Year: 2010

  • Girl world

    Yesterday was one of those days where it threatened to rain all day, but it never actually poured down rain until the minute I walked out the door to pick up Caroline from school. I was so glad I was wearing a white shirt. Nothing like a peep show at the elementary school.

    After we got home and changed into dry clothes, I emailed the soccer team to let them know we would still have practice unless it was pouring down rain at 5:30. If we’re going to continue at our current level of mediocrity, we need all the practice we can get. Especially since I missed last week’s practice and P reported that he’d basically spent an hour being beat up by a bunch of six year old girls. To which I replied, “Oh, that’s too bad. Did I tell you that I chose a color called Bubblebath for my toes during my pedicure today? Wow, I’d love to hear more about soccer practice but I’m on my way to eat delicious sushi with grownups at Nobu. Love you.”

    We checked the radar around 5:00 because we are big meteorology nerds and determined that practice could go on as scheduled even though there were definitely some showers to the south that appeared to be heading our way in the next hour or so. But we decided a few measly showers wouldn’t stop the Cheetah Girls. The Cheetah Girls are warriors who may or may not occasionally cry when one of them falls and scrapes her knees.

    After about twenty minutes of practice (insert picture of P and I herding a very cute group of feral cats), the skies opened up and the rain came down. Most of the girls’ parents were there so we called practice and everyone ran to their cars to head home.

    But there were two girls left whose mothers weren’t there yet because they had to shuttle other kids to other various practices all over town, so we told those girls to hop in the car with us and we’d just all wait in the parking lot until their mothers arrived.

    A little over seven years ago, I was pregnant with Caroline and P was in Colorado chaperoning about sixty high school students on a ski trip. Normally I would have been on the trip with him, but I had a host of issues with riding a bus for seventeen hours with high school kids before I ever got pregnant so there wasn’t really even a remote possibility that I was going to attempt that kind of torture while carrying a child. He’d arranged to have a few other female chaperones on the trip, but they’d all had to cancel at the last minute.

    P, bless his heart, ended up being the chaperone and small group leader for ten fourteen year old girls during that trip. He’d call me every night after he got back to his hotel room and report that they’d put gel in his hair or that they’d used something called a “straight iron” on him. On the last night of the trip he called to tell me that someone had a pair of scissors and he wasn’t sure what happened but the girls all started cutting each other’s hair and, the next thing he knew, three of them were crying in the bathroom while the other girls gathered outside the door and tried to console them with loving statements like “it will grow back” or “it doesn’t look that uneven from the left side”.

    In short, he was slightly traumatized by the whole experience.

    He arrived home from the trip on Wednesday afternoon and I was scheduled to have an ultrasound the following Friday. It was the big ultrasound. The ultrasound that can tell you if you’re having a boy or a girl. And if you think I was going to wait to find out that piece of information then you don’t know me at all. Of course it wasn’t like I really needed the ultrasound to tell me I was having a girl because I’d known that for a long time thanks to the science of peeing on some Drano Crystals and seeing them turn a lovely shade of seafoam green. Not to mention that I felt that God was speaking to me through Neil Diamond every time I heard “Sweet Caroline” come on the radio.

    On the way to the doctor’s office that Friday morning, P looked at me and told me he knew we were having a girl. I thought maybe Neil Diamond had been speaking to him too, but he said that he knew when he was on that ski trip surrounded by all the chaos and squeals of those girls that God was preparing him for life with a daughter. And as much as he didn’t understand all the drama and the high pitched voices and the nail polish and why they thought it was a good idea to cut each other’s hair, he knew that it was exactly what he wanted.

    Fast forward to a rained out soccer practice seven years later. We pile in the car and we’re all soaking wet. The girls are all squealing in their high pitched voices and I put some Taylor Swift on my iPod because I know the love language of six year old girls. And from the backseat, all three of them start singing “Our Song” as loud as their little voices can sing. The fact that they didn’t know the majority of the real lyrics didn’t dim their enthusiasm and confirmed why I never realized that “Greased Lightning” was a really dirty song until I was in my twenties.

    They sang their hearts out and laughed and tickled each other. And in between they were all yelling “COACH P! COACH P! DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME THAT MY MOM TOLD MY SISTER SHE WAS GROUNDED FOR A WEEK BECAUSE SHE STAYED ON THE PHONE TOO LATE?” and “COACH P! COACH P! DID YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE AN IMAGINARY FRIEND NAMED ZUM ZUM?” and “COACH P! COACH P! DID YOU KNOW THAT ‘WHITE HORSE’ BY TAYLOR SWIFT IS MY VERY FAVORITE SONG IN THE WHOLE WORLD OR MAYBE IT’S ‘PARTY IN THE U.S.A.’?”

    At one point he asked me if Taylor Swift had been a contestant on American Idol and I replied, “No, she was just a seventeen year old girl who got struck by lightning.” (Because I like to mix metaphors.) And Caroline yelled out, “MY MOM JUST SAW SOME GIRL GET STRUCK BY LIGHTNING!” All the girls screamed and I had to explain that no one got struck by lightning, I was just using an expression that ultimately didn’t even make sense.

    P just looked at me in amazement that so many different conversations and activities were taking place all at the same time in the backseat of our car. It was like his official welcome party to GIRL WORLD.

    And I don’t know if anything has ever made me happier in my whole life.

    ______________________________________________________________

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  • Gone fishing

    While I was on my tour of the United States, P and Caroline headed to the ranch to do a little fishing.

    I think they had a pretty good time.

    We won’t talk about how long it took me to get all the tangles out of her hair when I got home.

    Because what’s important is the size of that bass.

    And the size of those smiles.

    *Caroline’s shirt says “A bad day huntin’ with Dad beats a good day shoppin’ with Mom”. Personally, I think that’s debatable.

  • It’s a long story

    Yesterday I spent most of the day trying to adapt to being back in the real world. A world full of dirty laundry, floors that needed to be swept, bathrooms that needed to be cleaned and groceries that didn’t magically appear in my kitchen cabinets. To make matters worse, when I finally emerged from a huge pile of laundry and made it to the grocery store, I went to pay for my groceries only to discover that I’d left my wallet at home. Long story short, reality made me her circus monkey.

    But enough about my grocery store woes. At least until tomorrow when I may feel the need to talk about them ad nauseam.

    On Friday morning I woke up in New York. Sophie and I had a few hours to walk around the city before we had to head to the airport. So, naturally, we ate some breakfast and then treated ourselves to cupcakes to sustain us as we walked the streets of Manhattan. I took a couple of pictures that seemed to exemplify all that is good and right about the city.

    Dear H&M, I think I’ll miss you most of all. My only regret is that we didn’t have more time together. You have my heart.

    But I had a plane to catch.

    Sophie gently pulled me out of H&M and we grabbed a cab to take us to La Guardia. I felt fairly certain there was a 42% chance that I was going to die in that cab and deeply regretted that my last moments would be filled with the smell of old garlic and body odor.

    Thankfully, we arrived safely at the airport and I boarded a flight to Dallas because one of my dearest friends and college roommate was getting married. Gulley and I had originally planned to drive to Dallas together, but when the trip to New York came up we decided that I’d just fly in to Dallas and then we could ride back to San Antonio together at the end of the weekend. I don’t know why I feel the need to include all these travel details because they really have nothing to do with anything but I can’t stop myself from typing all the words and already erased an entire paragraph where I detailed what I bought at the gift shop at La Guardia. (Gardetto Honey Mustard Snack Mix, US Weekly, and People StyleWatch!) I have a compulsive need to overshare meaningless details.

    But I will tell you about the bride because it’s a lovely story.

    Jen, Gulley and I lived together for two years in college. Gulley didn’t actually pay rent one of those years because her true place of residence was the dorm, but we felt it was our duty to spare her from having to go home to the dorm every night so she just became our unofficial roommate. Jen was everything Gulley and I weren’t. She was known to actually study for exams and even miss football games to work on projects. She managed to make it through college without knowing all the characters on Saved By The Bell or having a VIP card to any of the bars in College Station.

    After graduation, we all remained close friends. Jen spent the next several years pursuing her career ambitions and I spent that time doling out questionable financial advice to unsuspecting clients until P and I got married in August 1997. Then I switched careers and doled out questionable pharmaceutical advice to unsuspecting doctors.

    Eventually all of our college friends settled down, got married and started having babies. Jen remained single. She’d call and tell us about an occasional date, but the right one never seemed to come along. But instead of pouting over her singleness and distancing herself from her married friends, Jen always showed up. She came and rocked our babies and invested in our lives. She took mission trips to Africa, taught Bible study at her church, and began doing inner city ministry work.

    About two years ago, she brought a guy named Scott to spend the weekend at AJ’s ranch. They’d been dating for a few months and things seemed pretty serious. There was talk of marriage.

    But they broke up. He didn’t know if he was ready to make a commitment and things just fell apart. She was heartbroken, but trusted that God must have something else for her life.

    Eighteen months later, on January 10, I received a text message from Jen that read “Scott and I just got engaged!” And I texted back, “Did I miss something? I didn’t even know y’all were dating again.” (Because, listen, if anyone is going to miss some kind of major detail, it’s me.)

    I hadn’t missed anything.

    Scott and Jen had spent the last eighteen months apart, but he never quit thinking about her. Ultimately, he decided he didn’t want to spend his life without Jen. So he went to her mama and asked for permission to marry Jen. He bought an engagement ring. And then a few days later, he showed up and told Jen he needed to talk to her. He said that he knew she was the girl for him, placed the ring on the dashboard of the car and said he was ready to put it on her finger the moment she was ready.

    And in typical Jen fashion, she began screaming, “I’M READY!! I’M READY!!”

    IT’S LIKE A SCENE RIGHT OUT OF A MOVIE.

    So he got down on one knee, placed the ring on her finger and they got married this past Sunday at 2:00. It was a day filled with love and close friends and family. It was a day that we’d all been waiting and hoping for.

    Since Jen’s dad passed away when we were in college, she walked down the aisle alone. As she got to the halfway point, Scott left the front of the church, went to meet her and walked her the rest of the way. And everyone broke into applause. It was one of my favorite wedding moments ever.

    This is Gulley, Jen, Jamie and me after the rehearsal.

    And here’s the bride on her big day.

    It’s hard to tell from the huge smile, but I think she’s pretty happy.

  • It’s Monday and I’m exhausted

    Listen. I just drove in from Dallas about thirty minutes ago.

    I haven’t been home since 7:00 a.m. last Wednesday.

    And now I’m going to go unpack and try not to think about all the laundry that awaits.

    On the upside, I’ve never been more glad to see my people

    And look! A giveaway. Go enter!

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    I’ll be back with a full report of my travels throughout the continental United States tomorrow.

  • Fashion Friday: Edition I’m in New York

    Behold the rat.

    And his friend, the roach.

    I’m not sure if the roach is a new addition or if the guy who was supposed to bring the roach didn’t make it on Wednesday. Maybe he was tired of lugging that giant roach around so he called in sick and said, “Dude, if you want this roach then you can come get it yourself.” Or maybe too many people thought they were protesting The Tale of Despereaux and they decided it might clarify things to add a roach.

    Anyway, I felt that y’all needed to see a photo of the rat to fully appreciate it so I took that picture as I walked out of the hotel this morning. And then I spent the next several minutes not looking at all like a tourist as Sophie and I wandered the streets of New York while I held my phone up and took eight hundred pictures that look like some version of this:

    I feel that they really capture the essence of the city and my sub-par photography skills. Also, if you happen to know the man in the pink shirt crossing the street, please let him know that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    Sophie and I walked until we found the nearest Starbucks and then headed to go get pedicures. As we walked down Madison Avenue I was kind of feeling a little bit of pride at how fearlessly I was crossing all the side streets. I was just boldly stepping off the curb like a real New Yorker. And then, in what is a recurring theme in my life, I began to overthink the whole process and at the next intersection I walked halfway out into the street, chickened out when I saw a cab coming and totally headed back to the corner from whence I came. I’m sure no one who witnessed that scene suspected that I was just in town for a few days.

    Anyway, Sophie and I are here because Ree had to be in the city for a few days and invited us to tag along so we could all pretend we were like the Real Housewives of New York. But without all the catfights and excessive amounts of wine. Although we do throw around quotes from the show like “I miss the sophistication of the city” and “I’m coming from a place of yes” because they never cease to amuse us.

    Oh, and Ree also was scheduled to tape a segment for a television show.

    Maybe you’ve heard of it.

    And can we talk about how much I love that chart right under The View sign that demonstrates what to do when you cough? Television is very glamorous.

    So we arrived at the ABC studio where they film the show and they took us back to a long hallway lined with various dressing rooms. I was sitting on the couch next to Sophie while Ree was off somewhere getting her hair and makeup touched up when I heard someone yell down the hall, “I want you to come meet Benjamin Bratt”.

    Well, you better believe I shot off that sofa like someone had just fired me out of a cannon and tried to nonchalantly stand in the doorway holding my phone like I was texting when I was really trying to take a picture. My plan was working beautifully until the producer informed me that they don’t allow pictures backstage. They were coming from a place of no with the pictures.

    However, I did take this picture of a picture hanging on the wall.

    I’m just so glad I’ll have that photo to remember the whole experience.

    And I have to report that Benjamin Bratt is very handsome and very tall. I have this thing about knowing how tall actors are because Gulley and I went to the Regis and Kelly Show about eight years ago and I was astounded at how miniature everyone was in real life. I could fit Kelly Ripa in my pocket and still have room for a tube of lipgloss and maybe a pack of gum. Except I don’t put things in my pockets because it ruins the line of your clothes. Consider that your Fashion Friday tip of the week.

    (On a totally different fashion related note, everyone in this city is wearing leggings and flats. It’s a flat epidemic. Flats everywhere. And the occasional gladiator-type sandal.)

    The other guest was Andre Leon Talley from Vogue magazine. And I don’t want to say that The View is copying me, but they totally did an entire segment called Fashion Friday. Coincidence? Doubtful.

    After a few more minutes in the dressing room the producers came and led us all downstairs. Ree walked out on stage to film her segment while we watched in the green room. And then it was all over. It will air today at whatever time your ABC channel shows The View. If you’re in San Antonio and have Dish Network, I can tell you it will be on channel 12 at 10:00 a.m. If you live anywhere else or have another cable provider, I cannot help you at all.

    Then last night we went to Nobu and ate sushi and some black cod with miso that may have altered my life permanently. And I ate a dessert called Milk Chocolate Yuzu Cake that looked more like a piece of art than something edible but that didn’t stop me from eating the entire thing and contemplate licking my plate to make sure I didn’t miss anything. The whole meal will go down as one of the best meals I’ve ever had. EVER.

    But more than anything it’s just been a sweet time with sweet friends who really aren’t anything like the Real Housewives of New York. Except that we all believe in coming from a place of yes.

    And we will miss the sophistication of the city.

    Y’all have a great Friday.

  • Start spreading the news, I left yesterday

    Well, I’m in New York.

    I know.

    I didn’t mention it earlier because I have this whole pessimistic thing going on where I don’t really believe something is going to happen until it actually happens. (I’m working on that. I really am.) But yesterday morning I woke up at the crack of awful, my dad picked me up, drove me to the airport, and I boarded a plane for New York City. (Please say “New York City” like they used to say it on those Pace picante commercials because that’s how it’s playing in my head.)

    Actually I boarded a plane for Dallas first. Once I landed in Dallas I caught the airport tram to haul myself and my extremely overpacked carry-on bag to Gate A39. All was well and fine until they announced that my flight to JFK was now departing from Gate A14. You wouldn’t think that A39 would be that far from A14, but you would be wrong. Especially considering the fact that I was carrying a sound machine in my purse because I am a high maintenance traveler and don’t think I wouldn’t haul my body pillow through the airport if I could get away with it. I enjoy the comforts of home. And the sound of soft rain falling when I sleep.

    Eventually American Airlines finally committed to a gate and I got in line to board the plane. I always start to get a little nervous when I board the plane because WHAT IF THERE IS NO ROOM FOR MY CARRY-ON BAG? And what if I hold up the entire boarding process of the plane while I try to figure it out? Fortunately there was an entire open luggage compartment and I mustered all my strength and possibly threw out my back trying to lift my bag. However, once I got it up there it appeared that it would only fit horizontally. So I left it that way. But then I realized the guy behind me was giving me the dirtiest look you can imagine because my horizontal bag didn’t leave any room for his bag. It was an unintentional error on my part and I started to apologize, but before I could even get the words out of my mouth he shoved my bag to the side, turned it horizontally and stored his bag next to mine. All while giving me the stinkeye.

    Looking at him, I quietly said, “Sorry, I didn’t think it would fit that way.” But what I wanted to say was “Dude, settle down. It’s just luggage.” I don’t think he saw it that way.

    I spent a large part of the flight reading various periodicals. I wish I could say that if you have any questions about the budget deficit or how the federal reserve rates are influencing the economy that I know the answer. The truth is that if you want to know about Kate Gosselin’s attitude on Dancing With The Stars or how Sandra Bullock is dealing with all her marital woes, then I am your girl. When it comes to current celebrity trivia I am en fuego.

    After I arrived in New York, I caught (hailed?) a cab driven by a fellow named Harjab. From what I could tell Harjab appeared to be having some sort of spat with someone and spent most of the thirty minute cab ride yelling into his cell phone and then hanging up. Then he’d answer the phone again, yell some more, and hang up. All while driving across the Queensboro Bridge and nearly steering us right into a lane already occupied by a city bus. But other than my life span being shortened by about ten years from sheer terror, Harjab eventually got me to the hotel.

    I checked into my room and immediately took a shower because two planes plus New York cab plus eighty degrees equals ick. Refreshed and relaxed, I stretched out on the bed and came to two conclusions about why I could never live in New York.

    1. I have a tendency to get carsick. If I had to spend even a few minutes a week being driven around in stop and go traffic while riding in the backseat of a hot car, I’d never survive. On the plus side, it might be an effective diet plan.

    2. While I was laying on the bed, I began to hear loud drumbeats right outside the window. I thought there was some kind of street musical going on or something and I was all OH NEW YORK! You amuse me with your street music! But then I looked outside and saw several men yelling through megaphones, six drummers drumming, ten lords a leaping and the biggest fake rat I’ve ever seen. (Not that I’ve seen that many fake rats in my day, but this one was like ten feet tall and standing on two legs.) It turned out to be some sort of construction workers strike or something like that even though the rat confused me for a minute and I thought maybe they were protesting The Tale of Despereaux. All I know is I’d hate to be the guy in charge of bringing the rat every morning.

    But then last night I ate some of the most delicious pasta I’ve ever had in my life, walked by St. Patrick’s Cathedral and took in the sights of Madison Avenue, and all was forgiven.

    New York, you’re a little loud but you make up for it with a lot of style.

    And ten foot tall fake rats.