West Texas Mama

El Hubbo and I are fans of the show, "Shark Tank".  People walk into a room of rich folks and try to convince them to invest in their company/product/idea. Some of the ideas are downright ridiculous (such as the "ARKEG" - a combo arcade game and kegerator), and some are ingenious (such as the magnetic eyeglass holder).  As with most things we do, we often begin to look accusingly at each other and asking, "Why can't YOU come up with something like that?" Well, folks, I am here to tell you that I have the perfect (and timely) idea that is sure to garner me both fame and riches (and possibly a trophy husband). Given the preponderance of ridiculous debate regarding gun laws, I would like to address one HUGE flaw I see in most arguments.  How many times in the last month alone have you heard that we must expand gun purchase background checks to make sure guns are not sold to the mentally ill?  I ask you, just how would you enforce that?  There is cur...

Shhhhhhhhh......hear that?  Silence is a rare commodity around this rodeo we call a home.  I thought I'd take a moment to catch you up on the chaos surrounding WTM's life.  What with my "regular job", a string of birthdays, the holidays, and stock show prep, it has been quite busy.  I mentioned on the facebook page that I had several ideas, but not much time.....well, sit down with a cup o'joe, and I'll just spill them all at once.   Birthday Hannukuh (Is that how you spell Hannukuh?  Probably not, but I'm Irish, not Jewish, so there you go.) It is a fact that smart people do not have children in December.  Why would you put yourself through the birthday celebration process right when you must also deplete your life-savings to make sure your fancy tree skirt is not peeking out from under the abundance of "love" you demonstrate with Christmas gifts?  Obviously, El Hubbo and I are not smart people.  Neither, apparently were my paren...

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 cho...

"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 ...

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 al...

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?  ...