West Texas Mama

It is a bad thing to be awaked by a scream in the middle of the night.  You are quietly minding your own business, sleeping soundly, dreaming sweet dreams of chocolate cake and Cal Ripken, Jr. (don't judge), when all of a sudden your husband rises screaming from the bed.  Why was El Hubbo screaming in the middle of the night?  My question, exactly.  As I tried in my muddled half-awake state to figure that out, while at the same time resisting the completely natural and primal reaction of eliminating the disturbance of my sleep from the face of the earth, I realized we were not alone in the bed.  Jake had apparently joined us.  And he was vomiting.  In the middle of our bed.  I was suddenly, very fully awake.  Awake enough to realize that I was entirely too close to the scene of the crime and that a vacancy of the premises was in order.   All men for themselves.  And if you are six years of age and of the male persuasion and vomiting in your mother's bed, you are by default

I'm often asked why Jake receives so much attention in my blog and facebook posts, and that is a relatively easy question to answer:  He is the child that does everything early - walk, talk, etc.  He's highly social and given to absorbing vocabulary at an alarming rate.  We're often left dumbfounded by his questions and even more often by his responses.  In short, he gives me plenty of fodder to write about. Emma, however, is coming into her own.  Formerly known as "Little Miss Sunshine", she is evolving into "Little Miss Sassy Pants".  I have no idea where she gets this, but she started giving us clues that she is in no way convinced we, the parents, are in charge.  Before she could even talk, she had mastered "The Look".  I am famous for "The Look".  You know the one - the single arched eyebrow, the icy stare, the flared nostrils.  I've made grown men cry  and high school gang members duck under their desks with that look.  It

El Hubbo and I decided this year to check out the Black Friday sales.  Being as we were in Amarillo, and being as there were major outlet stores readily available (not the case at his parent's house in Floydada), and being as we were really wanting a Home Theater System with a Blu Ray player, we decided that we would brave the Black Friday crowd to shop the sales late Thursday night.  (We really should have caught on to the ridiculousness of this concept at that point.) We donned our tennis shoes and sweats - did some pre-shopping stretching and shadow boxing and prepared for battle. We figured we would be smart and slide on down to the Walmart just down the street.  You see, two years ago, we had similar bouts of insanity and had driven by the Toys R Us - we saw the line and that cured us of our mental illness.  But, we then drove by the Walmart only to see no one there.  We gleefully shopped to our heart's content and were able to hear our voices echoing off the interior

There are two weeks of the year one should really avoid the grocery store:  the week of TGiving and the week of Christmas.  I, however, forgot this golden rule until I pulled into the grocery store parking lot at 6:00 p.m. Monday night.  While I am sure I probably need to park in the space farthest from the door more often, I wasn't really in the mood for a hike that night. If I had missed that sign that I had picked the wrong day, the next was waiting on me when I went to grab a basket.....and all that were left were the ones with the squeaky, broken wheels.  You the ones - the ones that the wheels don't move and the more stuff you put in your basket, the harder it is to push down the aisle?  The only thing making me feel better about this basket is that it was leaving a black streak on the floors - that will teach the store to keep their baskets in good working order! I broke out the coupon binder and started to muscle my way down the aisles with all the other crazy peopl

I know I have been a little remiss in my posting duties, please forgive me!  (As I am sure you can relate to how busy a time of year this becomes for us all!)  Here's a short, but sweet one: So, yesterday I pick up my offspring from the daycare, just as I do every day after work, whether I want to or not.  (Most of the time I do want to - MOST of the time.)  Jake crawls into the car, and we begin our daily ritual - How was your day?  Fine.  Did you learn anything good today?  No.  What did you eat for lunch?  I don't remember.  Did you get into trouble?  (sheepish look)  Well did you?  A little.  Define "A little." You get the drift. Jake then asks about having a snack when he gets home.  I respond, "Sure!  How about some slimy goat boogers with spider hair sprinkled on top?"  (We're all about nutrition and being open to trying new things.  Ok, not really.) "EWWWW!  Those are insects!" "Some people eat insects, Jake." &quo

Yeah, before we get around to addressing my new-found career path, let's backtrack to how we got there.  Or here. In San Antonio.  Yep, West Texas Mama went east (and a little south) and found herself in San Antonio. On occasion I travel for work, and this was one of those times.  Nothing says fun like a conference for admissions and registrar officials.  Whoo!  Wild times ahead!  We'll discuss state legislative requirements for meningitis shots and Federal privacy requirements for educational records!  I know you are jealous, it's ok, you don't have to tell me.  I boarded the plane in good ol' Lubbock and headed southeast.  Everything was fine except for a little turbulence between Dallas and San Antonio.  Ok, maybe a lot of turbulence.  I had elected to sit in the emergency aisle and had informed the steward that there was nothing to worry about - I would make sure that door was open in an emergency.  I had deemed the level of turbulence to be adequate to equa

While an eventful and exciting time for children everywhere, Halloween is downright exhausting. I worked through lunch and left the office early to go pick up the munchkins. We dashed off to their aunt’s office to transform into a very serious ninja (Jake) and a pirate willing to make you walk the plank (Emma). A quick photo shoot with their aunt and then we raced off to my office to make the rounds before it closed. The kiddos were a hit and went from cubicle to cubicle and office to office trick or treating and demonstrating their sword fighting skills. On second thought, perhaps the swords were not the best idea for the office environment. What we were thinking getting them costumes that came with swords, I do not know. Emma’s scabbard was a big as she was, and she wielded it with authority as she threatened victims with death if they did not hand over an adequate amount of candy. Jake has watched many (and I do mean MANY) PowerRanger episodes and was quite confident his mad

   It is a well known fact that women fall into two categories:  those who are shoe addicts and those who are purse addicts.  I come from a very long line of shoe addicts.  I would most likely follow in their footsteps, however, I have abnormal feet.  No, I don't have an abnormal number of toes.  I just have very long, very skinny feet.  Imagine skis.  Put toes on the end and you have my feet.  And, lucky me, both my second and third toes are almost as long as my big toe.  I was once at a zoo and there was an impression of an ape's foot next to their area.  I held up my foot.  Let's just say that my feet would be an argument scientists might use to support the hypothesis that we are very close cousins of the ape.  They do come in handy, however, as I can pick up things with them, and I can write my name with them - both skills I know you envy.  These are not feet designed to be crammed into pretty pointy-toed stilletos.  Now that you have an uncomfortably incredible amount

     At 4:55 p.m. the skies were clear.  I left campus and headed to the daycare to pick up the munchkins.  By 5:15 we were home, and it was a little breezy, but nothing remarkable.  By 5:30 the skies were red - not dusty brown, but red.  Like fury from the sky red.  Like Marilyn Monroe's lipstick red.  You get the picture.  75 mph winds pummeled the house.  We hurriedly got the dog in lest the fence blow down, and Rocky go airborne, never to be seen again.      Folks, I've lived in West Texas for a LONG time.  I've never seen anything like it.  Neither had most others.  Reports are that if you weren't alive in the Dust Bowl, you've never seen it.  Apparently this is common in Saudi Arabia, and there, wind gusts of 30 - 40 mph will gather up a wall of dust.  You've probably seen it in the movies, or perhaps in Iraqi war coverage - it tumbles and boils and roils and picks up both speed and height.  In Arabic, it is called a "haboob".      The first

                El Hubbo and my concert-going history is quite extensive.   I worked for an organization that paid me to help put on 20 a year for 7 years.   I’ve seen a lot of acts, in many different genres, and therefore it takes quite a bit for a show to impress me.   When we heard Taylor Swift was coming, I was intrigued not because I am a huge fan of her music, but more because I had heard that she put on quite a show.                   We decided we would take the kids because we figured Taylor Swift should be family-friendly.   This was an expensive risk, as we had no idea if the noise of the concert would be well-received by the munchkins or not.                   We parked the car and started the hike to the arena along with thousands of Taylor wannabes.   There was no shortage of minidresses, rhinestones, and sequins.   And that was just the mamas of the little girls.   I was feeling a little underblinged since I had opted for t-shirt and jeans.   (Hey, I’m the mom of

     Recently, Muzzy and Oso taught their darling grandchildren the Slugbug Game.   Yep, the same people who used to light up my and my sister’s hineys for slugging each other just taught their grandchildren to play a game historically known for its celebration of violence.      (If you are unfamiliar with this game, in the original version, should you spot a Volkswagon Bug car, you shout out "slugbug!" and hit or "slug" whomever you are with.  It's great family fun and a perfect example of Americana.  Or something like that.)      In an effort to minimize the odds of Jake or Emma being kicked out of school for fighting, we’ve modified the game to just calling out “Slugbug!” and the color.   Emma, pretty girl that she is, claims every slugbug that everyone else sees as her own.   Jake has decided that spotting slugbugs should be a team sport – and whomever is ahead is automatically on his team.      This all seems harmless enough, but for the fact that El Hu

     Working in the education industry, one interacts a lot with parents and children.  El Hubbo and I have NUMEROUS stories - some humorous, some sad, some downright ridiculous.  We were both, fortunately, raised by parents who encouraged our independence.  Today's child is more often coddled and protected by fierce "helicopter parents".       I have decided I want my own club.   The Survival of the Fittest Child Rearing Club.    To earn membership, you must demonstrate the ability to allow your children to (1)learn from failure, (2) experience the glories of dirt, and (3) earn their keep around the house.       Learning from failure may include watching your child fall down concrete steps at a softball game.  If you can look at your child, quickly assess that there are no broken bones and only minimal blood, and say, "Ah, brush it off.  There's no crying in softball!" and then take your turn at bat.  You might be worthy of membership.     Experiencing t

I’ve neglected my blogging responsibilities, and I’ve missed you, dear readers, but not enough to deny myself the many pleasures of the local fair.   I affectionately refer to this time of year as “Corn Dog Week”, and many were consumed.   But that is not all that one may gain from frequent and regular attendance to this celebration of all things fried and weird. There are many thank yous I should give to those who make my fair experiences worth-while.   Thank you, older ladies in strapless shirts who believe you rock the tight jeans.   You make me feel much better about my modest, age-appropriate attire that frees my mind from worry over wardrobe malfunctions or the overt ogling of toothless carnival workers. Carnival employees, to your many ranks I owe much.   Thank you to the game booth attendant who knocked the rust off my ability to do complicated calculations in my head and challenge him on exactly how much I really owed him in order to get my darling son a nasty, cheap angry bi

     A little background info is needed for this one. You should know that I am an Aggie. Texas A&M University has my heart. El Hubbo is a Raider. I live in Lubbock, and job opportunities being what they are, I work for Texas Tech University. (Much to El Hubbo’s delight.) I have nothing against Texas Tech – it is a fine educational institution, and it pays me well and keeps me off the streets.      El Hubbo and I have a basic agreement to not talk badly about the other’s alma mater. Which we try to honor as best we can. (We have both slipped up in the past.) And, we agree that college choice will be each kid’s decision to make. We can agree that we prefer they go to whichever one offers the most scholarship money. (Hey, can you really blame us?)      That being said – this was too funny of an event to pass up writing about. We go to dinner following Bible class last night, and El Hubbo asked Jake about school. This week was “College and Career Week”. Jake informs us that the Tex

My parents have remained relatively unscathed from my blog. That is about to change. We loaded the family up and travelled north to Amarillo for the weekend. My cousin was getting married, and we hadn’t been to see my parents for awhile. I headed home from work and packed up the kids and the dog and loaded everything in the car. We couldn’t leave until late, so I had the kids in their pajamas and set them up with a movie in the backseat (a portable DVD player is a truly wonderful invention and blessing from God.) A quick spin through the Starbucks for a pumpkin latte, and I was good to go. A nighttime road trip used to be commonplace. All I needed was for someone to say “let’s go!”, and I grabbed the keys and off we went. Now it takes an extra-strong coffee with tons of sugar to get me two hours down the road at 10 o’clock at night. I drove out to El Hubbo’s school to pick him up. El Hubbo had to work “security” for the high school football game – which is why we were leaving so

So, yesterday we were to return to see Dr. Bacon for El Hubbo’s hip.   We made it to the parking lot of the doctor’s office building with minimal arguing.   We got on the elevator with many other people and realized once the door closed that neither one of us remembered which floor Dr. Bacon’s office was on.   El Hubbo was nearer the door, so as it opened on the next floor, he tried to hurriedly read the signs outside to see if we had arrived or not.   I mentioned to El Hubbo that Dr. Bacon had the same name as my OB/GYN.   He didn’t think it humorous when I suggested it would be funny if we showed up at the wrong doctor’s office.   Once we successfully navigated our way to Dr. Bacon’s office and checked in, I sat and studied the room.   Unlike last time it was filled with patients – all of the elderly-persuasion.   I watched them come and go and jockey for position with their walkers and wheelchairs.   El Hubbo asked me what I was thinking as sat with a pensive look on my face.   I t

1.  Hello, Mr Appliance Installer with tattoos of demons all over your forearms.  Very nice to meet you, please don't kill me. 2.  So sorry for the 5 years of dust and lint under the old washer and dryer.  Oh, and the socks, washcloth, newspaper from when we were potty training the puppy, hair balls, credit card bill I accused El Hubbo of losing, and other nice archival items.  An archaeologist might enjoy digging through this. 3.  I realize you just adjusted the feet to stabilize the units for that very spot, but would you mind terribly moving it six inches to the left? 4.  Yes, I understand that everything I need to know about these things is probably contained in these owner manuals, but I didn't do this much reading for my two college degrees - what makes you think I am going to read these? 5.  I am mezmerized by all the dials and buttons and lights - are you sure I can't call ET at home? 6.  Do you really expect me to remember all the maintenance "sugges

     In a previous post, I let you in on the fact that I am basically a miser. I can't help it.  I have worked at a job for employers who were not my parents since I was in 5th grade.  If I wanted something extra, my parents figured I had a job, so I could save and pay for it.  I hate shopping.  Unless there is an auction involved, I really don't feel the need to spend money.  Oh, unless it is on western wear.  Definitely have a weakness for western wear.      Spending money requires some serious psyching up for me.  I research prices and look for the best deals.  I search for coupons and sales.  Buying a car is a year-long process for me involving months of research, test driving, negotiating with both local and distant dealerships, creating spreadsheets with my findings, calculating interest rate scenarios, etc.  It is serious work for me.  This drives El Hubbo crazy.     I am convinced he likes to get even with me by setting me up in situations in which I can't pass up