifeWay Church Resources.

For those of y’all who don’t know, LifeWay is one of the world’s largest providers of Christian products and services. I realize that is a pretty vague description and makes it sound like they might be the people who manufacture Jesus Band-Aids or perhaps a five pack of Jesus Pencil Toppers.

Which if they were I would so get myself some Jesus Band-Aids because think of all the cool spiritual analogies you could come up with as you handed them out.

Although I’m pretty sure that Jesus’s ultimate goal wasn’t to see himself in the form of a pencil topper.

Anyway, Lifeway has an incredible women’s ministry department that includes awesome Bible studies by Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer, Kay Arthur, Kelly Minter and Vicki Courtney. And not only do they publish these incredible studies, they host events like Living Proof Live, Deeper Still and You and Your Girl.

So, when I saw an email from the Director of Women’s Ministry, I paid attention to it. In fact, since the email was to both BooMama and me, I may have even sent her a frantic ichat message that said, “ALERT! ALERT!”

I think we were both pretty certain that they were emailing to ask that we please stop taking up Travis Cottrell’s time with these trivial podcasts that we churn out with shocking irregularity and ultimately do nothing to make the world a better place.

Or, fingers crossed, maybe they were emailing because they heard me mention that I’d like to sing “Open Arms” by Amy Grant as a duet with Travis at one of the Living Proof Live events.

Of course there was always the possibility that they wanted me to write Bible studies for them because they had read some of my deeper posts on subjects like wearing a swimsuit that was way too small while seven months pregnant and then having to scale a chain-link fence.

As it turns out, it was none of those things.

LifeWay was interested in starting a blog for women that would provide a behind-the-scenes look at what’s going on in their women’s ministry department. A place where women can find out everything from what new studies are coming out, to the really important issues like where Beth Moore got that darling jacket she was wearing at the most recent Living Proof Live event.

So, Sophie and I made a trip to Nashville to talk with them about blog stuff. Look! Here we are in Nashville right before we ate some sandwich wraps.

That picture indicates that either I got little to no sleep the night before or I am in desperate need of an eye-lift.

We spent the day with the incredible LifeWay women’s ministry staff and were blown away by how real and genuine every single one of these women (and one man!) are. By the time we left we felt like we had just spent time with friends.

Anyway, a few conference calls and a lot of technical blog design stuff later, the brand new LifeWay All-Access blog is up and running. Sophie and I will each be posting over there 2-3 times a week along with the members of the women’s ministry team.

But don’t worry. I’ll still be posting stellar, thought-provoking content on a daily basis here at Big Mama, Inc.

I mean, did y’all not read the post on my bathroom cabinet?

Basically, this all means that I’m going to need an IV filled with caffeine since I am incapable of writing anything before 10:30 p.m.

It’s our hope that the LifeWay All-Access blog will be another place where we can talk about what’s going in our lives, what’s going on in ministry, what’s important to us as women, and just have fun.

And maybe even hand out some Jesus Band-Aids as some sort of giveaway.

So, head on over there. My first post is up and make sure you check out the welcome post from Pam Case.

See you there.
The next generation

There is nothing that makes me happier than seeing the way Caroline and Gulley’s boys love each other.

It’s watching life come full circle.

Although every now and then they do argue like cats and dogs and I’ll hear Caroline issue her biggest threat, “WELL, I’M NOT INVITING YOU TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY.”

Which I’m sure scares the boys to death because don’t all little boys live for attending Barbie Island Princess themed parties?
Friday. The non-fashion edition.

There will be no Fashion Friday today because I am holding on to my sanity by a very loose thread, my friends.

This is the reason.

That’s the inside of the cabinet in Caroline’s bathroom.

By all appearances it would seem that a family of rabid possums got in there and had themselves a keg party.

I only wish that were true.

I did that. On purpose.

Apparently yesterday morning something inside my head just snapped and I decided it was time to clean out the bathroom cabinet that has been on my To Do List for the last five years.

Because mountains of laundry and a desperate need for groceries just seemed too easy to accomplish.

I need a challenge. Where is my Everest?

We renovated our house in 2003. It was an extensive redo which required us to pack all our stuff and move completely out of the house. I was also pregnant at that time so, as you can imagine, SHEER JOY TO LIVE WITH.

I actually balanced my eight month pregnant body on scaffolding to help hang crown-molding because there was no way I was bringing my PRECIOUS BABY home to a rent house.

Like Caroline would have shown up, looked around and said, “Wow. What a dump. I should have stayed in utero.”

Anyway, this bathroom cabinet desperately needed a serious overhaul. From the outside it looked fine, but on the inside it was cracked, peeling paint and covered in something that I hesitate to call shelf paper for fear of offending real shelf paper everywhere. So in the midst of the remodel, we told the painters to make sure they painted the bathroom cabinet.

The only problem was that their grasp of the English language was questionable and every time we told them to paint the bathroom cabinet, they painted the OUTSIDE of the bathroom cabinet. That sucker has about twelve coats of a nice, white eggshell finish.

By the time we realized what had happened, it was too late. We moved back in the almost finished house and Caroline showed up just two weeks later.

And by the way, when we carried her in the newly renovated house in her infant carrier, she totally gave us the thumbs up on the nice digs.

The interior of the bathroom cabinet has been an albatross around my neck for the last five years. In fact, it was on my list of things to get done once Caroline started preschool, but somehow all those trips to Target got in the way.

Yesterday morning I decided that since Caroline has now graduated from preschool, it was time to get it done.

Bless my heart.

I headed in there with my Hefty kitchen trash bag which was the equivalent of trying to harness the wind in a mayonnaise jar. I pulled off shelf paper, chipped off paint, and tore through some unknown substance that crumbled as I touched it. The cabinet is so big and tall that I actually had to climb in it to reach the top. I had no idea what I might find.

Behind the shelf paper that lined the walls was some sort of material reminiscent of a burlap sack and it was nailed to the wall. I started ripping it out and just knew something disgusting was going to fall on me.

About that time, Caroline came into the bathroom and turned on the sink. When I heard the hissing sound of water, I leapt out of the bathroom cabinet because I was certain I had just disturbed a family of snakes that had been residing there since the late 60’s.

I am not kidding.

FEAR. PANIC. HYPERVENTILATING.

I may have overreacted.

I definitely didn’t know I had the ability to leap from inside the bathroom cabinet to the top of the bathroom counter in a single bound.

Anyway, I finally got it stripped down to just the wood. SIX HOURS LATER.

Caroline and I went to the hardware store and purchased a gallon of paint in a lovely shade of bright pink. Because who doesn’t want a bright pink cabinet interior? We also bought some primer and other paraphernalia to complete our project.

And my hat is off to the helpful paint salesmen who were much more concerned about searching for the Logan’s Roadhouse website so they could see what their T-Bone steaks looked like. Clearly, that was so much more interesting and crucial to the job than some customer who wanted to paint a cabinet bright pink.

This is how far I’d gotten by the end of the day.

Actually that’s inaccurate. I did get the first coat of primer on but I’m too tired to walk the ten feet it would take me to get in there and take a picture.

Just imagine a really bad white paint job.

Today I’ll start on the bright pink interior.

I hope to have it finished before Caroline leaves for college, but I don’t want to push myself too hard.

I’ll let y’all know how it goes.