West Texas Mama

Tonight, Emma and I were subjected to a debate.....currently ongoing......on the highly important subject of the proper way to kill a zombie. This debate included authoritative citations of The Walking Dead and the Internet.  Each method that could be analyzed have been thoroughly examined.  Hammers, shotguns, 18-wheelers, 16-wheelers (I haven't figured that one out yet).  The topic evolved (although the debaters may not have) to the subject of Zombie firemen.  (I couldn't follow the train of thought, but somehow we slid right into that station.) One debater became very animated and attempted to act out the proper methodology.   A brief agreement was reached that mom's "look" could probably kill one outright.  (I may or may not have been giving that look to the two zombies debating this subject.)  Emma decided that in the case of the zombie apocalypse, we'd leave these two yahoos and she'd take shelter with mom. Neither debater appreciated my observa

I have dreaded it all summer.  Not sending my kids back to school.....no, that I very much look forward to.  It's the school supply shopping that causes a panic attack. I take vacation time from work so that I do not have to fight the weekend or after-hours crowds.  I usually try to take one kid at a time, but this year that did not pan out.  So, today, early, I made my children get up and leave the house early so we could hit the store before the crowds. I had a plan.  We headed to Walmart as I was anxious to make this a one-stop shopping experience. Each kid was allowed to grab a basket.  I manned the list.   No one else was in the school supply aisles when we got there at 9:00 a.m.  (The children demanded to be fed breakfast, and I figured their having full bellies might make them more compliant.  Nah, it didn't work.) I barked orders like a general storming the beach with her troops.  The kids ran, jumped, grabbed and were having a generally good time tossing items in

I have always been a staunch believer that forthright honesty is always the best policy.  Especially when it comes to church sermons.  More than once, I have outright vocally stated that I like for a preacher to "just say it like it is."  Keep it straightforward and simple.  No gussying it up or watering it down.  The truth is the truth, if we aren't uncomfortable sometimes, then we probably are not hearing what we need to hear. I have been fortunate enough in my lifetime to have listened to many a sermon that met my preferential delivery style.  I appreciate the difficulty of the task laid before a preacher - studying and delivering a message from the Bible is a weighty responsibility. An excellent example of such a sermon was recently delivered from the pulpit.  I sat there ready to soak it all up.  A few minutes in, the preacher mentions "sexual immorality".  I didn't even flinch, then my son in something akin to a stage whisper that could certainly b

We have found one hole in the fearlessness of Little Sunshine.  Apparently spiders are a no-go.  I had sent her outside to pull weeds from my flower bed, and she returned screaming like a banshee.  When she calmed down enough for me to understand what was going on, she explained (between giants panting huffs of air) "THERE......WAS.......A......GIANT.......SPIDER!!!!" "Well, why don't you take your shoe and kill it?" I asked.  She gave me a look and said, "What, are you crazy, woman!?!" Ordinarily, her lack of respect for her mother would have been immediately addressed, but I have to admit I laughed. So, I told her, "I tell you what, I will give you a quarter for each spider you kill." She looked contemplatively at me and then stuck out her hand and said, "How about a 50 cent piece?" I was somewhat surprised she knew a 50 cent piece existed.  Her daddy piped up and said, "How about I offer you a dollar for every

The title of this blog has already given you a hint as to what probably lies in store...... El Hubbo and I periodically (usually after an unusually heavy meal) declare with heart-felt seriousness that we have to "do something" about our weight.  We both were ag majors in college and we know that the basic formula to weight loss is fewer calories in, more calories burned.  There is just one little problem with this: We like food. That may be an understatement.  We love food.  And we are both great cooks.  And we appreciate the culinary skills of others.  But, this tie that binds us together also makes us a horrible support system for each other.  Each of us has, without anything close to appearing as shame, completely torpedoed each other's prior attempts at weight loss programs.  We are weak, I tell you, WEAK. While not a fan of "fad diets", we recently were moaning and groaning about how miserable we felt.  (I think it was after a fabulous steak dinner.

I received a phone call at 4:40 p.m.  It was an angry El Hubbo screaming into the phone that the dogs had gotten out, the back gate was wide open, and he and the kids were driving around our neighborhood (which consists of two one-block streets in the middle of a cotton field - I am not exaggerating) looking for the dogs. Alright, I sigh, I am on my way. You see, this is not the first time that my darling little Rocky (who puts the "spring" in English Springer Spaniel) has chosen stormy weather to stage a prison break.  (Reference one of the earliest WTM blogs titled, "Dog Gone Evening" from 3/15/10)  And, I know he is the mastermind because Charlie is a big galoot that is looking for love in all the wrong places all the time and will willingly follow Rocky everywhere as long as it does not involve jumping. At least at that very moment, it was bright and sunny, although the storms of the previous evening/night/morning had left the aforementioned cotton fields

At dinner the other evening, Number One Son tells me he has come up with a list of ways to breakup with your girlfriend. As I tried to recover from the shock that perhaps some little cougar was trying to steal my son's affections, I stammer out, "What?  Do you have a girlfriend?  Why didn't I know this?  Who is she?  Why do you have a girlfriend?  You aren't old enough to have a girlfriend!  NO DATING!  EVER!  DO YOU HEAR ME?" Perhaps my machine-gun-fire rapid response was a tad bit of an over-reaction, but in my defense, I was there to eat enchiladas, not deal with the psychologically traumatic situation of a son who no longer thinks girls have cooties. Number One Son scrunched up his nose and said, "Me?  Girlfriend?  Ewwww, no way!  Girls have cooties."  (Oh, thank goodness!!  I could now enjoy the remainder of my meal.) He then rolled his eyes and said, "No, my friend has a girlfriend, and he asked me how he should break up with her."