My family’s roots run deep in the heart of Texas and even though I’ve lived on the East coast for 15 years, I still love the sight of cowboy hats and dusty pickup trucks and the sound of booted feet clunking across a wooden floor.
Even though he’s not a Texan, Mr. CPQ wore boots when he came to pick me up on our first date.
I took it as a very promising sign.
He also owns a Stetson.
Last week I read Heather’s blog post about their family’s trip to the rodeo and decided that this was an experience my kids needed to have. So last night we loaded them up and hauled them out to a local working farm that puts on a weekly rodeo and joined the crowd for a very warm evening of fun.
And I wish I could sport the bandana look as smashingly cool as Heather does.
Oh it was bliss. L3 sat in my lap and chewed on my necklace oblivious to the 2 ton charging bull right behind her.
She’s a good girl.
Already distracted by something shiny.
She’ll do well in life.
Mr. CPQ was slightly concerned about my fixation with the baby.
Behind that smile are a pair of eyes that said “Don’t even THINK about it.”
The boys loved the bull riding, and I was fascinated by the fact that the barrel racers chose sparkly shirts that matched their horses. There’s something to be said about looking good no matter what you do, but everyone knows that sequins are not wash and wear. I was overly concerned.
At half-time/intermission, the children were allowed to enter the arena and chase a calf and try to remove the ribbon from its tail. I laughed at the VERY healthy distance my kids kept from the bovine. They jumped right into the big middle of things for the chicken dance, however.
Several families chose intermission to get ice cream but guess what I still had in the back of the car from our morning’s festivities?
I’d like to tell you I shared the other half with a dusty, beat up, down-on-his-luck cowboy, but we all know that’d be a lie.
Happy trails to you.