Year: 2012

There and back again

I’m sitting here on the couch right now and trying to keep myself from eating an entire bag of Lifesavers Gummie Sours. They are my kryptonite.

Actually, they’re only my kryptonite on occasion. I can go months without eating them and then all of a sudden I’m hit with a massive craving and then I’ll eat them until I can’t feel my tongue. I think this particular craving started when I took Caroline into Dylan’s Candy Bar in The Galleria last week and she got some of those rainbow sour belts.

And then I ate them all.

It’s the sour. I love the sour. She also got all manner of gummy alligators and sharks and bears. And I couldn’t care less about those. But the rainbow belts got me. And now I’m about to eat myself into a sugar coma.

Anyway, we had a great time in Houston. We spent the last day at The Galleria looking around but left with nothing but a couple of drinks from Starbucks even though the Starbucks in the middle of The Galleria is the slowest Starbucks that has ever been created and I vow every time that I’ll never stop there again.

And then we went and looked around Kuhl-Linscomb which may be my favorite store ever. If you’re ever in Houston you should check it out. They have everything from books to makeup to bedding that will make you want to hide out until they close just so you can sleep there like those kids did in The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. Except that was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York but whatever.

(Now I’m also thinking about the book Where the Heart Is when the girl spends every night in Walmart but none of this is important and I could follow this rabbit trail all the live long day.)

On Thursday morning we drove from Houston to Bryan in the middle of a torrential rain storm. It was that kind of rain where you can barely see the tail lights of the car in front of you and I told Caroline I needed her to be quiet so I could concentrate on driving. It didn’t really comfort me when she took that moment to ask if I had ever written out a will. What on earth? Like she was worried if she was going to get the house?

Fortunately the rain cleared up around Hempstead and we made it to Honey’s house just in time for a late lunch. The kids were glad to see each other and I was just glad to be out of the car and not discussing my last will and testament with my child.

And when we arrived I immediately got to hear about Nena’s hair. Gulley’s cousin was getting married on Saturday so Honey had made Nena an appointment to get her hair cut and styled on Thursday and Nena was not happy about this. She exclaimed, “THURSDAY? Oh, my hair will look like hell on Saturday. And you know I hate to use that word but I know my hair.”

Friday was Gulley’s birthday and her husband surprised us with a trip to the spa for massages and facials. Truthfully, I already knew about it but I’d been keeping it a secret for over a week which felt like an eternity because when Gulley and I were both talking about how much we needed a break it killed me not to blurt out “WE’RE GETTING MASSAGES TOMORROW. WITHOUT THE KIDS.”

So that was heavenly. And then we followed it up with a super classy birthday lunch at Wings-N-More because everyone knows a place called Wings-N-More is pretty much the same as a fancy tea room. Meanwhile, Gulley’s husband took the kids to eat lunch at The Dixie Chicken which is an Aggieland landmark for those of y’all who might not be familiar.

I think it’s safe to say the kids were thrilled by the whole experience. Especially because there’s a real live rattlesnake in a glass cage there and really what goes better with cheese fries than a rattlesnake viewing? J told us the kids said, “This place is COOL. The Moms would never take us here.”

Yes. Mainly because The Moms might have forgotten that the Chicken isn’t just a place to drink beer.

Later that night we all went to eat at Christopher’s for Gulley’s birthday dinner and it was just a great night. We warned the kids on the way over that this wasn’t the type of place where it was acceptable to play the “Who Ate The Burp?” game or to see how many times they could visit the restroom in one meal and they listened to us. For once. In fact, I feel like they embraced their fine dining experience.

It was a great meal and just a great night. Lots of love all around the table and thankfulness for years of family and friends.

Saturday morning Caroline and I drove back to San Antonio and I’ve been doing laundry ever since. Except for the two hours when I went to the grocery store to buy food.

And Lifesaver Gummie Sours.
Fashion Friday: Edition my best friend is forty

So today is Gulley’s fortieth birthday. And while I normally refrain from all manner of big birthday shout-outs on the blog it feels like my best friend turning forty is a reason to forgo my policy.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GULLEY!!!! I’m so glad you were born.

I love you more than my luggage for several reasons:

1. You’ve saved me hundreds of thousands of dollars in therapy.

2. You make me laugh every day. Sometimes multiple times a day.

3. No one does a better impression of Tony DiMera from Days of Our Lives.

4. You don’t question me when I make bold statements like “I HATE CHINESE FOOD”. You just go with it even if you saw me eating Chinese food last week.

5. I love that we both call each other to recap any event we’ve attended less than five minutes after we’ve left.

6. You’ve known me (good, bad, and ugly) for over twenty years and love me anyway.

7. You are kind to everyone and inspire me to be a better person.

8. You love Caroline like she’s your own.

9. Your ability to bring any conversation back to an episode of Friends and the fact that I totally know what you’re talking about.

10. That we both appreciate stupid things like the way Siri screws up a text, the man in the purple bandana at the pool, and spontaneously ordering Dillon Panthers QB-1 shirts on a Saturday night.

I hope forty is the best year yet. Like the card I saw yesterday said, “We’ll be friends until we’re old and senile. And then we’ll be new friends.”

Also, here’s a random fact. Gulley and I didn’t meet until her freshman year and my sophomore year in college. But we were delivered by the same doctor at the same hospital in Houston, Texas.

We like to think that means we were meant to be.

And now for some fashion since that’s probably why you’re here.

1. cut that out tunic

Love this. Love the navy.

2. meant to be striped dress

I don’t think I could actually wear this but I could if I were in my twenties. Of course Nena was just here and she told me short dresses are vulgar and no one should show their knees because they’re an unattractive body part.

So keep that in mind.

3. tiered peasant skirt

I saw these skirts at Gap the other day and really liked them. I have a version of this skirt from about five years ago and still wear it all the time in the summer. It’s the perfect thing to throw on.

4. lakehouse grass striped dress

This is a little Betty Draper and I like it.

5. poplin roll-ups

These were in Anthropologie. They’re the pant version of the Sanctuary shorts that I adore. And they’re also much cuter in person.

6. rainyday mac

Maybe it’s because it’s been raining here all week (GLORY HALLELUJAH) but I’ve been thinking about rain coats and I always love the ones from Boden. Especially when they’re on sale.

7. fishing net top

I think this is so pretty. I’m assuming you know you’d have to wear a cami under it. But I love this lightweight knit stuff.

8. tortoise monogram cuff bracelet

I’m so in love with these bracelets.

9. twisted necklace

I’m such a fan of Noonday Collection. I think this necklace is my favorite right now.

10. tooled western leather belt

Love these western tooled belts from the Junk Gypsies and really like the belt buckle.

And that’s it for today. I’m off to celebrate with Gulley and lots of cake.

Y’all have a great Friday.
Share me maybe

Maybe you’ve already seen this. And I’m not sure what it says about me that I think it’s so funny.

I’ve just always been a fan of Cookie Monster.
Taking our show on the road

On Monday Caroline and I packed our bags and headed to Houston on a little road trip to see Mimi and Bops. They’d been in Houston for about a week already and we’d planned to visit after the fourth of July festivities were over but we had to wait until sometime after Friday because Caroline had an appointment to see the Orthopedist about her arm.

The doctor said she could quit wearing her splint which is fortunate considering I was about to declare it a health hazard. P said he thought she might give herself a staph infection.

Then of course I was very busy making pickles over the weekend and so it was Monday morning before we struck out on the open road to Houston. Actually, it was 12:30 before we left San Antonio because it was raining and I didn’t want to load the car in the rain.

Caroline was playing on her iTouch in the backseat and I was thinking about how boring I-10 is when all of a sudden she said, “Mom? Do you have something I can spit my gum out in? I need to spit out my gum.”

I searched frantically around the front seat and in my purse while attempting to still drive, looking desperately for a stray receipt, a napkin or a kleenex for her to use. I had nothing. Not one thing. Which is breaking like forty-two laws of motherhood.

I finally found half a movie ticket stub in the door of my car and handed it back to her. I figured it would be just big enough, but what I didn’t count on was the fact that she’d apparently shoved fourteen pieces of gum in her mouth when I wasn’t paying attention.

And then I heard her say, “Something is wrong with this gum” as I glanced in the rear view mirror in time to see her attempting to spit an enormous pink hunk of something into the tiny movie ticket stub. And inexplicably there was some sort of foam all around her mouth. It was like she’d contracted rabies in the back of the car.

“Where did you get that gum?”

“From the drawer in the kitchen”, she replied.

Yes. About that drawer in the kitchen. It’s where I store everything that I don’t want sitting on the kitchen countertops. It’s a great place to find three “D” batteries or a hot pink Sharpie, maybe a few pieces of pipe cleaner or some googly eyes left over from a craft project, but it’s not really the best place to find a fresh piece of gum.

A pack of three year old Juicy Fruit?

YES.

And so the gum made a horrendous mess and dripped down the front of her shirt and I wondered once again why I’m not capable of carrying any sort of wet wipes in my car. Nope. I just carry around ticket stubs to movies I saw six months ago. They are much more handy.

I went into MacGyver mode and suggested that she use some water from her water bottle to wipe the foam off her mouth along with part of a tote bag that she’d packed with books and movies which resulted in her pouring water down the front of her shirt and not really helping with the mess at all.

The good news is we only had two and a half hours left in the car and in the middle of nowhere.

By the time we made it to the next town her shirt was almost dry (Hurray for synthetic fabric!) but I felt like we probably needed a DQ Blizzard, an order of fries and a large Diet Coke to get us through and improve our general outlook on life.

Nutrition is very important.

Which is why I ordered Caroline’s Blizzard with extra Oreos and mine with extra Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

Eventually we arrived at Bops and Mimi’s house and Caroline immediately went outside to catch lizards and frogs in their back yard. It’s her favorite hobby. I can’t really think about it too much, but I do my part by smiling and giving a thumbs up each time she comes to the back door with a new victim.

And in the last twenty-four hours we’ve eaten delicious Italian food, met friends at an indoor trampoline park (You will probably hear more about this tomorrow in a post entitled “Why I Can’t Walk Today” or “Forty-Year-Old Bladders Aren’t Meant for Jumping”.), ate some Mexican food, shopped the huge sale at Anthropologie and spent at least an hour in the enormous three-story Restoration Hardware where I experienced a bad case of couch infatuation.

Alas, the couch and I are not meant to be because my bank account would disown me.

And maybe P too.

But I could drag my beautiful couch to the street where I’d be living alone.

I’m not sure what we have in store for tomorrow, but I bet it involves a delicious meal somewhere. And maybe more shopping.

And definitely more fun.

Assuming I can walk.

I just hope there won’t be any gum involved.
The best tastin’ pickle I ever heard

So remember about two weeks ago when I went to the lake with some friends?

No. You probably don’t.

I went to the lake a couple of weeks ago with some friends. And when we arrived my friend Jen Hatmaker gave us all our own cute little jars of pickles.

That she made.

From scratch.

Like from cucumbers she grew in her garden.

(Side note: Jen has a book out called 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess. Maybe you’ve heard of it. If not, you need to buy it and know it may change your life a little bit.)

I feel like I need to clarify she didn’t make the jars from scratch. Just the pickles. Although for all I know she may have some sort of glass-blowing set up in her garage.

Anyway, the pickles were delicious. I’m pretty sure we ate most of them before we ever made it home and I wasn’t even a little sad that Sophie and Angie were afraid to try to take their jars home on the plane for fear of the airlines throwing their luggage and thereby wreaking pickle juice havoc on all their clothing.

I think I may have said, “Oh, I’m so sorry you can’t travel with them” as I packed them in my car and drove away. Because I have a weakness for a good bread and butter pickle.

Which is why I was amazed when Jen explained that they were easy to make. Up to this point in my life I’d always believed making your own pickles was for people who fell into one of two categories:

1. Pioneers

2. People who would rent a shovel and think it’s fun.

But it turns out there is a way to make pickles that doesn’t involve the traditional canning method. Not that I know what the traditional canning method is. I just think it involves things like a pressurized device that could blow up your house if you use it wrong.

So when I got home I got on the Google to find this easy way to make bread and butter pickles. And then I went to the store and bought actual mason jars and celery seed and something called turmeric.

I also bought cucumbers.

(Rome wasn’t built in a day, my friends.)

(I’m going to see if I can keep the plants on my front porch alive for a whole summer before I subject a bunch of innocent vegetables to homicide.)

And on Sunday I made pickles.

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I felt this level of accomplishment.

Which might be a sad commentary on my life, but whatever because, dude, I MADE PICKLES.

(And apparently now I say “dude”.)
Here we are at some random fraction of the summer

Is it just me or does the summer seem to be going by really fast? I mean it’s already the week after the fourth of July which always feels like some sort of halfway mark even though the truth is we don’t go back to school until August 27th and have miles to go before we sleep. Or go back to school. Or whatever.

But I got so distracted last week by all the patriotic festivities that I totally neglected to mention I saw a man at our pool wearing gloves. I have no explanation for this. He wore them in the pool and then took them off when he got out of the pool. I know this because Gulley and I were in the midst of an in depth conversation and were distracted by the loud “CRCKSHSKKKS” sound his gloves made as he ripped off the velcro closures.

(That’s right. They made a CRCKSHKKKS sound. No vowels whatsoever.)

P asked me later if maybe they were some sort of hand flippers but I don’t think so. They were full on gloves. With separate fingers. I’d think if they were flippers then they would have been webbed. But these were like gardening gloves. I bet they leave one heck of a tan line.

(And yes. These are the sort of riveting stories I tell P after he returns from a long day of work. “TODAY AT THE POOL A MAN WAS WEARING GLOVES!”)

(Somehow I doubt this is really key to our marital success.)

(But it may explain why I sometimes feel like he’s tuning me out.)

Anyway, that was on Tuesday afternoon. We hadn’t planned to go to the pool on Tuesday because we wanted the kids to be in full pool mode for the fourth of July, but they assured us they would have fun if we went both days.

But we started our Independence Day by walking in the neighborhood parade. Actually, P and I walked while Caroline rode her electric scooter.

I always love the parade because it just feels like Smalltown, USA. And not just because there was a shark who showed up.

Even though everyone knows a person in a shark costume makes everything better and it’s totally what John Hancock envisioned when he signed the Declaration of Independence.

I also know that several of us dated ourselves by yelling out “LAND SHARK” which is a joke no one gets unless they’re over forty.

And this is my friend’s little boy who wasn’t really all that enthusiastic about being part of the parade even though he was being pulled in a cushy wagon with a pillow while the rest of us (me) complained that our flip-flops were giving us blisters.

We felt like maybe he was having a hard time finding joy because the U.S. economy is in the toilet and we’re in debt up to our eyeballs to China.

And then P upped the festivity quotient by putting two flag pinwheels in his hat.

(I have no idea why I’m standing like a duck. Don’t be afraid to bend your knees, Susie.)

After the parade we came home to rest for a few hours before we met friends at the pool. Caroline had really hoped to defend her watermelon seed spitting title and her belly flop championship but it didn’t work out. I think her spitting form was off since because front teeth came in since last summer and all hillbillies know that nothing throws off your spitting like a full set of teeth.

As for the belly flop, she led with her head. It was very graceful but lacked the whole necessary component of sounding like a turkey hitting the cement after being dropped from a helicopter.

But after she got over her defeat we all had a good time. There was even a DJ at the pool. The official pool email announced there would be “A DJ SPINNING RECORDS FROM 3-6 P.M.” The only problem with that is no one has invented a time machine that allows you to travel back to 1983. So instead there was a man selecting playlists on his computer that was hooked up to some large speakers.

But he still played “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” so all was forgiven.

Later on that night we cooked hot dogs at our house and the kids ran around with sparklers while occasionally yelling “OWWWW” because one of them would get hit with a random spark.

(I attempted to take pictures of this portion of the evening but my limited photography skills just produced a few hazy photos with random streaks of light.)

And then on Thursday we spent the day recovering. Honestly, I can’t even remember what we did. It’s all a blur but I think it involved a nap and feeling disoriented that it was Thursday and not Monday.

So that’s what we’ve been doing around here. Along with feeling like summer is half over when we’re actually only about a third of the way through.

At least I think that’s right. I don’t really like to do math in the summer.

Or wear gloves at the pool.