Mama Needs a Cosmo

I spent the better part of this afternoon and evening helping my old neighborhood church (and my son’s school) get ready for their annual Parish Festival. It’s a big deal, this festival. And has been for the past 50-plus years.

Up until the time Jake started Kindergarten, I got to enjoy this shindig like all the rest of the festival visitors — at my leisure. I’d stop in on Saturday afternoon for some food, get a few margaritas, go home and sleep, and then go back on Saturday night when the band is loud and the dance floor is hopping and all my friends from elementary and high school look really awesome because I’VE HAD WAY TOO MUCH TO DRINK. Then Sunday I’d get in line for some Menudo and everything would be okay again.

But all that changed in 2008, when I decided that it was MY turn to learn the ropes and see what it was like to prepare food for 2,000 people. It was my turn to take over the reigns that my mom had been holding for the past 5 decades. Talk about some major shoes to fill.

I spent that weekend introducing myself as a new Kindergarten parent and, “Carole’s daughter.” And ever since then, the name (“Carole’s Daughter”) has kind of stuck.

“What’s your name again?”

“I’m Kathleen. Lancaster. Jake’s mom . . .”

“I’m sorry? . . .”

“I’m CAROLE BONILLA’S DAUGHTER.”

“Ohhhhh. I THOUGHT you looked familiar . . .”

Because that’s the kind of reputation my family has with this Parish. I’ll ALWAYS BE A BONILLA. And the “YOUNGEST” Bonilla at that. Even though I’ve been married to a Lancaster for TEN YEARS.

Anyway, I’ll be spending this weekend rolling dough for home-made piroshkis. I’ll fry meat and chop tomatoes and onions and cilantro for the best tacos north of Mexico. And I’ll consume mass quantities of free beer and margaritas because basically, if I’m wearing an apron covered in flour and salsa, and feeding those who pour beer and margaritas, they return the favor quite nicely.

Then on Sunday, we’ll all be thinking of HER.

Sunday is her birthday.

Time still hasn’t healed this wound, especially for my mom and her son.

And my favorite brother.

But being at the festival, and being all together, will help us get through the day a little easier.

She loved that school, and the piroshkis, and the best tacos north of Mexico.

She loved the festival, and the music, and being around her family.

We’ll save a spot at our table for her, and have the band play some of the music that she loved to listen to.

And maybe one of her brothers will jump on stage and steal the mic and sing her a song. And the rest of us will laugh and pee our pants and say, “She would have LOVED this.”

Because that’s what Bonillas do to celebrate the memory of their sister. And daughter. And mother. We party until we pee our pants.

Happy Birthday, Laurie.

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As a kid, I love LOVED going to the state fair. I was a food eating, ride riding, sweaty mess of a girl that dragged my mom through every inch of that fairgrounds.

Now, I’m a food eating, ride riding, sweaty HOT MESS of a mother, being dragged through every inch of the fairgrounds by her kids.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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Yes, I made them wear red shirts on purpose. Red hides ketchup quite nicely.

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"Mama! Do you see the baby goat? Oh my GOD! HE'S SOO SOFFFFT! MAMA! I'MMM PETTTTTING THE BABY GOOOOATT! DO YOU SEE ME? DO YOU?"

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Benny is riding the Mater Truck. But you can't really see Mater, because Benny was stage-directing the composition of this photo. "No mama. Closer! Get CLOSER. MAMA, I RIGHT HERRRE!!"

I’ve always wanted a little boy with long hair.

Growing up and all the way into my adult years, I’ve been a “rocker chick.” I liked my dudes to have longer hair than me. (Until I met the LOML, of course.)

And during those years, I envisioned having a little boy with super cool long hair and a leather jacket and a name like “Dominic” or “Thaddeus.”

I could not have been happier after having Jake — he actually CAME OUT OF THE WOMB WITH LONG HAIR. It was like the metal gods smiled down upon me and said, “Ye shall possess a first-born son with locks that Metallica themselves would be jealous of.”

But then the LOML intervened and Jake got his first haircut at 5 months old. Because the poor kid had hair so long that we had to pin it up “samurai style” to keep it out of his eyes and mouth. It’s been short ever since. And sometimes the LOML goes so far as to shave it all off at the beginning of summer, which irritates the crap out of me because it makes Jake look like “Vern” from Stand By Me.

Then along came Benny. WHO WAS BORN BALD.

It took him three years to get his trademark hair — the hair everyone likens to that of Dolly Madison.

The LOML has been threatening to get his hair cut since Christmas. Then in April, I decided that I thought I’d be ready to go through with it by Benny’s third birthday.

Which came and went with no scissors in sight. I thought I was home free.

Until this past weekend, when the LOML called me on my bet, loaded the car with my camera gear, and said, “Let’s go.”

There were a few moments before we even went in where I thought I might cry or vomit or grab Ben and make a run for it.

But I acquiesced, grabbed my rig, and started to shoot. It was the only thing that kept me from having an out of body experience.

Below is the before picture:

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Benny, ROCKING the Dolly Madison look and waiting patiently for his turn in the chair.

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The noise from the clippers drew Benny’s attention to his older brother. Who HATES getting his hair cut.

Benny looks on as his older brother is subjected to the clipper treatment.

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I probably should have promised him something cool, but all he got after he was done was a root beer sucker.

Seriously. Do I *REALLY* need a caption here?

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Five minutes later, Benny would get in the chair.

I love this image. He sat down in that chair as if we had said, "We'll buy you some ice cream if you sit still." Oh, wait . . .

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I have a photo of the “First Cut,” but I couldn’t bring myself to post it. Here’s what became of the first cut:

Remnants of the "First Cut."

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And finally, the “After” pictures:

This image makes Jake appear to be TWELVE YEARS OLD. Next week kids will start asking him to buy their beer.

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Here's the 'Zilla with his new 'do. His shoulder action reminds me of Schroeder from "Peanuts."

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He seems to think that, now that his hair is shorter, he can run faster. If I had made that argument before going in, the LOML probably would have kept his hair long.

I got this little nugget in the mail a month ago and, after calling in for two days, was notified that I was not needed.

Perhaps the prosecution and defense counsel shared my sentiment: The jury box is no place for a blogger.

A small part of me wanted to be foreman of the jury and eat stale sandwiches.

Benny turned three in July.

And, poor little guy, he didn’t get a party or balloons or even a CAKE.

Because he’s the 2nd child. And second children get the shaft until they’re old enough to know better. And, not only that, but he’s ONLY THREE. All he cared about was that someone sang him the birthday song and gave him ice cream and a toy that made lots of noise.

It looks like a tender moment, but what you don't see here is Benny flinging the spoon at his brother 10 seconds later.