Year: 2011

I was really hoping something interesting and exciting would happen today, but unless you count that I finally managed to clean off the majority of the junk piled up on the island in my kitchen, we’re fresh out of interesting around here.

Our day started a little late because I let Caroline sleep in a little late. I figure no one ever claims the reason they didn’t get into Harvard was because they missed the first hour of second grade. If she doesn’t get into Harvard it will be for reasons directly related to her gene pool, specifically having a mother who graduated from college while on scholastic probation.

(Also, I just told P that I thought Beirut was in Nicaragua.)

(It’s not.)

(It’s in Lebanon.)

(Who says Chuck Norris movies from 1985 aren’t educational?)

(Besides everyone?)

After I dropped her off at school I came home, started some laundry, and attempted to straighten up the house from the wreckage of the weekend. There were sandals and clothes and bows everywhere, thanks to Caroline’s belief that every new activity requires a new outfit. I made a grocery list and cleaned off the island. I believe I’ve already mentioned that.

As for the rest of my day, I went to lunch with Bops and watched The Judds’ new reality show. Bops didn’t watch it with me. I just wanted to be clear about that because he doesn’t believe in reality television unless it involves people in foreign countries trying to buy a house. And, by the way, The Judds’ show is fascinating. It really confirmed for me that Caroline and I should never form a band and spend her teen years on a tour bus together. And that will probably work out seeing as how the only time I’ve ever been offered any money for singing was in the form of “How much money will it take for you to stop?” Because P thinks he is hilarious.

Once I picked up Caroline from school we went directly to HEB to forage for food. And that’s when I began to notice all the talking. I mean, she always talks. She’s a talker. She uses a lot of words. She doesn’t believe in using eight words if she can use sixty-four instead. I have no idea where she gets it.

Our entire trip through HEB was a running commentary about various vegetable selections and why she likes raspberries better than blackberries and did I know that her friend Kai made a weird face at her today at recess and she doesn’t know why he made that face but she didn’t like it and OH! can we get this kind of peanut butter and she didn’t eat her grilled cheese sandwich for lunch because she wasn’t a fan of cheese today and sometimes she thinks her favorite color might be blue but she still really likes pink and sometimes purple.

And then we got home and it was the same thing. All the way through the afternoon and into dinner time. I was so glad to see P walk through the door at the end of the day so he could bear some of the conversational burden. I was out of answers. I was all talked out.

I made stir fry for dinner, in between answering questions about why peppers come in so many different colors and did I remember she didn’t like mushrooms, and then we all sat down at the table to eat together. Needless to say, the conversation was flowing.

Finally, we read bedtime stories and I tucked her into bed. That brings us to the portion of the night where P and I like to place bets on how long before she gets back up and what her excuse will be. Last night, I bet that it would be ten minutes and she’d need to blow her nose or take allergy medicine. P bet that it would be fifteen minutes and her pajamas would be too hot.

We were both wrong.

She walked out of the bedroom about thirty minutes later and said, “I was just about to drift off to sleep when I couldn’t help but notice how cold the sheets are. Will you help me find a pair of socks?”

I didn’t see the sock request coming. Nor did I realize it would be phrased like she’s seven going on sixty-two.

As I got up off the couch to help her find her fuzzy socks, P started to say something and then stopped himself. She’d walked ahead of me into her room so I turned to him and asked, “What were you going to say?”

He said, “I was going to suggest that she ask the monster that lives under her bed to rub her feet to keep them warm.”

While I was so grateful he knew enough to not actually say it, I fell in love with him all over again for thinking of it. Mainly because it reminded me of one of my favorite Far Side cartoons ever.

Nobody makes cartoons like Gary Larson anymore.

And that was our day.

Did I mention I cleaned off my kitchen island? Because I did. I totally did.

When Caroline was about two years old she would do this thing where she’d throw a huge fit about something, because that’s what two year olds do, and then after it was over and she’d calmed down a little, would look at me with a completely innocent expression and ask, “Happen? Happen?”

It was the toddler version of “I realize I just lost my mind but I have no recollection of any of it or what caused such an outburst to transpire”.

And I would answer with, “What happened was you just threw a huge fit for reasons I’m still trying to understand but appears to have something to do with your aversion to eating peas for dinner.”

All that to say that this past weekend was so busy with so many different activities that it has left me sitting on the couch, staring into space asking, “Happen? Happen?” Fortunately I did not throw any sort of temper tantrum that I recall. In fact, I think I made it through the whole thing in one piece and even managed to be social and at times even masqueraded as an extrovert.

And, yet, I will spare you every detail of the weekend because, honestly, who wants to read all that? Not to mention that I should think about going to bed.

On Friday night we ate Mexican food with Bops. Mimi was MIA because she’s been out in California visiting her best friend, so we took it upon ourselves to let Bops take us to dinner before he went home to watch The Masters that he’d recorded earlier to avoid the commercial interruptions.

(Why am I telling you about my dad’s television viewing habits? I should be embarrassed at my lack of mental editing.)

Saturday morning, Caroline had a soccer game. The Magic soundly defeated their opponents 9-2 (not that anyone keeps score except obnoxious mothers in the stands) and Caroline scored three of the goals. Granted, the team they played was made up largely of first graders and you want to know what the difference is between first and second graders? About eight inches and some coordination.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out with Gulley’s boys before we all went to a birthday party later that evening and I’m not kidding when I tell you that we shut it down. Which sounds like an odd statement to make about a three-year-old’s birthday party, but it applies in this situation because the grown-ups probably had more fun than the kids. However, I totally underestimated how tired Caroline was by the end of the evening and that led to a level 10 meltdown over the unfairness of life when it was finally time to leave. Fortunately, we managed to get her home and in bed where she literally fell asleep before I could finish saying goodnight. And the next morning she woke up with no recollection of the events that transpired the night before. In other words, it was like my junior year of college.

P left us sleeping soundly while he went to church Sunday morning because he knew one of us desperately needed the sleep. After we woke up we went with Bops to my aunt and uncle’s house to eat Sunday lunch. My aunt makes the closest version that exists of my Me-Ma’s spaghetti sauce (Me-Ma didn’t believe in writing down recipes and passing them down. She believed in taking recipes to the grave with her to ensure that we would all spend the rest of our lives talking about how no one makes spaghetti like she did.) and just the smell of it caused me to travel back in time just a little bit. Except we are all old now and my cousins are real men with facial hair and wives instead of little boys running around in diapers and knocking over the swingset in my Me-Ma and Pa-Pa’s backyard.

Caroline and I got back home around mid-afternoon and I had big plans to sleep off my spaghetti-induced hangover, but ended up running out of time because I had to get us all ready for our next event. (I know. Are you exhausted? Happen? Happen?) It’s Fiesta time in San Antonio right now (No, I did not have to make a fiesta shoebox float this year. Although I might consider doing one if you paid me because my OCD is in need of a place to land.) and some dear friends invited us to this big Fiesta party, complete with a plethora of bounce houses, clowns, balloon animals, face paint, fireworks, and, most importantly, margaritas.

So I had to pull out my iron and ironing board like we were going to Cotillion. Truth be told, I’d just bought a few new shirts for P and I was hoping to sneak them into his closet and pretend like they’d already been washed and ironed because he refuses to wear new clothes before they’ve been washed and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. (Also, all of those shirts cost $15.00.) But he was on to my scheme and threw those shirts in the wash. And, sure, I could have refused to iron them but he couldn’t care less about walking around like one big giant wrinkle which meant the burden of spray starch and our family name fell solely on my shoulders.

He walked in around 5:00 and asked if I’d seen an updated weather forecast to see if the weathermen were still trying to make us think it might actually rain. I told him I’d been way too busy being Cinderella to watch the news and I don’t even think he caught the reference. Or the bitterness.

Eventually we made it to the party in plenty of time to run around from bounce house to bounce house and sweat through our nicely pressed garments. Oh my word, I hate to complain about the heat but it has been so hot. SO HOT. In spite of the heat, we had such a good time seeing so many friends and I was able to feel bad for the majority that still have toddlers while I was able to sit comfortably and tell Caroline, “RUN AND BE FREE, LITTLE ONE. I’LL BE RIGHT HERE IF YOU NEED ME.”

Then we made it back home, I collapsed on the couch and announced to P that I had nothing to write about on the blog tonight. Yet here I am 1072 words later. If you’ve made it this far you deserve a medal.

And probably an apology.

I realize that I haven’t been so big on posting anything resembling actual paragraphs that all flow together neatly this week, but I have a very good reason. I’ve been very busy trying to find the perfect pair of nude-colored wedge heels. Or as they may also be called, cognac, tan, taupe, tan or natural. I know this because I’ve looked at every cognac, natural, nude, tan shoe in a fifteen mile radius of my home. So far all I’ve committed to is admitting that I am very indecisive when it comes to choosing a pair of shoes.

So, today, I offer you bullet points because that’s how I’m going to roll.

1. Before we’re too removed from the subject of shoes, I have to tell y’all about the exciting discovery I made at Target yesterday. Those of you who’ve been reading for a while may remember that I don’t get to Target like I used to for reasons that are double-fold:

A. It moved further away and the drive contains six additional stoplights.

B. It is the central Target location for way too many Target shoppers and, thus, is always over-shopped. If there are some good Mossimo finds to be had you better grab them fast because those suckers will be GONE in less than a day.

(Is this starting to look like an outline? It’s very fancy.)

But I went there yesterday because I was on my way home from Bible Study and it was technically on the way home. And that’s when I found the Emeline Braid Flat Sandal.

Only $15.00 and it comes in an array of colors. AN ARRAY.

Also, while I was trying on all the various colors in the shoe aisle, I misplaced my own flip-flop. Seriously. I couldn’t find it for at least three or four minutes and wondered if I was going to be forced to make the walk of shame back to my car wearing only one shoe.

I even wondered for a moment if someone had stolen it because, YES, there is a huge black market for one silver flip-flop.

2. My shoe adventures led me to DSW Shoe Warehouse where I tried on eighty-four variations of nude/tan/cognac/natural wedge heels. Before I got to the store I’d stopped at Chick-Fil-A to grab a quick chicken sandwich for lunch and threw away the remnants of my sandwich and my empty Diet Coke in the trash can outside DSW as I walked in.

After thirty minutes of not committing to shoes, I walked back out to the car while digging in my purse for my keys. I couldn’t find them. I dug some more. No dice. Or keys.

I immediately began to speculate that I’d thrown my keys away with my Chick-Fil-A bag in the trash can outside DSW. And, y’all, I was mortified thinking that I was about to have to go dig through a public trash can in search of my keys.

But that’s when I realized the the lining of my purse has ripped towards the bottom and the keys had fallen between the lining and the outside of the purse.

Thank the Lord in heaven.

3. I get various emails from PR people every now and then. Before, my favorites were always the ones addressed to “Dear Ms.” It’s just so personal and heartwarming. It really conveys that they put forth zero minutes of effort to get to know me before offering me the chance to help them out.

But then yesterday I got an email addressed to “Ms. Melanie Blogger”. Yes, that’s my real name. The secret is out.

And if that wasn’t enough, I received another email with the subject line “Soleil Moon Frye -EXCITING NEWS!” I thought maybe Soleil Moon Frye wanted to give me thousands of dollars or offer me a guest spot on a Punky Brewster Reunion Show. But it was neither of those things. Which leads me to believe that the PR person and I have very different ideas of what constitutes EXCITING NEWS!

4. While I was in the checkout line at HEB yesterday I was tempted to buy every single issue of every single magazine with Prince William and Kate Middleton on the cover. I love a royal wedding. And I love more that the DVR has been invented which will allow me to record it and watch it at a decent hour.

Plus I’m sure P will want to watch it with me. Just as soon as I explain to him who Prince William and Kate Middleton are.

5. On a T.V. note, Friday Night Lights starts on NBC in just one week. I realize I could just go buy Season 5 on DVD but I want to savor the experience and watch it episode by episode until it’s over. And then I’ll cry.

I’ll be back tomorrow with the last five trends of Spring/Summer unless I accidentally delete the post again and then I will throw my computer through the window.

Y’all have a great day.

Yesterday morning I drove Caroline to school while simultaneously rejoicing that we only have seven more Monday mornings left until summer. I hope I survive them because Monday mornings contain an abundance of I WANTED TO WEAR MY KHAKI SHORTS and I DON’T LIKE THAT SKIRT ANYMORE and DID YOU REMEMBER I HAVE TO BRING TWO BAGS OF MINI-MARSHMALLOWS TO SCHOOL TODAY?

Yes, of course I remembered that even though you never told me because my whole entire life is devoted to keeping extra bags of mini-marshmallows on hand JUST IN CASE.

After I dropped her off at school I came home and procrastinated for about the next hour in the form of laundry and unloading the dishwasher until I could put off the Shred no longer. I put on Jillian Michaels, muted the T.V. because it’s the only way I can tolerate her, and made it through Level One even though I’m pretty sure my quads started screaming for mercy around the fifteen minute mark. I guess they should have thought about that before they tempted me to eat that Amy’s ice cream Sunday night. (Dark chocolate with Reeses’ peanut butter cups aka the ice cream they will serve in heaven)

Ultimately, I ended up cleaning out my closet because all my warm weather clothes were still up at the top of my closet and that doesn’t really help me when the temps are in the 90’s and it might feel good to wear something besides a sweater.

And since I have nothing more exciting to talk about than cleaning out my closet, here is a list of things I learned throughout that process.

1. I own approximately 52 white shirts. None of them happen to be ironed.

2. Yet I keep buying white shirts that need to be ironed. I believe this is what the experts refer to as “denial”.

3. I have a pair of Levi 501 jeans that I’ve owned since P and I were dating over fourteen years ago. They are terribly high-waisted and completely out of date. But they still fit and so my pride and I like to keep them around even though 1995 may call and tell me it wants its jeans back.

4. I still own a paisley dress from Harold’s that I bought to wear to my ten year high school reunion that I can’t bear to let go of even though odds are good I’ll never wear it again. Especially since I attended my twenty year high school reunion two years ago.

5. I have several outfits that could benefit from a pair of gold sandals.

6. Cleaning out my closet brings out the Joan Crawford in me and I suddenly need to have all plastic hangers. Specifically, I need them to either be white or clear. NO WIRE HANGERS EVER.

7. Gulley let me borrow a shirt the other day and I even replaced the hanger on her shirt with a white plastic hanger. And then threw her wire hanger away.

8. Those of you who think you might want to be my friend in real life might want to rethink that decision.

9. I ended up with two bags of stuff to give away. Yet I still own a denim vest, a black business suit, a Christmas Formal 1993 sweatshirt, a ten-year-old pink t-shirt from Banana Republic with a small hole in it and a pair of wicker shoes that were a bad idea when I bought them eight years ago and remain a bad idea to this day.

10. After I got the closet completely organized and neat I walked back in there no less than fifty times throughout the day to admire my work. I even took a picture.

It might be time for me to look into the possibility of finding a hobby.

Maybe you could make me feel better and tell me something in your closet that you hang onto in spite of all logic, reason, and good taste.