Year: 2009

Jose, can you tile?

My deepest apologies go out to Mac Davis. Apparently, he isn’t dead.

I don’t know why I thought Mac was no longer with us, but I made the same mistake with Ed McMahon about two years ago. I guess it’s true what they say; out of sight, out of mind. And I am so glad that Mac isn’t gone because it means there still might be a chance that I’ll get to hear him sing “Tequila Sheila” in person.

They just don’t make songs like that anymore.

Yesterday I committed myself to cleaning the house and I decided I might as well start in the bowels (no pun intended) of hell, otherwise known as the master bathroom. As I cleaned, I spent a lot of time deep in thought. I thought about how nice it used to be when we had Cata clean the house even though her abuse of Pledge Grab-its almost drove us to the poorhouse and I thought about how people that are overly dramatic about inconsequential things get on my nerves.

And then I realized I was about to die from the fumes of all the cleaning products and laid on the bathroom floor and wept for the years that Cata came on a weekly basis. Why is my life so hard? How long, O Lord, must I clean my own toilets?

In all reality, I think I almost died at the hands of Tilex. I sprayed the entire shower stall liberally with the Tilex and forgot to turn on the bathroom vent. When I felt my throat begin to burn, I knew something was amiss and rushed to air out the bathroom. Because when my time on this earth is through, I don’t want to be wearing rubber gloves and holding a scrub brush.

Anyway, every time I clean the shower I can’t help but think of Jose. When P and I added on to our house six years ago, Jose was the man who tiled our new shower stall in our new master bathroom. We had originally hired a man named Mr. Baldo of “Baldo and Son Construction” to tile the shower and other various jobs, but Mr. Baldo took off with our money before he ever completed all the work we’d hired him to do.

Of course, we shouldn’t have been shocked by this turn of events considering that he’d already admitted to us that he didn’t actually have a son, even though his business was named “Baldo AND SON”. I guess he just felt that the “AND SON” gave him an air of legitimacy, much like Fred Sanford.

We found ourselves without a tile guy and with a shower that desperately needed to be tiled. One of our sub-contractors mentioned that his brother-in-law, Jose, might be available to do some tile work, so we called him. He was more than happy to do the work, his price was reasonable and, best of all, he could start the next day.

Jose showed up promptly the next morning with his bucket of grout and began laying tile in the shower. He turned out to be quite a chatty fellow and while he was working began to carry on a conversation with P. They talked about the neighborhood and our construction project and then Jose said, “You know? I didn’t even know how to install tile until last week, but I bought this video at Home Depot and now I think I know what I’m doing.”

Well.

That certainly is comforting, Jose.

You would think he might have wanted to keep that bit of information to himself, but I think Jose was a firm believer in being transparent. And, as it turned out, he was also a firm believer in something else.

P returned to the job site the next morning and could tell that Jose had left in a hurry. His tools were strewn about the bathroom and he hadn’t covered the bucket of grout. When Jose showed up that morning, P asked him what had happened. Jose informed P that our house was haunted by ghosts and we needed to have some sort of exorcism.

Okay, sure. Let’s get that scheduled.

When pressed further, Jose based this suspicion on the fact that he’d heard voices after everyone left. Never mind the fact that we live in a corner house where people are constantly walking by and every window in the house was left open. The logical conclusion was that we had us some ghosts.

We never did have the house exorcised and, shockingly, we’ve never had any more ghost issues. However, there is something in our house that’s extremely frightening. The tile job in our shower.

It’s painfully obvious that we didn’t need a priest as much as we needed someone with more tile experience than an hour spent watching a video from Home Depot.
Good help and good t.v. are hard to find

When P got in from work yesterday, I told him that many of you seemed to think that he looks younger now than he did four and a half years ago. In the words of the late Mac Davis he said, “I can’t wait to look in the mirror ’cause I get better looking each day”.

That’s not really what he said.

What he actually said was something about the poor lighting of the photo and how it didn’t expose all his gray hair, but between you and me, I think he’s been dipping into my stash of Oil of Olay because his skin has never looked better.

As for me, I’m trying to eat a little healthier these days because the temperatures have reached the mid-80’s here this week and all that sunshine is a constant reminder that I will donning the equivalent of just my underwear in public before I know it and taking the walk of shame at the neighborhood pool.

Oh how I regret all the cheese I ate to get me through the long, mild winter.

So last night after dinner, I decided to eat blackberries for dessert instead of my usual handful or fifteen of M&M’s. And, really, it was almost the same except for the fact that I didn’t find them to be at all satisfying or comforting. In fact, I think I felt a little rage towards the blackberries for not melting in my mouth like the Valentine’s M&M’s that have treated me so well throughout the month of February.

Or maybe my healthy fruit snack (NATURE’S CANDY!) rage was misdirected and the real target of my anger was ABC and their stupid “Women Tell All” episode of “The Bachelor”. How many times now have I watched some “Bachelor” programming where they trot out Trista and Ryan as proof the show works?

I’ll tell you.

TOO MANY.

But I’ve never been more grateful for the invention of the DVR because what could have been two hours of my life I’ll never get back, turned out to just be one hour and three minutes. Modern technology has allowed me the luxury of rotting my brain in moderation.

On a totally different subject, when I walked through the door on Saturday night after getting back from North Carolina, I noticed that my kitchen island was completely covered in crumbs and various clutter in the form of a lot of catalogs that sell cheap ammunition. Then I carried my suitcase into the bathroom and saw that our sinks looked dirty and the shower door had grown some sort of film.

I made the decision right then and there to fire our maid. Not to talk ugly about someone, but she is horrible. A chimpanzee on Xanax could do a better job of cleaning our house. I couldn’t believe she would let it get into that kind of condition. It was shameful.

And then I remembered that I am the maid.

I wish I could fire myself, but I don’t know if I could find anyone else who would be willing to clean my house in return for a cold Diet Coke and all the change they can find in the couch cushions or the pockets of P’s jeans.

Needless to say, I’ll be spending the next few days trying to get my house back into some kind of order. While eating blackberries. And hiding my Oil of Olay from P.

Oh, and maybe downloading some Mac Davis songs on iTunes.
My peeps

This is one of my favorite pictures ever of Caroline and P.

And this is one I took of them last week.

Hello, time? I’d appreciate it if you’d slow down just a little bit.

My heart can’t take all the growing up.
FYI, they have mountains in North Carolina

I have to start this post by saying a huge thank you to all of you who prayed for me this weekend. You need to know that I appreciate it more than words could ever convey. I’ve said it before, but y’all are the best part of this blog.

I’ve gotten so many emails asking about the weekend and how everything went, so I’ll do my best to recap in a concise, articulate form. But, really, when do I ever do anything that’s concise and articulate?

By Thursday morning Caroline had been completely fever-free for 24 hours and seemed to be feeling fine. She went to school and when I picked her up at the end of the day, she excitedly told me all about her day and appeared to be completely over the flu. I was so relieved that I wasn’t going to be leaving town while she was sick.

But I counted my flu-free chickens before they hatched.

She slept in my bed on Thursday night and I could tell she was restless. Then about 1:00 a.m., I could feel the heat radiating from her body like one of those little stoves that the Amish make. The fever was back. I gave her some Motrin and then spent the next two hours listening to her feverish ramblings about how her favorite Disney princess is Pocahontas because she has a pet raccoon.

Technically, I’m not sure that Pocahontas is really a Disney princess, but I didn’t want to argue the point at 4 a.m.

Anyway, she finally fell asleep again around 4:45 in the morning, just in time for me to get a refreshing 15 minutes of sleep before my alarm went off at 5:00.

Armed with about two hours and fifteen minutes of sleep, I stumbled into the bathroom to get dressed, stuff a few more things in my suitcase, and then head to the airport. I’ve never felt more refreshed.

Also, P was still asleep when I left the house so I just put a note by the coffee pot that read, “Caroline has fever. No school today. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Once I got on the plane, I was gripped with fear. Not fear that we might crash, not fear of the fact that I was speaking to a group of women, but fear that I would fall asleep with my mouth open in front of a plane full of strangers. And, horror of horrors, maybe even snore.

(Disclaimer: I don’t normally snore. I am way too delicate and feminine. I just thought the altitude might cause some freak sinus issues.)

Sure enough, I did the fall asleep, mouth open, head bob and jolt awake routine more times than I want to recall right now. To my fellow passengers on Delta Flight 5022, I apologize.

Once I arrived at the airport in Asheville, North Carolina, I was greeted by Becky and Beth who were holding a large sign that said “BIG MAMA”. At that moment I was so proud that I chose such a distinguished, sophisticated name when I started this blog back in July of 2006.

We headed to The Cove Retreat Center and the scenery was unbelievably beautiful. I asked a lot of intelligent questions like, “Are those mountains or just really big hills?” At that moment I bet Becky has never questioned her judgement more in asking me to be a part of their retreat.

The whole weekend was just one of the biggest blessings of my life. I spoke at four different sessions with an overall theme about being the woman that God calls you to be. All the prayers you said were absolutely answered because I didn’t pass out and I didn’t trip over anything. Each time I got up to speak, the nerves went away and I felt total peace.

More than anything, I have to say that the women of Lee Park Baptist in Monroe, NC are some of the most incredible women I have ever been privileged to meet. They could not have made me feel more welcomed or loved. As I heard bits and pieces of some of their stories over the twenty-four hours I was with them, I was amazed by their faith and strength. They inspired me.

I got to meet a woman who’s traveled to over 68 countries in her life and is celebrating her 60th wedding anniversary this year by traveling to about five more. She has more energy at 78 than I had, well, EVER. I talked to a woman who just found out last Monday that she has breast cancer. There were women there facing so many challenges and struggles that I don’t even know what to say except that it made me feel incredibly humbled to be there.

And, y’all, they made me laugh out loud. There is nothing I love more than a group of people who don’t take themselves too seriously. I got to see some stupid human tricks, a New Kids on the Block rap, and a preacher’s wife who wasn’t afraid to wear a paper plate bonnet.

I heard all about Harris Teeter, which is one of their local grocery stores, and I now know that if I ever need to find plastic, curved toothpicks that you can get them in the wine department and if you ever buy a rotten coconut, you can bring it back and they’ll replace it with not one, but TWO coconuts. And they have their London Broil on sale this week, buy one get one free, and if you put it in the crockpot with some Lipton Onion soup mix, it is delicious.

I never thought I’d feel sad over a grocery store, especially since we have HEB here in Texas, but now I feel like I’m missing out on a blessing because I’ve never been to a Harris Teeter. (Even though I never could remember the name and I kept referring to it as Humpy Wheeler. Which they all appreciated because Humpy Wheeler used to be the head of NASCAR and we were in North Carolina so they all actually knew who I was talking about.)

What I’m trying to say (so much for concise and articulate) is that they just took me in and made me feel like I was their own. And for a nervous, tired girl from Texas who wasn’t sure what she was doing there, it was a huge blessing. So, big shout out to Lee Park women. Thanks for everything.

When I finally got home late Saturday night, P met me at the door and told me there was leftover sushi in the fridge. California Roll is my love language. So I ate my sushi, talked his ear off, and then headed to bed.

Caroline was in our bed and when I tip-toed in the bedroom, she opened her eyes and said, “HELLO MAMA!” and then fell back asleep so she would be well-rested and ready to wake me up for a round of Candyland by 6:36 a.m.

I think she’s back to her old self.

Y’all have a great Monday.
Unfashionable friday

Okay, so it’s not Fashion Friday, but I’m sitting in the San Antonio airport and it’s 6:31 a.m. I need to do something to keep myself from curling up in one of these chairs and falling asleep.

Last night I was trying to pack and Caroline wanted to help. I laid out a few outfit choices trying to decide which ones I wanted to cram into my carry-on bag. There was one jacket that was questionable, so I decided to try it on to see how it fit.

As I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, Caroline walked in and said, “I would not go with that jacket.”

Okay, Anna Wintour. I’ll take that under advisement.

So then I decided to see how it looked with a certain necklace.

“Oh Mama, please not that necklace. I am not a fan.”

According to her, I have no business telling anyone what they should wear. It’s a wonder that I can dress myself.
Here’s hoping I don’t take the flu to North Carolina

Thanks for all the well wishes and flu sympathy for Caroline. The good news is that the Flu Mist may have helped a little because she was much better yesterday.

I knew she was feeling better when she magically transformed from poor little sick girl to demanding couch princess asking me to please hurry up with those pancakes and while I was at it could I call the T.V. station and let them know she’d like to watch “Ice Age 2”. Maybe introducing her to the concept of Pay-per-view television wasn’t such a good move.

The other indication that she was beginning to feel like herself was when I got dressed in some old camo pants and an ancient Abercrombie sweatshirt and she told me she was embarrassed by how I looked. At that point I told her that unless she wanted to take care of her own flu-infested self and play Candyland alone, she better show some respect to the woman who has been her constant on-call nurse for the last three days.

Anyway, I feel like I need to retract part of my letter to Flu Mist. Perhaps it’s not dead to me after all, but rather on probation.

In other good news, I feel fine so far. Which is kind of important because I’m flying to North Carolina on Friday morning to spend the weekend speaking at a womens’ retreat for Lee Park Baptist Church in Monroe, North Carolina.

What? What’s that? You didn’t know I was a speaker?

Yeah, neither did I.

Last June, a sweet reader named Becky emailed me to ask if I’d be interested in speaking at her church’s womens’ retreat the following Spring. She said that she didn’t know if that was something I would do, but just felt led to ask. My initial reaction was to email her back and asked if she’d actually ever read my blog and, if so, could I assume that the topic of the retreat was “Bad Hairstyles of the 1980’s”?

But instead I prayed about it and knew without a doubt that I was supposed to accept her invitation to speak to this group of women.

I also figured that it was June of 2008 and the retreat wasn’t until February of 2009, which I took as an indicator that God planned to fill me with vast amounts of spiritual wisdom and maturity over the next six months. Now here we are, two days away, and I’m still waiting on the wisdom and maturity part to show up.

The good news is that I can always teach them how to tie a scarf.

I can’t tell you how many times over the last few months I’ve asked God if I heard him right on this. I don’t know if I have anything worthwhile to say. Doubt creeps in and I think He may have the wrong girl.

But God keeps reminding me that I am me. He knows my weaknesses and flaws better than I know them myself and loves me in spite of them.

And so here I go, stepping out of my comfort zone.

The point of all this is that I wanted to share it with y’all. I had my week so carefully planned out so that I would have plenty of time to focus on preparing the messages for the weekend, so it’s made me laugh (and cry) that Caroline came down with the flu and has been home all week. I’ve had almost no time to myself and unless those women want a detailed re-telling of “Horton Hears A Who”, I need to spend some time being still before God, listening for His voice.

I’m not going to do Fashion Friday this week because I just have too much on my plate and would like to sleep at some point between now and Friday. I’ll check in over the weekend if I get a chance, which I probably will because airports are all about the free wi-fi these days. Maybe I’ll even find a rocking chair to sit in.

And if you think about it, I’d love your prayers for the weekend. Specifically, that I don’t say something stupid that I can’t edit and that God would show up in a big way.

Y’all are the best.