They were my babies . . . sweet little chickens I had tenderly cared for since my birthday, diligent that they had the cleanest cage, perfectly set heating lamp and clearest water to drink. We lost one in those first few days, but 13 thrived, pecking at our feet in the house and eventually growing big enough to make the move to their super cute coop a few weeks ago.
Yesterday evening however, disaster struck. Rounding the corner into the backyard, I immediately knew something was wrong. There was no chirping coming from the chicken run, and the yard felt eerily still. Usually Tilly, our dog, is bouncing through the grass, eager to greet me and walk with me to the chicken pen to toss out more feed. But not this time. Instead, as I walked up to the pen, she poked her head out of their coop, tail wagging and gave me a little bark. Somehow she had made it through the chicken wire and inside . . . and the worst had happened.
Taco was laying there on the ground, his sweet little head looking towards me but unable to move. Of course, I'm a gigantic pansy about these things and began to cry. Scooping up my poor sweet little duck in one arm, I grabbed the scruff of Tilly's neck like a puppy with the other hand, tossing her into the shed and slamming the door, all the while calling her every name under the sun. The chicken pen seemed to be littered with casualties and all I could do was manage to call my papa.
Sobbing I asked him to come help me. There are only so many dead chickens a girl can handle on her own, and a few were just barely alive, needing to be finished off. It was too much.
Eventually we got the dead ones picked up and began the search for the missing black chickens. That's another thing about my chickens. I know to some people they are just farm animals, but they really do have little personalities if you pay attention. Since they were chicks, the 6 yellow ones were super friendly, always trying to pop through their cage and follow me around the house. They would hop into my hand and were a little mischeivious, tipping their water over and playing in the puddles. The black chickens on the other hand, were a little rouge. They'd bunch up to themselves and tended to sleep separate from the yellow ones. They only liked me when I had food and every night I have to pick them up and scoot them into the coop because they try to sleep outside in the grass.
So when Tilly decided to play tag with the chickens, I can only imagine the yellow ones played along, because she got all but two. Luckily, all but one of the black chickens made it out alive, 4 going through the back fence and hanging out in the neighbors lot, safe and sound. The 5th black chicken was still loose in the pen, hiding in the grass and for the first time in her life, she ran to me, letting me scoop her up, out of Tilly's reach.
Once my Papa arrived, he gathered up the survivors and secured their pen better than I had it before. He took care of the dead ones and almost dead ones, and I sat inside with my grandmother, talking about how sweet the chickens were and eventually reminiscing about Cheerios my old pet goose, and how hard it had been when she died a few years ago too.
Last night I kept Taco in a laundry basket, giving him water and bread crumbs trying to keep him alive. Later I held him while we watched TV and he nuzzled his sweet little head under my chin trying to stay warm. But with missing feathers from being chewed on and suffering from a limp leg, I wasn't sure if he'd make it through the night. Around 5 I woke up to check on him, and he had died. This morning my best friend came over and we buried him in the flower bed.
So now no more Taco the duck and half our chicken flock is gone. It's a sad day around our funny farm. As for Tilly, she stayed in the shed until dark, on the porch until midnight and had to sleep in the laundry room instead of the bed. She's going to be in the dog house for a while with me.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Broken Glass
I want to write about my garden. About how excited I am that my row of romaine lettuce, spinach, and mixed salad greens are finally sprouting up out of the ground. About how Stanton cheered for them when he first saw it and we crawled along the ground together for half an hour checking out each little sprout saying hi, welcoming them to his garden and him promising them he wouldn't smush them.
I want to tell you about how interesting it is to find old bits of pretty, weathered glass in the dirt through out the garden area. It makes me curious about what the previous owners used this space for. Did they decorate in delicate wind chimes that slowly broke through the years and were just raked into the dirt? Or did they use this back space of the yard as a dump for broken things that just slowly broke down even more overtime until they became what they are now, bits of random rubble to be discovered every time I go to plant.
I want to write about those thoughts . . . but I can't. Because now I can't get her out of my head. Her. The girl I had to meet with today. The girl that for the past month and half has been nothing more than a filed away client, frustrating me to no ends by never answering the packet of questions I've mailed three times and instead sending me a barrage of random whiny letters from jail.
Her. The girl who was on my mind nonstop driving back to town today.
Finally sitting down across from her earlier this afternoon, ready to hammer home all the reasons she needs to stop being difficult with her attorney and get with the program, I couldn't help but see someone I thought I knew. Of course she wasn't anyone I've really ever known, but she still seemed familiar in a way. Just a few months older than I, she was the same height, the same hair, the same face shape, the same frame, almost everything - it was weird - only she looked like she had lived ten more years than me. And was on the other side of the glass.
Her skin was weathered more than any other 29 year old's I had seen. Not from sun, but from a hard life. You know what I mean, the way it just looks dull and rough, basically as if it had always been the last priority in the world. Her hair was also dulled and drab, hanging limp around a face that at one time was likely quite pretty. But now her skin told another tale as well, one that breaks my heart to recognize, but is a harsh reality these days. Drugs just have a distinctive way of sticking with people, and pock marks and hollowed sagging faces are hard to undo.
Upon entering the room I could sense her hostility, but just as my demeanor changed once I recognized something familiar in her, it seemed as if she recognized the same in me. And we visited. Despite having a very thorough list of questions and background information that I go through with most every client, today, I actually added even more questions. Because I needed the answer to the one burning in the back of my heart; why was she here? How did it come to this for her?
Driving home today I couldn't help but wonder about redemption. About people who have gone so far off their planned path to the point they are just wandering aimlessly. About the people who feel like they are in that haze of not knowing what is up and what is down. The people who feel so lost they give up and give in. And I wonder about what took them there, what terrible things happened in their life that led them to that point, or what impacted them so much they caved under pressure. One of my favorite songs is Wade Bowen's "Lost Hotel" - the lyrics are haunting and so true. Because most everyone has had breaking points, everyone has faced choices and for the fortunate ones, it was a matter of a friend or a loved one who pulled us through or else we could have lost. But some people didn't have that person to help them through. Some people, were just 15 with no one at home encouraging them to do something more, or to stop what they were getting in to.
And then I wonder about what those same people were like when they were just Stanton's age, so little and full of promise, some little kid who just wanted to cuddle and be loved.
Life is so ugly sometimes.
And then there is redemption. Can they come back from all that? And what could pull them back? Is there something I can do, something I can say in this limited role I play, to nudge their way of thinking. Can I plant a seed of some sort. A little hope. I like to think I can, but then again, I don't know. Today I had to say the words, "I'm not qualified to discuss that but I'd be happy to get you someone to talk to, that could help you address those issues." Because I am an attorney. Not a counselor. I have ethical obligations to not advise beyond my abilities. If she had been just my friend I wonder if I would have still been there for her, or would I have been one of those people who gave up a long time ago, writing her off as a lost cause. Today I really wanted to be her friend.
This morning I had planned to write about that glass in my garden. It is my favorite mystery right now at home (because in an old house, there are always mysteries to uncover). I like to walk around collecting all the random colors peeking up through the dirt, all sparkly chunks of heavy glass, so worn by the soil their edges have been smoothed over, almost like sea glass. So pretty, despite being broken and with no apparent purpose. I've been putting them into the fairy garden lately. Surrounding the succulents and moss planted in the shade of the dead stump, random bits of unwanted glass have now found a home to sparkle in again. They'll never be the "useful" item they once were, but in a way, they are redeemed to something else. Sparkling again and beautiful in their own right.
And thinking about that glass, I can't help but wonder if people can be the same way.
This is the only version available online of the song, but I encourage everyone to go buy it on iTunes! Heck buy the whole album, he's basically my favorite.
I want to tell you about how interesting it is to find old bits of pretty, weathered glass in the dirt through out the garden area. It makes me curious about what the previous owners used this space for. Did they decorate in delicate wind chimes that slowly broke through the years and were just raked into the dirt? Or did they use this back space of the yard as a dump for broken things that just slowly broke down even more overtime until they became what they are now, bits of random rubble to be discovered every time I go to plant.
I want to write about those thoughts . . . but I can't. Because now I can't get her out of my head. Her. The girl I had to meet with today. The girl that for the past month and half has been nothing more than a filed away client, frustrating me to no ends by never answering the packet of questions I've mailed three times and instead sending me a barrage of random whiny letters from jail.
Her. The girl who was on my mind nonstop driving back to town today.
Finally sitting down across from her earlier this afternoon, ready to hammer home all the reasons she needs to stop being difficult with her attorney and get with the program, I couldn't help but see someone I thought I knew. Of course she wasn't anyone I've really ever known, but she still seemed familiar in a way. Just a few months older than I, she was the same height, the same hair, the same face shape, the same frame, almost everything - it was weird - only she looked like she had lived ten more years than me. And was on the other side of the glass.
Her skin was weathered more than any other 29 year old's I had seen. Not from sun, but from a hard life. You know what I mean, the way it just looks dull and rough, basically as if it had always been the last priority in the world. Her hair was also dulled and drab, hanging limp around a face that at one time was likely quite pretty. But now her skin told another tale as well, one that breaks my heart to recognize, but is a harsh reality these days. Drugs just have a distinctive way of sticking with people, and pock marks and hollowed sagging faces are hard to undo.
Upon entering the room I could sense her hostility, but just as my demeanor changed once I recognized something familiar in her, it seemed as if she recognized the same in me. And we visited. Despite having a very thorough list of questions and background information that I go through with most every client, today, I actually added even more questions. Because I needed the answer to the one burning in the back of my heart; why was she here? How did it come to this for her?
Driving home today I couldn't help but wonder about redemption. About people who have gone so far off their planned path to the point they are just wandering aimlessly. About the people who feel like they are in that haze of not knowing what is up and what is down. The people who feel so lost they give up and give in. And I wonder about what took them there, what terrible things happened in their life that led them to that point, or what impacted them so much they caved under pressure. One of my favorite songs is Wade Bowen's "Lost Hotel" - the lyrics are haunting and so true. Because most everyone has had breaking points, everyone has faced choices and for the fortunate ones, it was a matter of a friend or a loved one who pulled us through or else we could have lost. But some people didn't have that person to help them through. Some people, were just 15 with no one at home encouraging them to do something more, or to stop what they were getting in to.
And then I wonder about what those same people were like when they were just Stanton's age, so little and full of promise, some little kid who just wanted to cuddle and be loved.
Life is so ugly sometimes.
And then there is redemption. Can they come back from all that? And what could pull them back? Is there something I can do, something I can say in this limited role I play, to nudge their way of thinking. Can I plant a seed of some sort. A little hope. I like to think I can, but then again, I don't know. Today I had to say the words, "I'm not qualified to discuss that but I'd be happy to get you someone to talk to, that could help you address those issues." Because I am an attorney. Not a counselor. I have ethical obligations to not advise beyond my abilities. If she had been just my friend I wonder if I would have still been there for her, or would I have been one of those people who gave up a long time ago, writing her off as a lost cause. Today I really wanted to be her friend.
This morning I had planned to write about that glass in my garden. It is my favorite mystery right now at home (because in an old house, there are always mysteries to uncover). I like to walk around collecting all the random colors peeking up through the dirt, all sparkly chunks of heavy glass, so worn by the soil their edges have been smoothed over, almost like sea glass. So pretty, despite being broken and with no apparent purpose. I've been putting them into the fairy garden lately. Surrounding the succulents and moss planted in the shade of the dead stump, random bits of unwanted glass have now found a home to sparkle in again. They'll never be the "useful" item they once were, but in a way, they are redeemed to something else. Sparkling again and beautiful in their own right.
And thinking about that glass, I can't help but wonder if people can be the same way.
"So say a prayer for the weary
Say a prayer for the lost
Say a prayer for the hungry
They’ve all paid the highest cost
You know hope is there to find
We’re all too quick to condemn
So lay your hands on a desolate soul
Yeah cause someday you just might see them
Down at the lost hotel"
Say a prayer for the lost
Say a prayer for the hungry
They’ve all paid the highest cost
You know hope is there to find
We’re all too quick to condemn
So lay your hands on a desolate soul
Yeah cause someday you just might see them
Down at the lost hotel"
- Lost Hotel
This is the only version available online of the song, but I encourage everyone to go buy it on iTunes! Heck buy the whole album, he's basically my favorite.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Bugs, Baths, and Battlestar gallactica
"Mom hurry there's a giant spider trying to take a bath with me!"
Never fails. Just when you've created the most refreshing concoction of fresca, wine, and orange juice (don't judge, gotta get my vitamin C somehow), a mom emergency arises and you have to leave it there, slowly watering down on the counter, while you rush off to battle. This battle however, did not sound like something I wanted to be a part of.
Heading into the bathroom I couldn't help but think of how much I hate spiders. Ick, spiders. But you know what I hate even more than spiders, Roaches. And so yes, in awesome Saturday night fashion, there it was. No, not a big leggy spider trying to crawl along the side of the sink next to Stanton's bathtub but a gigantic, brown, long legged, terrifying roach with its creepy antennas reaching out like they wanted to grab me. 16 year old Paige immediately backed away and thought about calling for reinforcements, but seeing Stanton trapped in the corner of his tub a lot closer to the beast of a bug than I was, made me rustle up every ounce of grown-up in me to face this sucker head on.
"Don't worry dude. Mom's got this." Aw hell. No I don't.
This sucker was huge. Wondering when the last time I sprayed was, it dawned on me, oh yeah, I never had. That was one of the ex's jobs, and thinking about it more, I'm pretty sure I hadn't heard him grip about having to do it since October-ish so . . . yup, four months. Three months is about the time frame of my home bug spray kit we bought for the house. And given the drama of the break-up last month, I didn't think to ask him to make another round with it before I ended things. Dang it. I should have thought to make a check-list or something with him so I'd know how to run this place better. Oh well, guess now the top of my new check-list will be: Don't be so dependent on a guy. Check.
But nevermind all that. The fact of the matter was that now here I stood, facing the Godzilla of roaches and it has my child trapped in the tub. This was war.
Quick Paige fact though: I don't like squishing things. The whole 'smushed bug on the floor' mess is about the grossest thing to me so I generally like to find other methods to kill things with. Quickly I opened the cabinet to discover the worst - no bug spray. Of course not. Why would I have bug spray? I've never had bugs. Damn it again! So I grabbed the next closest thing that made sense, Scrubbing Bubbles and while throwing up a silent prayer that the "Kills 99.9% of Bacteria" might also include megaRoach, I hollered for Stanton to cover his eyes and I doused the bug in fluffy white foam.
And of course. Nada. If anything, I made the stupid bug slide quicker across the floor at me and for a split second I wondered if they bite. I continued spraying in vain as it ran at me. "Mom it's gonna get you!"
And then before I realized it - I had done it. With my BARE HANDS I instinctively picked up the foam covered bug right before it got to my toe and tossed it into the toilet.
Flush. And gone.
It was like one of those terrible parenting instincts that you can't control, like when you reach out to catch the vomit from your baby's mouth only to realize about 10 seconds later, that was a very terrible idea. (You know you've all done it.) Ick. So gross. But we can't help ourselves. It's in our nature.
Stanton started cheering as I did everything to not cry from knowing I had actually held a freaking roach in my hand. It was completely covered in scrubbing bubbles Paige. Hell, the whole bathroom was now covered in scrubbing bubbles. 99.9% of germs are dead in this room. You'll be okay. I kept repeating that to myself as I slowly washed my hands and finally allowed myself to feel that slight tinge of victory. I totally did it.
Perhaps my weekend was not as exciting as everyone else's, but I had totally beaten Roachzilla and conquered some serious fear issues in the process. And become a 10 minute hero in my son's eyes.
AND, my drink hadn't even watered down yet. Victory! Now, if I could just catch that loose hamster . . .
Never fails. Just when you've created the most refreshing concoction of fresca, wine, and orange juice (don't judge, gotta get my vitamin C somehow), a mom emergency arises and you have to leave it there, slowly watering down on the counter, while you rush off to battle. This battle however, did not sound like something I wanted to be a part of.
Heading into the bathroom I couldn't help but think of how much I hate spiders. Ick, spiders. But you know what I hate even more than spiders, Roaches. And so yes, in awesome Saturday night fashion, there it was. No, not a big leggy spider trying to crawl along the side of the sink next to Stanton's bathtub but a gigantic, brown, long legged, terrifying roach with its creepy antennas reaching out like they wanted to grab me. 16 year old Paige immediately backed away and thought about calling for reinforcements, but seeing Stanton trapped in the corner of his tub a lot closer to the beast of a bug than I was, made me rustle up every ounce of grown-up in me to face this sucker head on.
"Don't worry dude. Mom's got this." Aw hell. No I don't.
This sucker was huge. Wondering when the last time I sprayed was, it dawned on me, oh yeah, I never had. That was one of the ex's jobs, and thinking about it more, I'm pretty sure I hadn't heard him grip about having to do it since October-ish so . . . yup, four months. Three months is about the time frame of my home bug spray kit we bought for the house. And given the drama of the break-up last month, I didn't think to ask him to make another round with it before I ended things. Dang it. I should have thought to make a check-list or something with him so I'd know how to run this place better. Oh well, guess now the top of my new check-list will be: Don't be so dependent on a guy. Check.
But nevermind all that. The fact of the matter was that now here I stood, facing the Godzilla of roaches and it has my child trapped in the tub. This was war.
Quick Paige fact though: I don't like squishing things. The whole 'smushed bug on the floor' mess is about the grossest thing to me so I generally like to find other methods to kill things with. Quickly I opened the cabinet to discover the worst - no bug spray. Of course not. Why would I have bug spray? I've never had bugs. Damn it again! So I grabbed the next closest thing that made sense, Scrubbing Bubbles and while throwing up a silent prayer that the "Kills 99.9% of Bacteria" might also include megaRoach, I hollered for Stanton to cover his eyes and I doused the bug in fluffy white foam.
And of course. Nada. If anything, I made the stupid bug slide quicker across the floor at me and for a split second I wondered if they bite. I continued spraying in vain as it ran at me. "Mom it's gonna get you!"
And then before I realized it - I had done it. With my BARE HANDS I instinctively picked up the foam covered bug right before it got to my toe and tossed it into the toilet.
Flush. And gone.
It was like one of those terrible parenting instincts that you can't control, like when you reach out to catch the vomit from your baby's mouth only to realize about 10 seconds later, that was a very terrible idea. (You know you've all done it.) Ick. So gross. But we can't help ourselves. It's in our nature.
Stanton started cheering as I did everything to not cry from knowing I had actually held a freaking roach in my hand. It was completely covered in scrubbing bubbles Paige. Hell, the whole bathroom was now covered in scrubbing bubbles. 99.9% of germs are dead in this room. You'll be okay. I kept repeating that to myself as I slowly washed my hands and finally allowed myself to feel that slight tinge of victory. I totally did it.
Perhaps my weekend was not as exciting as everyone else's, but I had totally beaten Roachzilla and conquered some serious fear issues in the process. And become a 10 minute hero in my son's eyes.
AND, my drink hadn't even watered down yet. Victory! Now, if I could just catch that loose hamster . . .
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Halloween and other Holidays I Fail Miserably At
Three and half years ago I had high hopes about my super-mom abilities. 7 months pregnant and mid-bar study I had already completed Stanton's entire first year scrap book - minus the pictures. Each page for each holiday had been staged perfectly and just awaited the soon to come pictures and treasures to fill the empty spots. The nursery was laid out to perfection, all the clothes had been washed in Dreft and were folded neatly, ready for his arrival. I could do this. I envisioned myself with that pleasant, giggling three month old at Halloween, dressed up for an evening of trick-or-treating and showing off his adorable costume around the carnival. Instead, what I was met with was a Halloween week from hell when he came down with RSV. By the time it came to dress up, I was an unintentional walking zombie (no kidding, I looked like hell) and he was the fussiest Pumpkin ever. He wore his costume for about .2 seconds in the house and then we changed, cuddled up on the couch and spent the rest of the evening watching tv and ignoring trick-or-treaters at the door.
In three years, not much has changed. If anything, I've learned holidays and special events just don't ever turn out how I anticipate. I might as well find the humor in it all and move on. But it is so hard to not keep trying, especially after seeing my magical mom friends and how effortlessly they pull off that ideal I wished I could be. You see, my mother was one of those moms. I have fond memories of her baking gorgeous cookies for me to take to my classmates at school and delicious pies to take to my teachers for the holidays. Most holidays she even made adorable personalized goodie bags for me to hand out to the class complete with perfectly curled ribbon and bows.
You're probably thinking, "oh Paige, you can't be that bad." Oh but I am. Since Stanton has started going to day-care, it is more obvious than ever how much I suck at the Betty-home-maker side of motherhood. For each holiday party, a list is set out for parents to sign up for food and drink items. For the Valentine's day party this past year, I boldly signed up for cupcakes. I could handle that. Shoot. . . I've been making cupcakes since 1995. But when I showed up the day of the party, cupcakes in hand, I realized it would never be just "making cupcakes" --- apparently someone else had signed up for cupcakes too and had also secretly worked for the food-network's "Cup Cake Wars." Good lord they were amazing, decorated with fondant hearts and flowers and displayed to win. My cupcakes felt so inferior they sortof just shrunk up on their tray. And that's not even the worse part. Because I had to run back to work for a few hours, I didn't hang around and just showed up later for the actual party so I could sit with Stanton. Walking in I realized the worst, my cupcakes had not been set out. They were left in the back kitchen area, still covered and remained untouched the rest of the day. That afternoon I picked them up with my pan and left. I felt like a failure.
The next few parties I tried to sign up for something easier. Chips, drinks. Blah blah blah. But because it had been a few months since a school party, I felt like trying again. So on the Halloween party sign up sheet, I wrote my name under "cookies" -- oh crap.
So of course, in perfect storm fashion, yesterday, the day I planned to leave work early so I could bake, turned into my busiest day yet. I actually got stuck at work past five, picked up Stanton late from school causing him to miss gymnastics. Mom fail. To top it off, It was raining and my straightened hair had turned into the ugly humid waves and I looked a mess, but I didn't care. I had to get to the store and get what I needed to bake with. Dragging Stanton into the store with me, we found a sugar cookie bag mix and a bag of powered sugar for the icing. I knew I had a pumpkin cookie cutter somewhere in my house and was determined to make cute pumpkin cookies, orange and green icing and all. Getting home I set to work, and with only an hour before I had to be at church for my CCE class, I flew around mixing and rolling and patting and re-rolling because I kept messing up, all while fussing at Stanton to stop climbing on the table and then again for him to stop throwing flour into the air (yelling snow over and over again). My kitchen was mayhem. Finally, I had pumpkin shaped cookies. Yes there was also flour and powered sugar everywhere, icing dripped all over the counter ( I had run out of wax paper) and dirty dishes mounded in the sink, but I had pumpkin shaped cookies.
I iced a few and then left, dropping Stanton off with my mother and rushed on to church. By 8:30 we were back home and after settling Stanton down in bed with clean sheets (he had an accident the night before) and the shortest bedtime story book I could find, I was back in the kitchen finishing up.
B walked in a little later, took one look around and asked what was I doing. From his face I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "Kicking ass" was my answer. Because I was. Despite the mess, I actually had 12 cookies survive and iced decently and I felt so proud. He just laughed. After I finished up and cleaned the kitchen and had sat down with B to watch the baseball game, I pulled up my Facebook to check out my newsfeed. And there they were. The most perfectly iced "magic mom" cookies a friend of mine had made, all laid out in perfect neat rows on super clean cookie racks, displayed on FB for the world to envy with 50 likes and counting. There wasn't a drip of icing or cookie dough anywhere. I felt defeated. Damn it. Mine looked like ugly step-sister cookies compared to those.
At least our kids aren't in the same day care, so mine won't have to sit next to those, I thought. B saw the picture and laughed, trying to reassure me (through his laugh) that my friend had had all day to work on those. True, but still. "You're cookies are alright." Gosh I hope so.
I don't want to be a competitive mom. I'm super proud of my friends who are amazing at all that Betty-home-maker stuff and wish I could have an ounce of their talent. But just keeping up with the laundry and dishes and house cleaning is mostly all I can manage. And I'm okay with that. All I really want is to just be at least at a level Stanton can be proud of.
I just want to make something okay enough to be set out at the parties. The Halloween party is in thirty minutes and all I can worry about is that my cookies were decent enough for them to serve. Crap.
So for the inquisitive minds who are wondering how mine turned out . . . here are a few pictures mid-baking. Please feel free to laugh. I did.
<------ The mess. Yikes!
In three years, not much has changed. If anything, I've learned holidays and special events just don't ever turn out how I anticipate. I might as well find the humor in it all and move on. But it is so hard to not keep trying, especially after seeing my magical mom friends and how effortlessly they pull off that ideal I wished I could be. You see, my mother was one of those moms. I have fond memories of her baking gorgeous cookies for me to take to my classmates at school and delicious pies to take to my teachers for the holidays. Most holidays she even made adorable personalized goodie bags for me to hand out to the class complete with perfectly curled ribbon and bows.
You're probably thinking, "oh Paige, you can't be that bad." Oh but I am. Since Stanton has started going to day-care, it is more obvious than ever how much I suck at the Betty-home-maker side of motherhood. For each holiday party, a list is set out for parents to sign up for food and drink items. For the Valentine's day party this past year, I boldly signed up for cupcakes. I could handle that. Shoot. . . I've been making cupcakes since 1995. But when I showed up the day of the party, cupcakes in hand, I realized it would never be just "making cupcakes" --- apparently someone else had signed up for cupcakes too and had also secretly worked for the food-network's "Cup Cake Wars." Good lord they were amazing, decorated with fondant hearts and flowers and displayed to win. My cupcakes felt so inferior they sortof just shrunk up on their tray. And that's not even the worse part. Because I had to run back to work for a few hours, I didn't hang around and just showed up later for the actual party so I could sit with Stanton. Walking in I realized the worst, my cupcakes had not been set out. They were left in the back kitchen area, still covered and remained untouched the rest of the day. That afternoon I picked them up with my pan and left. I felt like a failure.
The next few parties I tried to sign up for something easier. Chips, drinks. Blah blah blah. But because it had been a few months since a school party, I felt like trying again. So on the Halloween party sign up sheet, I wrote my name under "cookies" -- oh crap.
So of course, in perfect storm fashion, yesterday, the day I planned to leave work early so I could bake, turned into my busiest day yet. I actually got stuck at work past five, picked up Stanton late from school causing him to miss gymnastics. Mom fail. To top it off, It was raining and my straightened hair had turned into the ugly humid waves and I looked a mess, but I didn't care. I had to get to the store and get what I needed to bake with. Dragging Stanton into the store with me, we found a sugar cookie bag mix and a bag of powered sugar for the icing. I knew I had a pumpkin cookie cutter somewhere in my house and was determined to make cute pumpkin cookies, orange and green icing and all. Getting home I set to work, and with only an hour before I had to be at church for my CCE class, I flew around mixing and rolling and patting and re-rolling because I kept messing up, all while fussing at Stanton to stop climbing on the table and then again for him to stop throwing flour into the air (yelling snow over and over again). My kitchen was mayhem. Finally, I had pumpkin shaped cookies. Yes there was also flour and powered sugar everywhere, icing dripped all over the counter ( I had run out of wax paper) and dirty dishes mounded in the sink, but I had pumpkin shaped cookies.
I iced a few and then left, dropping Stanton off with my mother and rushed on to church. By 8:30 we were back home and after settling Stanton down in bed with clean sheets (he had an accident the night before) and the shortest bedtime story book I could find, I was back in the kitchen finishing up.
B walked in a little later, took one look around and asked what was I doing. From his face I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "Kicking ass" was my answer. Because I was. Despite the mess, I actually had 12 cookies survive and iced decently and I felt so proud. He just laughed. After I finished up and cleaned the kitchen and had sat down with B to watch the baseball game, I pulled up my Facebook to check out my newsfeed. And there they were. The most perfectly iced "magic mom" cookies a friend of mine had made, all laid out in perfect neat rows on super clean cookie racks, displayed on FB for the world to envy with 50 likes and counting. There wasn't a drip of icing or cookie dough anywhere. I felt defeated. Damn it. Mine looked like ugly step-sister cookies compared to those.
At least our kids aren't in the same day care, so mine won't have to sit next to those, I thought. B saw the picture and laughed, trying to reassure me (through his laugh) that my friend had had all day to work on those. True, but still. "You're cookies are alright." Gosh I hope so.
I don't want to be a competitive mom. I'm super proud of my friends who are amazing at all that Betty-home-maker stuff and wish I could have an ounce of their talent. But just keeping up with the laundry and dishes and house cleaning is mostly all I can manage. And I'm okay with that. All I really want is to just be at least at a level Stanton can be proud of.
I just want to make something okay enough to be set out at the parties. The Halloween party is in thirty minutes and all I can worry about is that my cookies were decent enough for them to serve. Crap.
So for the inquisitive minds who are wondering how mine turned out . . . here are a few pictures mid-baking. Please feel free to laugh. I did.
<------ The mess. Yikes!
Monday, September 30, 2013
Garden Love
I love Gardening. I love the feel of soft dirt in your hands, the fresh smell of seedlings sprouting out of the ground. I love the way the water sounds when it is running down a row of vegetables, the feel of a good effort tug to pull an onion out of the ground, and the crisp way perfectly ripe peppers pick off the bush. I love all of it. For about 10 minutes. And then the truth of gardening sets it.
The runny nose and itchy eyes. The swarms of black ants that seem to come out of no where and attack my toes. The itchy leaves of everything I plant and the painful callous on my hand after only having attempted to hoe one square foot of weeds with 20 more to go. The way it all of sudden got 20 degrees hotter in a matter of minutes once you step out into the garden and the way those blue mountains go almost instantly silver too.
I guess you could say, I love gardening in theory. I'll tell you what I love. I love wandering around my pretty yard with a water hose in one hand and a cold beer in the other, lazily watering the flowers that have managed to survive, no thanks to me. I love picking a few veggies here and there and then making one trip back into the house to wash them. I love arranging pretty rocks I've found into neat shapes and slowly creating my own rock path. I love painting random bits of junk and adding them into the flowers to make neat yard art. I love bottle trees and wind chimes. I love flowers that dangle out of pots and vines growing up fences. I love bird feeders and rusty trellises.
I think I am destined to have a gypsy garden and yard. Currently my papa has brought the yard back to life, and for that I am thankful. I am also thankful that he has finally caught a glimpse of my vision and is on board to help me dig up the old path and put down a new one, complete with a garden fence and unique gate.
So here a few pictures of our wonderful transformation over the past year. Hopefully with a little more elbow grease we can continue to build a beautiful backyard and I can start adding that gypsy touch!
The runny nose and itchy eyes. The swarms of black ants that seem to come out of no where and attack my toes. The itchy leaves of everything I plant and the painful callous on my hand after only having attempted to hoe one square foot of weeds with 20 more to go. The way it all of sudden got 20 degrees hotter in a matter of minutes once you step out into the garden and the way those blue mountains go almost instantly silver too.
I guess you could say, I love gardening in theory. I'll tell you what I love. I love wandering around my pretty yard with a water hose in one hand and a cold beer in the other, lazily watering the flowers that have managed to survive, no thanks to me. I love picking a few veggies here and there and then making one trip back into the house to wash them. I love arranging pretty rocks I've found into neat shapes and slowly creating my own rock path. I love painting random bits of junk and adding them into the flowers to make neat yard art. I love bottle trees and wind chimes. I love flowers that dangle out of pots and vines growing up fences. I love bird feeders and rusty trellises.
I think I am destined to have a gypsy garden and yard. Currently my papa has brought the yard back to life, and for that I am thankful. I am also thankful that he has finally caught a glimpse of my vision and is on board to help me dig up the old path and put down a new one, complete with a garden fence and unique gate.
So here a few pictures of our wonderful transformation over the past year. Hopefully with a little more elbow grease we can continue to build a beautiful backyard and I can start adding that gypsy touch!
 | |
| My Backyard Feb 2013 (depressing & hopeless) |
 |
| The Backyard July 2013 - What a Difference! |
 |
| Stanton helping Papa plant Canna Bulbs |
 |
| some bright paint |
 | |
| look how beautiful they are now! |
 |
| he loves exploring the garden |
Friday, September 27, 2013
DIY: Music Leaf Fall Swag
I tend to get crafty every now and then and figured, hey, out of all the fun stuff I attempt to make or paint, why not share it on the blog too. So, here goes my first attempt at a DIY tutorial.
First, while I have been known to come up with many neat-o ideas all on my own, this one stemmed from a Pinterest inspiration photo that I tracked down to the original site.
You can find the original post of this gorgeous book page leaf swag at Nesting Place (I encourage you to check it out because she actually did a lot of cool things with paper and is super creative.)
So admit it - you can already envision this swag somewhere in your own house, adding that character and new fun twist on the same-ol-same-ol fall decor we all play into. I was the same way. I thought, hey, why does fall HAVE to be orange, red, and yellow? Let's try something new.
So...
Step 1: Gather your Materials
I actually began this project before I read the blog on it, so my initial list of materials included:
Old books I won't feel guilty ruining
Thin floral wire
Glue
Tape
Tissue Paper for the vines
Wine
Fresca
My main rule when crafting is to spend as little money as possible. I went to our local thrift store for books and ended up uncovering a trunk of old sheet music. And when I say old, I mean OLD. These pages were not only gorgeous quality paper but had also already turned all those awesome shades of vintage people kill for. (okay, slight exaggeration but you get my point.) I cut a deal and walked out with a huge stack of music and a few old books for less than $20. Another $4 on floral wire and that was it. I already had a few random packs of darker tissue paper, a bottle of craft glue, and half a roll of masking tape. Brown craft paper would work well too. My main thought behind the materials is that depending on where you want to place the swag, the lighter it is the better. You want it to drape easily across a curtain rod without whoever put said curtain rod up fussing at you about breaking it. Just saying.
As far as the next two items on the list, they bring me to . . .
Step 2: Make yourself a Drink
Not gonna lie, my best creative moments are usually alcohol enhanced. It just makes me braver. And craftier. And helps me think outside the box. I encourage you to try the same. Now don't get lit, there's nothing worse than a drunken craft, so that's where the fresca enters the picture. Get a nice glass, fill it with ice, and go half and half with a cheap Cab-Sav and the Fresca. Don't be a wine snob either. Wine snobs suck. So what if you've harnessed your palate to appreciate an $80 dollar bottle of wine? You can appreciate the $3.50 bottle from DG too. It's fabulously interesting (see the positive spin I did there?) and you won't feel guilty pouring it over ice or mixing it with Fresca. Because here is some free life advice: Fresca is God's gift to us and should be put into most things you drink. It makes orange juice bubbly, Marg-beer-ita's spritz-ier and sangria sparkle. And it has zero calories. What more could you want my little glitter-bug? So drink up, and plant yourself on the floor in front of the t.v. and have Pride and Prejudice ready to go mainly because it is just a great movie and has a wonderful soundtrack with equally beautiful scenes and is basically one of my favorite movies. I like my crafting zone and encourage everyone to get to that happy place when tapping into your artsier/craftier side.
Step 3: Make Some Leaves
I may or may not have done mine the more complicated way but oh well. It made sense to me. I made two patterns and then, after tracing them onto a sheet of music, cut out the leaf shapes about 5 sheets at a time. The blogger said she cut them without a pattern individually, 5th grade style by folding the paper in half and making a generic leaf shape. I say to each his own. Whatever floats your boat, blows your skirt up, tickles your fancy, what have you. Just cut out a bunch of leaves. Full page size. Don't be afraid. Who cares if you waste music sheets. Like you actually play the piano anyhow. I kid, I kid.
(But as a side note, I did try to choose music that I knew wouldn't kill my mother since she does play. I picked a lot of Organ music. I mean, who likes organs anyhow?)
And just when you think you have enough leaves, cut more. There's nothing worse than getting started into building your swag and having to stop and make more leaves. Trust me. I know. I got on a roll making my swag and had to postpone finishing it to another night so I could break out the music again and make more leaves. Agh.
Step 4: Attach "Stems"
Again, the inspiration photo blogger did her project a different way, but I like the idea of using floral wire because it is easier to manipulate each leaf to lay how you want and I also like wiring things together versus hot-gluing. (Hot glue and I have a love-hate relationship. I try to avoid it when possible.)
After folding each leaf in half length-ways, I drew a line of glue down the crease line.
Next I laid the floral wire into the crease, leaving a few inches from the top. Using my fingers, I slowly closed the leaf around the wire, sealing it inside the crease with the glue. Make sure to apply plenty of pressure so the wire bonds solidly into the paper crease.
Fight every urge you get to go ahead and fluff out your leaf! Just lay it aside and let the glue bond for a while before opening the leaf. The crease not only hides the wire but helps give the leaf a really pretty look. Patience grasshopper! It is worth the wait!
Once you've made several leaves, go back through them, starting with the first ones you glued, and carefully open the paper outward.
And ta-dah, you have a paper leaf ready for the vine!
Step 5: The Vine
I didn't take too many pictures of the vine itself because it really isn't more than a hint of color for the project. As I said before, I had an assortment of random dark tissue papers to use. Use what you can find. I would have used a brown paper sack if I needed to. It doesn't matter. Get creative. This is your project. Since I am going to be using this in my dining room I may tie is some turquoise shaded leaves eventually. who knows? It is your project so make it yours!
Simply take the tissue paper and roll it up length ways. Once rolled, twist it, working from end to end. It should look like a rough paper vine. Make a few of these and tape them together to your desired length. I'm wanting to use this across the top of a curtain so I needed mine long.
Once you have your vine, begin attaching the leaves. I looked back at my inspiration picture many times to get an idea of how the leaves should lay and what part I liked best. I liked the fuller look so my swag is pretty pumped up.
One hard thing to really explain is how to wire them on with out the wire showing. The best way to think about it is to work from the edge of the vine inward. That way you are laying the new leaf on top of the older one, creating a layer effect and thus covering the wire. Practice a bit and you'll figure out what works best for you. This is the really fun part. Creating YOUR vine. I went nuts and it is huge and I just want to stare at it and make more and more for all my windows. Or maybe that's the wine talking.
Who knows but I like it so who cares!
.JPG)
EXTRAS: Why stop at music leaves? If you can tell, I have added some of my favorite card stock paper left over from Stanton's baby scrapbook. I also added bits of curled burlap ribbon left over from a wreath project. The contrast of materials is a nice touch and I am definitely planning on adding a few paper flowers soon!
Hope you enjoyed and try a paper craft of your own soon! Or at least try a wine & Fresca spritzer!
First, while I have been known to come up with many neat-o ideas all on my own, this one stemmed from a Pinterest inspiration photo that I tracked down to the original site.
You can find the original post of this gorgeous book page leaf swag at Nesting Place (I encourage you to check it out because she actually did a lot of cool things with paper and is super creative.)
So admit it - you can already envision this swag somewhere in your own house, adding that character and new fun twist on the same-ol-same-ol fall decor we all play into. I was the same way. I thought, hey, why does fall HAVE to be orange, red, and yellow? Let's try something new.
So...
Step 1: Gather your Materials
I actually began this project before I read the blog on it, so my initial list of materials included:
Old books I won't feel guilty ruining Thin floral wire
Glue
Tape
Tissue Paper for the vines
Wine
Fresca
My main rule when crafting is to spend as little money as possible. I went to our local thrift store for books and ended up uncovering a trunk of old sheet music. And when I say old, I mean OLD. These pages were not only gorgeous quality paper but had also already turned all those awesome shades of vintage people kill for. (okay, slight exaggeration but you get my point.) I cut a deal and walked out with a huge stack of music and a few old books for less than $20. Another $4 on floral wire and that was it. I already had a few random packs of darker tissue paper, a bottle of craft glue, and half a roll of masking tape. Brown craft paper would work well too. My main thought behind the materials is that depending on where you want to place the swag, the lighter it is the better. You want it to drape easily across a curtain rod without whoever put said curtain rod up fussing at you about breaking it. Just saying.
As far as the next two items on the list, they bring me to . . .
Step 2: Make yourself a Drink
Not gonna lie, my best creative moments are usually alcohol enhanced. It just makes me braver. And craftier. And helps me think outside the box. I encourage you to try the same. Now don't get lit, there's nothing worse than a drunken craft, so that's where the fresca enters the picture. Get a nice glass, fill it with ice, and go half and half with a cheap Cab-Sav and the Fresca. Don't be a wine snob either. Wine snobs suck. So what if you've harnessed your palate to appreciate an $80 dollar bottle of wine? You can appreciate the $3.50 bottle from DG too. It's fabulously interesting (see the positive spin I did there?) and you won't feel guilty pouring it over ice or mixing it with Fresca. Because here is some free life advice: Fresca is God's gift to us and should be put into most things you drink. It makes orange juice bubbly, Marg-beer-ita's spritz-ier and sangria sparkle. And it has zero calories. What more could you want my little glitter-bug? So drink up, and plant yourself on the floor in front of the t.v. and have Pride and Prejudice ready to go mainly because it is just a great movie and has a wonderful soundtrack with equally beautiful scenes and is basically one of my favorite movies. I like my crafting zone and encourage everyone to get to that happy place when tapping into your artsier/craftier side.
Step 3: Make Some Leaves
I may or may not have done mine the more complicated way but oh well. It made sense to me. I made two patterns and then, after tracing them onto a sheet of music, cut out the leaf shapes about 5 sheets at a time. The blogger said she cut them without a pattern individually, 5th grade style by folding the paper in half and making a generic leaf shape. I say to each his own. Whatever floats your boat, blows your skirt up, tickles your fancy, what have you. Just cut out a bunch of leaves. Full page size. Don't be afraid. Who cares if you waste music sheets. Like you actually play the piano anyhow. I kid, I kid.(But as a side note, I did try to choose music that I knew wouldn't kill my mother since she does play. I picked a lot of Organ music. I mean, who likes organs anyhow?)
And just when you think you have enough leaves, cut more. There's nothing worse than getting started into building your swag and having to stop and make more leaves. Trust me. I know. I got on a roll making my swag and had to postpone finishing it to another night so I could break out the music again and make more leaves. Agh.
Step 4: Attach "Stems"
Again, the inspiration photo blogger did her project a different way, but I like the idea of using floral wire because it is easier to manipulate each leaf to lay how you want and I also like wiring things together versus hot-gluing. (Hot glue and I have a love-hate relationship. I try to avoid it when possible.)
After folding each leaf in half length-ways, I drew a line of glue down the crease line.
Next I laid the floral wire into the crease, leaving a few inches from the top. Using my fingers, I slowly closed the leaf around the wire, sealing it inside the crease with the glue. Make sure to apply plenty of pressure so the wire bonds solidly into the paper crease.
Fight every urge you get to go ahead and fluff out your leaf! Just lay it aside and let the glue bond for a while before opening the leaf. The crease not only hides the wire but helps give the leaf a really pretty look. Patience grasshopper! It is worth the wait!
And ta-dah, you have a paper leaf ready for the vine!
Step 5: The Vine
I didn't take too many pictures of the vine itself because it really isn't more than a hint of color for the project. As I said before, I had an assortment of random dark tissue papers to use. Use what you can find. I would have used a brown paper sack if I needed to. It doesn't matter. Get creative. This is your project. Since I am going to be using this in my dining room I may tie is some turquoise shaded leaves eventually. who knows? It is your project so make it yours!Simply take the tissue paper and roll it up length ways. Once rolled, twist it, working from end to end. It should look like a rough paper vine. Make a few of these and tape them together to your desired length. I'm wanting to use this across the top of a curtain so I needed mine long.
Once you have your vine, begin attaching the leaves. I looked back at my inspiration picture many times to get an idea of how the leaves should lay and what part I liked best. I liked the fuller look so my swag is pretty pumped up.
One hard thing to really explain is how to wire them on with out the wire showing. The best way to think about it is to work from the edge of the vine inward. That way you are laying the new leaf on top of the older one, creating a layer effect and thus covering the wire. Practice a bit and you'll figure out what works best for you. This is the really fun part. Creating YOUR vine. I went nuts and it is huge and I just want to stare at it and make more and more for all my windows. Or maybe that's the wine talking.
Who knows but I like it so who cares!
.jpeg) |
| My First Music Leaf Fall Swag |
EXTRAS: Why stop at music leaves? If you can tell, I have added some of my favorite card stock paper left over from Stanton's baby scrapbook. I also added bits of curled burlap ribbon left over from a wreath project. The contrast of materials is a nice touch and I am definitely planning on adding a few paper flowers soon!
Hope you enjoyed and try a paper craft of your own soon! Or at least try a wine & Fresca spritzer!
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
The Game Day Princesses & Other Mythical Creatures
I had seen them before. With their perfectly coiffed hair, flawless makeup, fluttery game-day dresses and sparkly little shoes, the mystery of the game-day princess never ceased to stop me in my tracks the times I'd run across one at Tech. Even though the law school's tailgate was in an entirely separate parking lot, occasionally we'd venture into Raider Gate, and there you could witness these little dolls dressed up in their pearls and teased hair prancing around with their sparkly koozie and can of Michelob Ultra.
Why the hell would you wear that to a football game? was always my first thought upon seeing one. Why the hell are those guys actually taking her seriously, would be my next as I would watch the college boys just about fall over themselves to talk to these dolls. Guess it's the same reason they're wearing those stupid florescent colored shades and fratty short-shorts, would be my last thought as I went on about my way, always feeling a bit of relief that I hadn't gone to a D-1 school. My college football experience was entirely different than that of students from those bigger schools, hell my whole college experience was entirely different I guess, and I have always felt pretty thankful for that.
At my undergrad we wore jeans and t-shirts to games, and denim skirts and jeans to the bar. "Dolling up" was reserved for big events like weddings and such. We just didn't worry about stuff like that and most of the time my crowd was sitting around a fire somewhere goofing around or playing horse shoes in the yard. There was no place for pearls or high heels.
Lubbock was a brief look for me into the ridiculous levels undergrads can go when it came to dressing up (I'd love to elaborate even more on what those sorority girls wore out to the bars and how fun it would be to watch them slowly turn into drunk hot-messes with mascara running down their faces, but that would take a whole other post) - and I didn't really think much about needing to play into it myself. Law school had its own circles in Lubbock and the undergrads were more or less a source of entertainment for us when we needed a good laugh.
So when we arrived in College Station Saturday morning for the biggest game of the year, I had somewhat prepared myself to see these mystical creatures once more. Actually, not gonna lie, I was a little bit excited. There is just something fun about seeing those girls. It's like when you see zebras randomly in a pasture while driving down the road. You just have to smile and wonder. I would almost love to just be a fly on the wall while they get ready, and hear the reasoning behind "oh I think this dress and these necklaces would be perfect for the football game" - because my mind just can't understand it.
But after having only unloaded the beer and put on our sunscreen and already dripping with sweat, I didn't really think they'd be able to survive. It was 11 AM and already the sun was beating down on us and it felt as if you were steaming in a sauna from the humidity. No way could a Game Day Princess survive in this. But alas, I was proven wrong.
No sooner had we made it to the tailgate to meet up with some of B's old friends that I spotted one. There she was, her long hair flowing down her back, perfectly curled, a skinny little headband cutely wrapped around her forehead, and just standing there, casually sipping on her margarita as her sheer little ivory dress rippled in the breeze that apparently was blowing for her and her alone. I couldn't help but stare and become awkwardly aware of the sweat that I could already feel forming on my back and forehead, causing the desperate attempt I had made to curl my hair pointless as it began to stick and cling to my sweaty face and neck. Thank God for my shades because I knew my eyeliner didn't stand a chance. B looked down at me and laughed as I wiped my face. Crap. I couldn't even make it an hour before I was melting into a disaster, in my t-shirt and flip-flops, and all the while that princess was surviving, hell, thriving, in this heat - all while wearing something that belonged at a bar not a tailgate. My mind was officially boggled.
I had just decided she was a phenomenon, a fluke, and blessed with good genes when another princess walked up and they casually chatted and compared bracelets and sparkly shoes. All while sipping their drinks, calm and cool as could be. My God. Who are these girls. Thankfully B was apparently used to seeing this and as we walked from tailgate to tailgate, we joked about the random outfits and get-ups these gals were in. We saw it all, from tight-fitting lacy dresses paired with boots to fluttery white little numbers that threatened to flutter up just a little too high at any moment. All perfectly in place and with no sweat stains in sight. Unbelievable and amazing all at the same time.
After sweating it out through the game and walking out of the stadium, I almost hoped to catch a glimpse of those same girls from earlier. Would they still look as great, still as perfect, or possibly would they have worn down a bit. Sadly, I'll never know. I couldn't find that headbanded girl again or her perfect friend, but I did see something that gave me hope. She looked like a little wounded butterfly, sitting there on the edge of a cooler, with two mismatched socks resting in the grass as her cute pair of boots sat crumpled next to her. She also looked a little drunk, her eye make-up smeared just a bit and her hair flat from the heat and an obvious stain of something, likely beer, down the front of a cream colored little dress. She just sat there, halfway watching the game of washers in front of her and seemingly halfway trying to hold herself up.
Maybe, just maybe, she had been one of those perfect little game-day princesses at one point today. All dolled up and ready for the game 8 hours ago. Maybe she pranced around in her boots and dress, drinking something flirty and giggling through a game of beer pong.
And maybe, just maybe, they really are like the rest of us too.
Why the hell would you wear that to a football game? was always my first thought upon seeing one. Why the hell are those guys actually taking her seriously, would be my next as I would watch the college boys just about fall over themselves to talk to these dolls. Guess it's the same reason they're wearing those stupid florescent colored shades and fratty short-shorts, would be my last thought as I went on about my way, always feeling a bit of relief that I hadn't gone to a D-1 school. My college football experience was entirely different than that of students from those bigger schools, hell my whole college experience was entirely different I guess, and I have always felt pretty thankful for that.
At my undergrad we wore jeans and t-shirts to games, and denim skirts and jeans to the bar. "Dolling up" was reserved for big events like weddings and such. We just didn't worry about stuff like that and most of the time my crowd was sitting around a fire somewhere goofing around or playing horse shoes in the yard. There was no place for pearls or high heels.
Lubbock was a brief look for me into the ridiculous levels undergrads can go when it came to dressing up (I'd love to elaborate even more on what those sorority girls wore out to the bars and how fun it would be to watch them slowly turn into drunk hot-messes with mascara running down their faces, but that would take a whole other post) - and I didn't really think much about needing to play into it myself. Law school had its own circles in Lubbock and the undergrads were more or less a source of entertainment for us when we needed a good laugh.
So when we arrived in College Station Saturday morning for the biggest game of the year, I had somewhat prepared myself to see these mystical creatures once more. Actually, not gonna lie, I was a little bit excited. There is just something fun about seeing those girls. It's like when you see zebras randomly in a pasture while driving down the road. You just have to smile and wonder. I would almost love to just be a fly on the wall while they get ready, and hear the reasoning behind "oh I think this dress and these necklaces would be perfect for the football game" - because my mind just can't understand it.
But after having only unloaded the beer and put on our sunscreen and already dripping with sweat, I didn't really think they'd be able to survive. It was 11 AM and already the sun was beating down on us and it felt as if you were steaming in a sauna from the humidity. No way could a Game Day Princess survive in this. But alas, I was proven wrong.
No sooner had we made it to the tailgate to meet up with some of B's old friends that I spotted one. There she was, her long hair flowing down her back, perfectly curled, a skinny little headband cutely wrapped around her forehead, and just standing there, casually sipping on her margarita as her sheer little ivory dress rippled in the breeze that apparently was blowing for her and her alone. I couldn't help but stare and become awkwardly aware of the sweat that I could already feel forming on my back and forehead, causing the desperate attempt I had made to curl my hair pointless as it began to stick and cling to my sweaty face and neck. Thank God for my shades because I knew my eyeliner didn't stand a chance. B looked down at me and laughed as I wiped my face. Crap. I couldn't even make it an hour before I was melting into a disaster, in my t-shirt and flip-flops, and all the while that princess was surviving, hell, thriving, in this heat - all while wearing something that belonged at a bar not a tailgate. My mind was officially boggled.
I had just decided she was a phenomenon, a fluke, and blessed with good genes when another princess walked up and they casually chatted and compared bracelets and sparkly shoes. All while sipping their drinks, calm and cool as could be. My God. Who are these girls. Thankfully B was apparently used to seeing this and as we walked from tailgate to tailgate, we joked about the random outfits and get-ups these gals were in. We saw it all, from tight-fitting lacy dresses paired with boots to fluttery white little numbers that threatened to flutter up just a little too high at any moment. All perfectly in place and with no sweat stains in sight. Unbelievable and amazing all at the same time.
After sweating it out through the game and walking out of the stadium, I almost hoped to catch a glimpse of those same girls from earlier. Would they still look as great, still as perfect, or possibly would they have worn down a bit. Sadly, I'll never know. I couldn't find that headbanded girl again or her perfect friend, but I did see something that gave me hope. She looked like a little wounded butterfly, sitting there on the edge of a cooler, with two mismatched socks resting in the grass as her cute pair of boots sat crumpled next to her. She also looked a little drunk, her eye make-up smeared just a bit and her hair flat from the heat and an obvious stain of something, likely beer, down the front of a cream colored little dress. She just sat there, halfway watching the game of washers in front of her and seemingly halfway trying to hold herself up.
Maybe, just maybe, she had been one of those perfect little game-day princesses at one point today. All dolled up and ready for the game 8 hours ago. Maybe she pranced around in her boots and dress, drinking something flirty and giggling through a game of beer pong.
And maybe, just maybe, they really are like the rest of us too.
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