West Texas Mama

This post may be called Doll Envy, but it should more accurately be called "Why I Hate Barbie".  As this is the gift-giving season, and as we all run about buying into the commercialization of Christmas, my husband recently asked me why I hate Barbie so much.  (He overhears me grumbling about her everytime I see her on the shelves.) He claims to be a smart man, however, he followed the initial question with a theory of his that a tall, blond woman stole an old boyfriend of mine.  Not true, I assured him.  Most tall blonds are scared of tall redheads, duh.  No, my detestation of Barbie originated much earlier.  In fact, I can never remember liking her.  My sister, however, was a Barbie-freak.  She still to this day has the jeep she got when she was five or six or something.  I really don't know why I didn't like Barbie back then - I never really was a doll person (you are surprised, I know.) Books and baseballs were my entertainment of choice.  I do know why I don&

"STOP! Be Still! Look at me! I SAID LOOK AT ME!"  You will appreciate the irony in that statement, I'm sure.  My children have decided that they are portrait artists.  The past week, both El Hubbo and I have had numerous interuptions to our daily routines wherein the offspring have shouted the aforementioned statement.  They chase us about with a legal size notepad, pencil or pen at the ready.  They stop, crouch intently over their project, and shout instructions at us.  It is a strange thing to have your four-year-old say, "Let me see your eyes."  Then have to sit patiently while she stares and squints at you with a slightly furrowed brow.  I've been waiting for Jake to hold up his thumb and close one eye to get a better measured view. At long last, you are presented with the little Michelangelo Martinez masterpiece and informed that your office will serve quite nicely as a display room for their talents.  I think how lovely it will be to display my

I have to tell you this story. El Hubbo has banned me from telling anymore stories on him unless I am equally periodically humiliated. Little does he know that I have no problem telling stories on myself that I find objectively humorous. And, besides, I do love telling stories on El Hubbo, so the sacrifice is worth it. El Hubbo is a high maintenance trophy husband. (He promised me a vast empire when he asked me to marry him. I am still searching for that vast empire. Every time I express a doubt about its existence, he vehemently defends his claim that it does not reside only in his mind. I shall continue my search, but I digress.) Keeping him in properly starched and pressed jeans and shirts requires the operating budget of a medium-sized country. Apparently, no real Texas man would have it otherwise. He has developed quite a relationship with the ladies at the dry-cleaning store since his wife refuses to stand over a boiling cauldron in the back yard starching his jeans.

There comes a point in every parent's life when desperation for control of the homestead leads them to parenting methods many non-parents, or parents with perfect, abnormally well-behaved freak-children would question.  We find ourselves locked in an on-going battle with our children to keep them sleeping soundly in their beds throughout the night.  Forget the whole night, it would just be nice to have them go to their beds peacefully for a change.  No fighting, arguing, whining, etc.  No leaving their rooms to pad all the way across the house to our room to inform us that their head hurts, or their feet hurts, or their leg hurts and the only cure (obviously) is sleeping in our room.  No dramatic declarations of how much they would love us (so much more than normally) if only, only, they could sleep in our bed.  No crocodile tears as they look at us with hound-dog eyes and pouting lips as they explain how much they will miss us and couldn't possibly go all night without us. 

Recently, we welcomed a new member to the family - a nice, shiny, bouncing baby Tahoe.  The ol'Trailblazer had seen it's best days pass it by and she was ready for the pasture.  Little did I know that the new vehicle would be the source of so much contention and argument amongst our little family. The Tahoe is a big, beautiful, black vehicle, and I was thoroughly convinced she needed a name that fully represented her.  (She is most definitely a female.)  I considered the name "Sophia" after the character portrayed by Oprah Winfrey in The Color Purple.  But, then I thought about Octavia Spencer's character in "The Help":  Minny Jackson.  Minny was quite the character, and I knew immediately that my lovely Tahoe would be "Minny" from then on. Then I picked up my offspring.  Jake immediately, and very vocally, made it known that he did not like the name Minny.  He wanted to call her "Striker".  Why "Striker", I asked?  &quo

Each year, El Hubbo plans and labors over The Great Brisket Smoke.  Originally, this involved a few briskets, some foil, basic spices (garlic, salt, pepper), an electric knife, some mesquite, and freezer bags.  It has evolved to now include 10 briskets, foil, foil pans, aluminum pans bought from a bakery going out of business, a full-size electric meat slicer (yes, like those you see at the meat/cheese counter in the grocery store), an almost industrial size vacuum sealer, some mesquite, a super-secret multi-spice recipe, and a full-twenty-four-hour smoke-out. Here is El Hubbo starting the fire and getting ready at 5:00 p.m. He was wondering what his crazy wife was doing with the camera.  This is him putting the briskets on the fire: The look of a man still fresh, still energetic, still convinced he can pull an all-nighter with no negative effects: I soon lost interest in taking pictures of El Hubbo as the aroma of smoking, sizzling meat started to overcome me: As

If you have read many of my blog articles, you know my love of a coupon. Recently, I was shopping in a local store and on the end cap there was a display of large coloring pages featuring Dora and Batman. I thought this would be a good little treat for the urchins. Imagine my joy when I saw on the Dora package a coupon for $1.00 off a package of crayons. What better item to go with coloring sheets than crayons? I was certain the kids would enjoy those much more than the pens or highlighters I usually scrape up. I could hear the chants of "Best Mama Ever!" I find the crayons and toss them in my basket and finish my shopping. I was greeted in a less than enthusiastic manner by Faye, the checkout lady. Faye was an older lady and had evidently grown resentful of her employment situation. I thought I would be nice and I laid out my items on the belt and set the various coupons alongside the items. Faye rang up my goods, and when she came to my crayons she scowled ev

Imagine my surprise when the pediatrician told me I really needed to have Jake's eyes checked.  It couldn't be that his DNA is full of mostly blind, glasses-wearing ancestors?  Being the best mom ever, I decided to wait a few months, but then the child started complaining at church that the words on the screen behind the preacher were blurry.  Since he had decided to alert the entire congregation to this fact in a very loud "stage whisper", and I could see several ladies turn and give me disapproving looks, I decided to give in and make an appointment. Prior to arriving at the doctor's office, Jake and I have several discussions about how we need to answer the doctor's questions honestly and not be silly. We arrive, and he is called back for the initial tests.  As the technician explained everything to Jake and had him start the process of going from machine to machine, Jake eagerly stuck his head up to the first one.  He was sitting in a swivel chair and

I work hard.  My desk is always covered with stacks of things that someone, somewhere on this campus needs me to attend to.  It's good to be needed.  However, there are times that I must ignore everyone IMing and emailing and calling and sending smoke signals to tend to the cleanliness of my workspace.  Today was that day. Fortunately, I had one good conference call, that thanks to the technological wonder that is the wireless head mic, I could multi-task and dust while listening.  This task, however, brought a few things to mind - the most important question being, "When do you know it is time to dust your office?"   The custodial representatives here will not touch your desk or bookshelves if you have anything on them.  Apparently there are liability issues.  The biggest liability issue I see is that the mountain of paperwork I huddle behind may fall like an avalanche if they breathe on it too heavy.  But, that's a topic for another day - back to the question in

Jake was quietly coloring and working in his activity book during the church service recently.  This was quite an accomplishment as this child has been hauled out kicking and screaming and causing a general ruckus on more than one occasion.  El Hubbo and I were enjoying not having to issue whispered threats to the child.  The sermon was moving along nicely, and the preacher was discussing how children question everything.  He mentioned we are often tempted to reply to questions of "why?" with "Because I told you so."   My darling eldest child looked up from his book, pointed at his father and I, and said (too loudly in my opinion), "Y'all do that."  You gotta love being called out by your six year old at church. Like any parent who may or may not be guilty of the accusation, we said, "hush!" Jake returned to working in his book.  The preacher then began to talk about how our actions and choices can show what we care most about.  He used

As you know, I was in Nashville last week.  I had a wonderful opportunity to be a fellow at the Peabody Professional Institute at Vanderbilt University.  Definitely an honor to partcipate.  Many hours in a classroom with experts in the various aspects of Higher Education Management and Leadership would not sound like fun to most people, but it was for me.  But, since I know most of my readers fall in the category that would not like to spend their time that way, I will tell you about my brushes with fame that week. I had one night "off" to myself, and I elected to go to a place called the "Loveless Cafe".   I had to drive out to the outskirts of Nashville, and as I approached the cafe I saw a cameraman filming the sign.  This was not a local news camera, but a big, fancy camera.  I parked and saw several production assistants and more cameramen floating about.  As fascinating as this was, I was  here for the food, so I marched right into the restaurant and asked f

Summer is a never ending series of doctor appointments. The First Born was scheduled for a dentist appointment this afternoon. I had unfortunately forgotten about the appointment and scheduled a meeting at work at the exact time I would normally leave to go get the offspring and haul him to the doctor. So, running a little late, I pull into the lot of the swimming pool that the daycare sends the older kids to wear themselves out most days. Jake was excited to see me and despite my pleas that he hurry up, ran off and with a "Hey, mom, watch this!" jumped off the side of the pool. Since he can't really swim, my heart kept a little , but the life vest popped him back up where in I loudly told him to get his hiney out of that pool, much to his embarrassment and much to the delight of his friends who will no doubt tease him mercilessly later. (I don't just get mad, I get even!) We had forgotten to pack a towel that morning, and with no time to change I ordered h

Travel seems to never be a smooth endeavor anymore. I was scheduled to leave for Nashville this past week, El Hubbo was headed for Borger, Tx, and the kids would be left to their own devices. Ok, not really. The kids would be packed off to their grandparents in Floydada. We'd arranged for Rocky to go to the kennel, Mab (the cat) and Soosie (the fish) really would be left to their own devices. See what I mean? This situation called for massive coordination similar to that of most covert military operations. The first sign that things were simply not going to go according to plan was Rocky. Having been kennel led the week before while we took a quick trip to Austin, he managed to get Kennel Cough. Despite having been vaccinated. Great. We could not now kennel him, do now what? El Hubbo begged his sister to come over and play nurse to Rocky. I wasn't sure that he was going to make that happen as my sister-in-law is not really much of an animal person, and is especial

Our standard Friday night conversation begins like this: Me-Where do you want me to buy you dinner tonight? El Hubbo knows that by Friday, especially a Friday of a week he has been gone and left me without reinforcement in the continuing battle for domination with his offspring, I am in no mood to plan and prepare a dinner. Friday is a day to harken back to the time honored tradition of hunting or gathering our food at the nearest restaurant, take out, or delivery business available. El Hubbo's normal reply- I don't know. What are you in the mood for? Me-Hmmmm. Not Italian. Not Mexican. Not Chinese. At this point in tonight's Friday conversation, Jake pipes up. Jake- How about Texan? Me-Huh? What are you talking about? Jake-Texan! You know, hamburgers, hot dogs, cheese fries, chicken fried steak. It's good to know that we are raising a true Texan with grease and gravy flowing through his veins!

Jake made his first foray into running a business as part of the Lubbock Lemonade Day event on last Saturday.  How did we find out about this opportunity?  Well, it was hard to miss as the event was very highly marketed throughout the media. We attended the Lubbock Arts Festival, and Jake was attracted to the Lubbock Lemonade Day booth like his mama is to a purse display.  All the representatives were ready and waiting for him in their neon-yellow shirts.  He gave them the first degree about everything regarding lemonade and then came running back to find me to sign him up.  So, as you can see, I was not given much of a chance to consider the pros and cons involved in having a kindergartner who shows signs of being a criminal mastermind learn the finer points of running a business. Five minutes, five dollars for a t-shirt, and a Lemonade Day backpack later, we were committed.  And Jake immediately informed me he was "the boss", and I had to take orders from him.  You can

Anyone who knows me, knows that I LOVE FREE STUFF.  It doesn't matter what it is.  If it is free, I feel I need it.  I went to the Lubbock Business Expo, and by the time I walked out, I needed a five foot clearance radius due to the number of bags and paraphernalia I was hauling around.  Probably should have worn a back up beeper and had an escort vehicle.  I'm pretty sure I knocked a few people off their feet when I turned around and made a mad dash for the "spin-to-win" game at the Chick-Fil-A booth.  Needless to say, it's been years since I've bought office supplies.  And, as vendors get more and more creative, I should be fairly well stocked in some cleaning supplies as well.  Don't even get me started on how much this saves me on toys for the kids.  They love to color with hi-liters and play with light-up keychains!  Lest you doubt anything I've stated above as being absolutely factual, here is a listing of the "free stuff" I hauled

I've always heard that "beauty comes at a price".  Recent experiences have proven that statement true.  I was "given" a "free" facial.  Who could turn that down?  Great!  SIGN ME UP!  I agree to a time with the very kind lady who called, and then she told me to bring friends. My friends were all busy that night (and, perhaps a little quicker to pick up on the fact that nothing in life is "free") so, I went to the appointment by myself.  Doing things by myself is not that unusual for me, as many of my friends over the years can attest, however, it did seem to come as a disappointment to the kind facial lady.  We were placed in a little room, and we started my nice, quiet, self-applied facial.  (What do you expect for free?) My facial went well, but then before I knew it, the products were paraded in front of me, and I was purchasing, and my facial was no longer free.  The evil siren, pardon me, I mean kind facial lady, quickly had me signe

Dear Administrators of Jake's School: I wanted to thank you for the Monterey Plainsman Award you bestowed upon my son.  I concur that there could be no finer honoree than MY son.  (Please note, he belongs to his father when you are trying to determine who to contact when the little rascal has led a mutiny in his classroom.) I do, however, wish to alert you to a couple issues associated more with the communication and organization (or perhaps lack of) associated with the notice you have given us to celebrate said offspring.  I was quite excited to receive the note in his backpack last Monday.  I was a little concerned that the note indicated that the award ceremony would be on Friday.  I am certain I am not the only parent who's busy workdays are filled with pre-scheduled meetings.  I was quite distraught that I was scheduled to be out of town that morning at a conference.  I immediately contacted the airline and discovered that I could change my flight and make my trip a

OK, Ok, I know.  It's been awhile.  But I've been busy.  Since we last reported on the everyday goings-on of my life, I've been to Vegas, baby!  I had a conference for work that I had to go to.  I mentioned to El Hubbo a couple months ago that I would be gone for almost a week.  "Where?" he asks.  "Vegas."  I replied.  "When do we go?" he asked while pulling out his calendar.  So, there would be no wild solo trip for me - had to take the hall monitor with me.  (Yeah, right.)  Much coordination was required and Muzzy and Oso were contracted to act as wardens for the kids.  They arrived on Saturday and after a quick orientation, I wished them luck and peeled out of the driveway on my way to the airport.  El Hubbo would not join me until the next day since he had students at contests and felt that perhaps he should take care of some of his own work responsibilities.  I'm sure he had a lovely time with his in-laws, and I know for a fact his s

There isn't much that is tougher than these two hard-nosed criminals, but this is: In the eternal battle of kids vs the light pole: Light Pole 1, Kids 0

Forgive the grammatical mistakes on this one. I am typing it out on my iPad and what with autocorrect and an abnormal keyboard, typos will just be a part of life. And, speaking of life, my son has just explained to me life according to Jake. You see, apparently, women get fat and have a baby grow in their stomach. The baby is mysteriously born. It then grows, and grows,and grows until it is a big person. Once it is a big person, it starts to get old and fat ( and if you are a woman, you mysteriously born a kid or two) and then it dies. "Wow, Jake, did you learn all that in school?" I ask, while mentally making a note to put a parent block on TLC and Discovery Health channels. "Nope," he smugly says. "It's just something I thought of and like to call the People Cycle." So, since my son has this whole People Cycle figured out at the ripe old age of six, I'm not sure if I should be relieved that some of the conversations that would h

It might be difficult to believe that St. Paddy's Day is a big deal in a household with a hispanic surname, but as the Irish half of the family, I can assure you it is!  I love all things St. Paddy's - the wearin' o' the green, the Top o' the Mornin' to you greetings, and let us now take a moment of reverence for the food.  Ah, yes, the food. We started the day with some Irish Soda Bread.  Last year, I had attempted this to not such great results.  Actually, I'm pretty sure I had ancestors spinning in graves in the Old Country.  This year, however, we had MUCH better results.  It made for a quite tasty breakfast paired with some bacon.  Here's the recipe I found in a Paula Deen magazine (so you know it's good!): Irish Soda Bread: Makes 1 (12-inch) round 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons chilled butter, divided 5 cups all purpose flour 1/2 cup sugar 1 tablespoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 cups raisins ( I used cra

El Hubbo is gone to another stock show.  It is also Spring Break and our home continues to be a battleground for the willful and consistently annoyed under-7 population.  I don't really get Spring Break, but I did choose to take a couple vac days to spend catching up around the house.  I had the perfect plan - the kids would be at the daycare - El Hubbo is in Houston, so I could lay out my to-do list and really whittle down on the incredible long list of things that never seem to get done around here. I kept my little plan underwraps.  You see, if El Hubbo were alerted to the fact that I was taking a couple days off, he would have scheduled out my entire day, filling it with errands and chores for him.  I have learned that lesson - so now my vacation days are Top Secret:  Need to Know Status only.  It's not as though he takes vacation days and spends them cleaning closets, mopping floors and wiping floorboards, sorting out the kid's toys, packing up clothes they have outg