The dangers of swimming.

This Fall, my mom had a pool put in her backyard. This was a big deal because my parents have always been afraid of having a pool since neither of them ever learned how to swim. So, while the pool has been a great source of fun for the rest of us, it has been a source of fear for my mom. She worries that she'll walk out there and see all the children in the neighborhood drowning in her pool at once and has convinced herself that she would get disoriented and drown if she jumped in to save them.

Her worries have entertained us almost as much as the pool has.

This weekend, the subject of drowning children came up again (it's a favorite and recurrent topic since the installation of the pool) and we got to hear about another one of my mom's fears:

Mom: I'm just saying that if a kid were drowning at the bottom of the pool, I wouldn't be able to reach them.
Erin: Yes you would. You would have to just go under the water and grab them.
Mom: I can't.
Erin: Why not?
Mom: Because I can't put my face in the water - I'd breathe it in.
Erin: You'd breathe in water?
Mom: Yeah.
Erin: No you wouldn't.
Mom: Yes I would.
Catherine: No, Mom - it's instinctual. Your body wouldn't let you just breathe in water unless you just absolutely couldn't hold your breath anymore.
Erin: It's like when you take a shower and you put your face in the water.
Mom: I never do that. I always keep my face away from the water because I don't want to breathe it in.
Erin: Oh good God . . .

We told her we'd show her how to hold her breath on Sunday when we all came over to swim. We thought we'd start with just making her put her face in the water so that she could see that she wouldn't aspirate half the pool in the process. So, when Sunday arrived, we all got in the pool and my mom surprised us by swimming about 2 feet with her face under water. It was quite a big deal - apparently, Emma and Ben (9 and 6 years old) had worked with her the day before and taught her all she needed to know about swimming. It was quite the accomplishment and Emma and Ben are impressive teachers.

So, with the whole face-under-water dilemma out of the way, we thought we'd work on what I like to call "Save the Drowning Kid" drills - that's the kind of frolicking Spring fun we Palmores have. For these drills, we threw a blue ball into the water and let it sink to the bottom of the shallow end of the pool which is only about 3 feet deep. Once the ball hit the bottom, my mom had to retrieve it. This was WAY more entertaining than I could have ever dreamed because she had some trouble propelling herself down to the ball. So the result was that she would just sort of flail around on the surface of the water while reaching toward the ball with everything she had. My 5 year old niece Avery could NOT understand the problem and just kept saying "Like THIS, Dearsie" and then she'd dive down and get the ball in less than 3 seconds. My mom, spurred on by Avery's challenges, would get a determined look in her eye, put her face in the water, and commence to flailing again. It was awesome.

At one point, she was able to stretch out and reach the ball so her head was probably about a foot under water. She came up and we cheered for her. Then we had this conversation:

Mom: My right eye is hurting me a little.
Catherine: Yeah - it's the chlorine. Takes a while to get used to.
Mom: No - I think it's the pressure from being so far under water.
[silence]
Catherine: What?
Mom: I think it's from the pressure. You know how that happens.
Erin: Mom - you were like a foot under water.
Mom: Yeah, I know. [nodding like Erin was agreeing with her]
Erin: [going along with it] Yeah - it probably made your eyes bug out. Mine do it all the time when I stick my head under water. You have to be careful - they'll pop right out on ya. One of the dangers of owning a pool.
Catherine: Mom, it's just the chlorine.
Mom: Yeah [again nodding like I've just agreed with her] - I think it's from the decompression.
Erin and Catherine: [laughing and wiping tears from our eyes]
[Tammy walks back out from inside the house and walks over to us]
Catherine: Well . . . apparently, Mom's got "the Bends."

And to think . . . we have a whole summer of this material ahead of us.

It's just too good to be true!!

Nora and The Caller

One of my favorite stories about my mom happened a few years ago when she was working as a receptionist at the real estate sales office of a local neighborhood and she got a call from an obscene caller. But the beauty of it - and the reason this story is legend in our family - is that she didn't know it was an obscene phone call . . . she thought it was my cousin David calling to chat. And the result?

Hilarious.

Mom: Carlton Woods, this is Nora, how can I help you?
Guy: Hi, Nora.
Mom: Hi! [cheerfully] Who's this?
Guy: Who do you THINK it is?
Mom: [thinking . . .] David?
Guy: [pauses] . . . YEAH. [probably gearing up to do his best heavy breathing but . . .]
Mom: Hi!! How are you?
Guy: [pauses] . . . I'm good.
Mom: Are you still living in Dallas?
Guy: . . . Yeah . . . [about to begin heavy breathing but then . . .]
Mom: How are the girls?
Guy: The girls? . . . They're great!
Mom: Oh that's good to hear. Do you get to see them much?
Guy: Not as much as I'd like to.
Mom: I know that must be hard. So when are you going to come down to see us?
Guy: Well . . . I was thinking about coming soon.
Mom: Are you in Houston now??
Guy: [pauses, perhaps thinking "this is the easiest call I've ever made"] Yep!
Mom: Oh! Well, Charlie's out of town! And I'm at work. But Catherine's home from law school. And I think Tammy might be at the house. She's sick.
Guy: Well, I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to stop by today. I was just calling to tell you that I'm dating someone.
Mom: You are?
Guy: Yep.
Mom: Great! How's it going?
Guy: Pretty good. She's pretty different. She's not like other girls I've dated.
Mom: In what way?
Guy: Well, she likes to try new things . . .
Mom: Oh. Like what? . . . [Warning, Mom! Warning! Get out of there!!]
Guy: Well . . . how old is Catherine now?
Mom: 27.
Guy: 27? Wow. She grew up fast, huh?
Mom: I know.
Guy: Do you think she'd be up for a three-way?
Mom: [frowning and quickly sitting up straight] What?
Guy: A three-way. Do you think Catherine would be up for a three-way?
Mom: [stunned silence, mouth agape]
Guy: She's so pretty. I think it would be pretty hot.
Mom: David, I'm pretty disappointed in you right now. I think I better hang up now.

My poor mom. She hung up the phone still convinced that my cousin David had gone off the deep end she just kept thinking "Charlie is gonna be so mad when he hears how David was talking to me!" Then she happened to share the story with some of the guys she worked with and, after they finished with their fits of hysterical laughter, they told her that it sounded like it was a prank call. And that's when it hit her.

Then she started hyperventilating.

When she got home, she just cried and cried because she had come THIS close to asking him if he wanted directions to the house. She couldn't believe that she had given the guy all the information that he had needed to make it the easiest obscene call of his life. She felt horrified, humiliated, and distraught.

And the rest of us felt sore from laughing so hard.

Hip and with it . . .

I've told you all before that I don't have much street cred. I mean, I listen to country and contemporary Christian stations so I'm not really up on today's Top 40 music scene. I have no idea what Jay-Z looks like, am more than slightly afraid of Snoop Dog, and say sentences like "I don't mind a song with 'some raps' in it." My friends at work decided that they needed to intervene so that I don't keep embarrassing them with my ignorance so they gave me a list of stations that I had to begin listening to immediately. Since then I've been listening to Top 40 stations every day and have to admit that I feel cooler already. Plus, as a bonus, I've found some songs that I really like.

I've also found some songs that make me laugh out loud in my car. Seriously - some of the lyrics in these songs are RIDICULOUS. For instance . . .

Tik Tok - Ke$ha (please note how hip-and-with-it I am for remembering that she spells her name with a $ . . .):
Now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick ‘em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger

Wait. Really? Don't you mean "We kick 'em to the curb IF they look like Mick Jagger?" I mean, have you SEEN him? Can I have your rejects?


Nothin' on You - B.O.B.
baby you the whole package
plus you pay your taxes

Well, that was a stretch. Seems like he could've come up with something better than that. But, hey - looks like he has his priorities in order . . .?


Bedrock - Young Money:
My room is the G-Spot
Call me Mr. Flintstone - I can make your Bedrock.

Wow. I just . . . - I don't . . . - Did he . . . - wow.


Sexy Bitch - David Guetta:
She's nothing like a girl you've ever seen before
Nothing you can compare to your neighborhood whore
I'm trynna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful

[Well . . . you could start by not using the word "whore" in a song about her. But that's okay. Rookie mistake - anyone could make it. Keep going . . .]

The way, that booty movin' - I can't take no more
Have to stop what I'm doin', so I can pull up her close
I'm tryinna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful

Damn Girl!!!
Damn, you's a sexy bitch, sexy bitch!
Damn, you's a sexy bitch!

Damn Girl!!!
Damn, you's a sexy bitch, sexy bitch!
Damn, you's a sexy bitch!

Damn Girl!!

Oh boy. Okay. Ummmmm . . . maybe we should get on the same page about what you mean by "disrespectful" . . .


Please - please, for the love of God - GIVE ME MY GEORGE STRAIT BACK.

BIG news?

I read a series of articles the other day about how some designers used "curvy" models on their runways during the recent Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks. As I love a good Swiss Cake Roll and the way "Can I add bacon to that?" rolls off the tongue, I was intrigued by the headlines. I clicked on the articles and read about how some forward-thinking designers are switching to the use of "curvier" models because they are finally realizing that the anorexic-heroin-addict look hasn't really caught on like they thought it would. For a moment, I really admired the fashion industry for finally accepting that the rest of the world has some meat on its bones.

Then I saw the picture of the "curvy" models:

Really? You know, one good rule of thumb to keep in mind is that, in general, if your knee bone is wider than your thigh, you are not "curvy."

And another rule to remember is that putting on a XXXL robe doesn't get you into the "curvy" club, either.

I don't get it. I mean, I get that these models actually have figures but why all the hype? They don't look THAT different. Nope - I just don't get it.

And, incidentally, I don't get why all these women appear to have put their hair back in the "I'm about to wash my face" hairstyle. But I guess that's why I'm not a fashion designer.

All joking aside, I do appreciate that they really are using models who have waists and busts and who don't suddenly make me feel like I need to give to the "Feed the Children" campaign. So I'll give kudos for that. But they would choke on their cigarettes and uppers if they knew my definition of "curvy."

Some designers looked like they got the "Let's use curvy models this year" memo AFTER they had already tailored their clothes for the malnourished models:

I don't really know what's happening here. And I don't think she does, either.


Seriously? Why are they doing this to this poor girl? Is this like model hazing or something? Are they trying to make an example of her?


Wow. If this wasn't the "When 'Spanx' Go Wrong" part of Fashion Week, I really don't know what to tell ya.


Honestly, I don't know how her underwear hasn't cut off the feeling in her legs yet.

Ah the fashion industry - always good for a laugh.

These Fashion Week articles reminded me of another article I read a while back - it was about an Olympic athlete who had recently put on 10 pounds and how the additional weight was making her a better athlete. But the article made me roll my eyes by saying things like how we wouldn't even recognize her as the person she was before and how the new weight had turned her into a completely different person.

Seriously? 10 pounds? 10 pounds usually just makes me cuss - it doesn't turn me into a different person. If it did, I'd have multiple personalities by now.

And I don't.

Yes, you do.

No, I don't.

Shut up.

No, YOU shut up.

Little orphan Catchy?

I love that I live so close to my sisters and that I get to have such a close relationship with my nieces and nephew. I love that I get to have them over for slumber parties, that they know that when their mommies so no, Catchy will say yes, and that I've had the opportunity to brainwash them into thinking that I am the best aunt that ever lived.

No but, seriously - I am.

I love watching them and listening to them but sometimes I wonder what they observe about ME. What will they remember about me from their childhoods? Do they think that I'm a good person? Do they see me treating people well? Am I good role model for them? Am I someone they look up to? These are important things to think about when you're the greatest aunt that ever lived - I want to be a good influence in their lives and I hope that I'm the type of person they would want to be.

This weekend, I got a little insight into what they observe about me when my sister Tammy told me about a funny conversation that she had with my 6 year old nephew, Ben:

Ben: Mommy . . . when I grow up, I don't wanna get married.
Tammy: Why not?
Ben: Because I wanna be like Catchy - I wanna be an orphan.

Hilarious. And I think it's the first time in history that the phrase "I wanna be an orphan" wasn't followed immediately by a CPS investigation . . .

So it looks like we might need to have a little vocabulary lesson with Ben. But, in the meantime . . . looks like I'm making the single life look good!

The greatest Nora translation of all time.

We have an Irish pub in our town called Goose's Acre and it's really a great place to eat. We call it a pub but, in reality, it's more like a restaurant with a pub feel so it's a popular place for lunch and dinner. It's located on our Waterway here in town and we love to go up there for lunch on pretty days and sit at a table on the Waterway. You really can't beat it.

As you know, today was St. Patrick's Day and, not surprisingly, half the town celebrates it at Goose's Acre because it's . . . well . . . Irish so naturally it's the first place that pops into everyone's mind. Including my mom's. But the difference between my mom and everyone else is that they remember the name of it . . .

Mom: Do you want meet for lunch today?
Erin: Sure!
Mom: I was thinking it would be fun to meet up at Lazy Oaks.
Erin: Lazy Oaks?
Mom: Yeah!
Erin: [racking her brain to figure out the translation from Nora-ese to English]
Mom: [Totally unaware that she wasn't even CLOSE to getting the name right] We could get a table on the river!
Erin: [eyebrows furrowed, concentrating on a spot on the floor, still thinking . . .]
Mom: You know - since it's such a nice day.
Erin: [closing eyes and rubbing forehead, still thinking and muttering as if something will come to her . . .] Lazy Oaks . . . Lazy Oaks . . . Lazy Oaks . . .
Mom: I think it would be fun!
Erin: Lazy Oaks . . . Lazy - . . . GOOSE'S ACRE??
Mom: [As if that's what she'd said all along . . .] Yeah! Don't you think that would be fun?
Erin: Wow. You were pretty close, Mom . . .

MAJOR props to Erin for figuring that one out. I mean, she had NOTHING to work with. Normally there's some kind of connection, you know? Like we were able to figure out that "Killing Sergeant Somebody" was Nora-ese for "Saving Private Ryan" because there was at least a military reference. But Lazy Oaks has NOTHING to do with Goose's Acre. There's no connection whatsoever . . . I have no idea how she did it. That has to be one of the greatest translation feats of all time.

Bravo, Erin. Bravo.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!!!

I love St. Patrick's Day. I love all the green decorations. I love all the shamrocks. I love all the bad Irish accent imitations. And I love that it's the one day a year that people can pinch each other without legal ramifications. I mean, how can you beat THAT??

So in honor of St. Paddy's Day, I thought I'd share one of my favorite Irish moments with you . . .

I got my first trip to Ireland as a high school graduation present. I was really excited to go but was a little nervous at the prospect of traveling in Europe alone. The next day at school, I had this conversation with my best friend:

Me: Guess what my parents gave me for graduation?
Jill: What???
Me: A trip to England and Ireland!
Jill: Oh my gosh, Catherine! I'm sooooooo coming with you!
Me: I wish you would - that would be SO fun! I think it would be way better if I had someone with me!
Jill: No, you don't understand. My mom works for Continental so I can get a free ticket . . . I AM coming with you.

So we saved up our spending money and went to Europe for 6 weeks during the summer after our freshman year in college. After 2 weeks in England with two families I knew there, we went to Ireland to spend 4 weeks with my extended Irish family in a little village called Summerhill in the County of Meath. Since my grandpa was the only one of his seven brothers and sisters to move to America from Ireland, we have LOTS of family still there. And even though none of them had ever laid eyes on me until that visit, they treated me and Jill as if we had lived there all along. We just fell in love with everyone. And with Ireland.

My uncle Paddy and his wife Mairead still live at Oldtown, which is the name of the old family homeplace in Summerhill. It's a beautiful dairy farm that was started by my great-grandfather back in the early 1900s and is currently run by my cousin Terry. To me, it is quintessential Ireland because it's off of a small country road, has a beautiful view of green fields, and is within 2 minutes of a classic Irish pub. I love that Jill and I got to stay there and experience life on an Irish farm because, to me, it makes for the perfect Irish experience.

We loved our visit so much that we went back two years later, after our junior year in college. During that visit, we city girls jumped into the farm life and "helped" my cousin Terry load some bales of hay onto a trailer bed so that he could deliver them to another field. When I say "helped" I mean that we stood on the trailer and just climbed up on the hay each time he added another layer to the stack that he was hauling. This is how it worked: we stood on the empty trailer while he used a pitchfork to load a few bales on. When he had almost filled the trailer with one layer of hay, we climbed up onto the bales that he had loaded and then he finished filling the trailer with that first layer of bales. Then he started the second layer and we climbed up onto those bales so that we would be out of his way while he finished loading that layer. We repeated this several times - layer after layer - until we were finally sitting high on top of a trailer full of hay. Then Terry fired up the tractor and began the slow drive to the neighboring field where the bales had to be unloaded. It was so much fun to be on top of all the hay - we were so high up in the air! It was like the mother of all hay rides. The whole thing rocked back and forth with every bump in the road but we were having too much fun to worry about falling to our bloody deaths or anything. We just sat there talking and enjoying the beautiful weather and the gorgeous Irish scenery around us. It was the perfect Irish moment. At one point, we were so lost in our conversation that we failed to realize that we were headed right for some low-hanging tree branches. One minute we were chatting about something and then then next minute we're being mauled by a tree. We screamed and swatted at the branches like they were a bunch of bees attacking us. But it was over as soon as it had started and we emerged from the attacking branches. We looked around bewildered, our sunglasses hanging off of our faces and leaves sticking out of our hair. Then we spent about 10 minutes laughing . . . and paying more attention to approaching trees.

When we got to the neighboring field, Terry unloaded the bales one layer at a time and we climbed down as each layer was unloaded. After Terry had finished all the hard work and Jill and I had picked all the leaves out of our hair, it was time to head back to Oldtown. Instead of all cramming into the tractor, Jill and I decided that we would just ride on the now-empty trailer. Now you should know that riding on the empty trailer was a bit of a challenge because there was no floor to it - it was just a bunch of slats. And the sides were open so there was really nothing to hold onto except for the front end of the trailer that was right by the hitch, in between the two big rear wheels of the tractor. So we had to balance on the slats and hold onto the hitch on the ride back to the farm. No biggie, right?

We hopped on, grabbed on to the bar, and Terry started the drive back to the family farm. Jill and I just chatted and enjoyed the weather and the view. Again, the perfect Irish moment. Then Terry started to go a little faster and I felt something hit my leg. I casually looked down to see what it was and, to my horror, I saw that it was cow poop. COW. POOP. That's when we realized that the tires were covered in cow manure and they were flinging it all back at us. And that's when all hell broke loose. Suddenly, we were under heavy fire and kept having to duck and block poop shots left and right. We couldn't get away from it because we had to hold onto the bar that was above the hitch so that we didn't fall off the side or between the slats. So we were trapped in the poop zone and screaming our heads off - you know, the way you expect girls to scream when they're being pelted by cow manure. Terry looked back at us but, because we were also laughing hysterically as we screamed, he thought we were just being silly and so he kept on going. He got faster and faster and the poop just kept on coming - sometimes in little flecks, sometimes in big, horrifying, airborne clumps. At one point, I put my hand in my hair to pull my bangs out of my face so that I could see oncoming poop shrapnel and a big piece of poop landed on my hand. When I saw the greenish brownish splatter on the back of my hand, my eyes bugged out and I screamed something like "THAT ALMOST LANDED IN MY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!" Jill and I both screamed as the very real possibility of poop clumps in our hair began to sink in. And that's when it occurred to us that, if we kept screaming, poop might fly into our mouths so we started just scream-grunting with tight lips and bugged out eyes while we dodged clump after clump. It was horrible.

And hilarious.

It's one of my favorite memories from that trip. And it was educational, too - I learned five important things that day:

1) Never ride backwards on a really tall hay ride.
2) The treads of tractor tires are REALLY deep and can hold a LOT of manure.
3) Even if they moo with a cool accent, Irish cow poop is as disgusting as American cow poop.
4) My favorite Irish curse word is "shite."
5) Until you've shouted "Shite!" while dodging . . . well . . . shite, you haven't lived.

Happy St. Paddy's Day, everyone!!