What is wrong with this picture?
I’ll tell you what’s wrong.
Some moron checked the wrong box on the order form and instead of two boxes of Thin Mints ended up with two boxes of Tagalongs.
That moron is me.
I’m sure in time I’ll forgive myself, but for now I’ll just go drown my sorrows in some Do-si-dos.
And perhaps figure out where I can purchase some Thin Mints.
Oh you read that right my dear internet people, instead of the usual Fashion Friday where I dispense vast amounts of potentially useless fashion tips, I’m having a little contest with the chance to win cash and fabulous prizes.
Or just one fabulous prize.
After last Friday’s post on children’s clothing, I thought it would be fun to figure out a way to let one lucky reader go on a shopping spree for her kids. Because, really, what is more fun than shopping for your little bundle of adorable who looks good in anything and isn’t worried about things like muffin top and flabby arms that could be made into a change purse?
The nice folks at CWDKids have made this dream of mine possible. Not the dream where chocolate donuts are non-fattening and totally healthy, but the dream to host a giveaway for my readers.
I am giving away a $300.00 gift certificate to CWDKids. Three hundred American dollars.
That will buy a lot of wee clothing.
In fact, if I won (which I’m pretty sure is against the rules) I would buy this and this and this.
And then I would buy this and this and this.
Unless I had a boy, in which case there isn’t enough therapy in the world to dress them in those clothes.
If you have boys, y’all may want to check out something more like this.
Or this.
And remember, their kids sizes go up to size 14 and they also have some things for mamas.
So, here’s what you need to do:
1. Go over to CWDKids.
2. Check out their stuff and find your favorite thing that your little cracker-eater would look precious in.
3. Come back and tell me about it in the comments.
The contest will end at 12:00 central time on February 14th. I’ll use the fabulous random number generator to pick a winner from the comments and announce it then. It will be the best Valentine’s Day present EVER.
One entry per person, please.
Y’all have fun!
Guess what we did Tuesday night?
We went to the rodeo. Again.
And what can I say about the rodeo that hasn’t already been said? I’ll be completely honest.
Not a lot.
It feels a little bit like Go Western Week here at Big Mama, which if you’re not from Texas probably means nothing to you. But when I was growing up in Houston, we always had Go Western Week at our elementary school. Everyone would wear their best cowboy or cowgirl clothes and the highlight was an art contest.
I have no idea what the prize was for the art contest, but I remember entering it every year in hopes of winning. This was back before I came to terms with my lack of craft abilities. As a third grader I didn’t realize I was artistically challenged and just because I could conceptualize how cool it would look to make a ranch fence out of old popsicle sticks and use leftover Easter grass to simulate the rolling prairies, didn’t mean it would actually translate to my 11 x 16 poster board.
And even though Sheila Barker, who was completely obsessed with all things equine, had personally taught me how to draw a horse, didn’t mean I could actually draw a decent looking horse. You know, a horse that looked like a horse, as opposed to a big, brown dinosaur with an abnormally large head who was roaming through fields of Easter grass and towered above his popsicle stick enclosed pasture.
I can’t even talk about the year I thought it would be a good idea to use real yarn for his mane and tail.
So, now that I think about it, this isn’t really like Go Western Week at all because there will be no crafts. However, there has been much Western activity in these here parts.
Last night, we all got ready to head to the rodeo. Caroline has developed a deep love and appreciation for barrel-racing and couldn’t wait to go see those cowgirls ride their horses. Here she is waiting for our friends to come pick us up.
Not that she was anxious or anything.
And by the way, she tucked her jeans into her boots all by herself. I am so proud of her innate fashion sensibilities. I think she’s fashionally gifted.
Here she is after she asked if she could go wait in the backyard and I told her yes, as long as she didn’t get dirty.
So she decided to dig in the flower beds with a shovel because everyone knows that won’t get you dirty at all. Of course, other than her mother being anal, why did it matter if she got dirty? We were going to an arena filled with horses and horse poop.
And y’all don’t even want to know about the smell coming from the goat pens.
Here are my people right before we headed out the door.
I’m not entirely sure, but I think she may think her daddy hung the moon.
Rumor has it there was a time in P’s life where he always wore Wranglers and cowboy hats. And sometimes even spurs. I didn’t know him during this time so I can’t confirm the rumors, but I do have to say the hat agrees with him.
We got to the stockyards a little late, so we had to prioritize our activities to make sure we got to the arena before the rodeo started.
Priority #1 for the adults: Corndogs and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Because, hello, food.
Priority #1 for the kids: Pony rides.
Guess what we did?
And then we got corndogs. Oh my word, they were like heaven on a stick. There is something about a rodeo corndog that cannot be replicated by lesser corndog establishments. The batter is perfection.
Perfection.
Speaking of perfection, Caroline had herself some cotton candy. In her opinion it is the perfect food.
Especially when topped off with a lemon.
This created a substance similar to super glue all over her face that defied the powers of several wet paper towels. I’m hoping it will come off by the time she graduates from high school.
After watching all the rodeo festivities, we were tired and it was time to head home. But we made great memories.
And tomorrow, we’re going to go pick up crafty-type materials to make homemade Valentine’s Day cards. While we’re there I may pick up some popsicle sticks, poster board, and Easter grass to create an entire rodeo re-enactment.
Complete with horses that look like dinosaurs.
Back when P and I started dating, he wasn’t exactly a ladies man. I mean, not that he’s a ladies man now, but I think it’s safe to say that after ten years of being married to me, he understands women a little bit better than he did before.
BBM (Before Big Mama), P would have been content to live on a ranch somewhere with his vast gun collection and perhaps a bag of Cheetos. In fact, for the first six months we dated he broke up with me everytime I cried because he was sure it meant I had some kind of mental instability.
And if you’re a woman (which, let’s be honest, I’m betting I don’t have a ton of male readers) you can do the math and know that six months of dating means I cried at least six times. Once every month. I blame the hormones.
My point is P was headed straight for bachelorhood and multiple gun safes filled to the brim to keep him warm at night.
But then I came along and reeled him in with enough charm and feminine wiles to overrule my emotional instability. He honestly told me one time that he didn’t know girls cried.
Then he met me.
And now he has a daughter, which is proof that God has a tremendous sense of humor.
I realized I was dating a true Casanova when our first February together rolled around and I was secretly, anxiously awaiting my first Valentine’s Day present from the man I was sure I was going to marry. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to think it might even be an engagement ring!
My bubble was burst when P asked me on February 13th when Valentine’s Day was and did it fall on the second Tuesday in February? I guess he thought it was like Easter or Thanksgiving, as opposed to a holiday made up by the greeting card industry.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize he probably hadn’t done any diamond shopping. Oh, but he did have time to go pick out a giant-sized tin of caramel popcorn.
I cried. And, of course, we broke up due to my emotional instability and lack of appreciation for caramel-coated popcorn in quantities large enough to feed my entire apartment complex.
The other night, P and I were watching T.V., although I can’t for the life of me remember what we were watching since NOTHING is the only thing that’s on right now. But we sit and watch anyway because otherwise we might pick up a book and read or something.
A Valentine’s Day commercial came on. Y’all know what I’m talking about, the ads that are targeted to people who apparently have vast amounts of disposable income to spend on diamonds to remind her you’ll love her today, tomorrow and forever.
P reminds me he’ll love me today, tomorrow and forever by taking out the trash and working to support me in the style to which I’ve grown accustomed. It’s much more practical.
He looked at me and said, “When’s Valentine’s Day?”
I said, “The second Tuesday in February.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right.”
“No. No it’s not. It’s February 14th!” I said, as I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Why did you roll your eyes?”
“Because we’ve had this conversation every February for the last 13 years.”
“What does it matter what day it falls on? Being married to me is like having Valentine’s every day.”
Who can argue with that?
I just hope he doesn’t forget to order my industrial-sized tin of popcorn.
Last week, Caroline and I went shopping to buy her some new cowboy boots, or as she kept reminding me cowGIRL boots. It is rodeo time, and according to Texas state law all children attending the rodeo must have boots. And big cowboy hats.
As we drove home I said, “Man, those pink boots sure are going to make the rodeo special!”
“Mama, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about our friends, and the cowboys, and God.”
It’s like the holy Texas trinity.
On Saturday we went to the rodeo with Gulley and her family. The plan was to meet Gulley at her house at 11:30 that morning, which was no problem for us because Caroline had her new boots on as soon as she got out of bed at 7:15 a.m. Fortunately, I convinced her to crawl in bed with me, boots and all, and watch “Dora the Explorer” for about 45 more minutes. It would have been a lovely, leisurely way to spend the morning other than having a cowgirl boot continually wedged between my neck and shoulder while being grilled about “What time are we leaving? Is it time yet? Can we go now?”
Eventually, it was finally time to go so I loaded up Nicole Richie and we headed to Gulley’s.
She looked fierce.
But remember, the rodeo isn’t about us. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.
On the way to Gulley’s, I said, “When the rodeo starts we can yell YEE-HAW and RIDE ‘EM COWBOY and WHOO-HOO!”
She said, “Mama, please don’t say any of that.”
I have a feeling her adolescent years are going to be chockfull of times where she is completely mortified by my behavior.
Caroline and Jackson were so happy to be together and on their way to the rodeo.
The experience of trying to get them all in a picture was not unlike herding a group of rabid cats.
We finally made it down to the AT&T center where we were greeted with the sweet, sweet smell of a place that has large quantities of livestock in one location. Since it was almost time for the rodeo to start, we didn’t have time to walk around the stockyards so we went right inside. I bought Caroline and I each a $5.00 hot dog and a $4.00 bottle of water. It was $18.00 plus tax that was well spent, especially because there was absolutely no price gouging going on.
In fact, the hot dog was a bargain compared to the coin we shelled out on cotton candy. But obviously cotton candy has to be expensive because it’s air and sugar. The price of air is sky-high right now.
But those smiles almost made it totally worth it.
Almost.
We sat back and watched the fireworks, the bull-riding, the barrel-racing and the rodeo clowns. The kids clapped and cheered. Caroline might have even yelled a few “Yee-Haws!” after she got in the spirit of the event. I know I did because I like to be authentic.
Look y’all. Pictures of bulls and rodeo stuff.
And confirmation that I am not a photographer in spite of the fabulous picture I took of Caroline’s face in the bubble bath. A picture that, by the way, I will have blown up and framed to serve as proof of that one time I took a good picture.
Alan Jackson performed and if he had been any more laidback, he would have been asleep. Speaking of sleep, that’s what Gulley’s boys did. They fell asleep. At the rodeo.
Guess who didn’t fall asleep?
Guess who kept asking when it was going to be over and kept begging to go ride the ponies?
I finally told Gulley that we’d ride the ponies after the show was over but could she please be quiet so I could hear Alan Jackson sing.
After his performance we went out to the stockyards.
Caroline was so excited to see the Pillsbury Doughboy. After all the cookie dough we’ve eaten in this house, it was like seeing an old, familiar friend.
Finally, it was time for the pony rides.
And we’re doing it all over again tomorrow night.
But this time I’m eating a corn dog and a funnel cake.
Because the rodeo isn’t about new pink boots. It’s about friends, and cowboys, and God.
And what can make you feel closer to God than dough that’s been deep-fried and covered in powdered sugar?
Remember two weeks ago during my hair retrospective how we all took a walk down memory lane and had some chuckles at the ghost of fashion past?
Ha, ha, ha. What were we thinking? Who would wear that? Why did we think that looked good?
Last week I went to Target and I saw these.
I thought Target was just trying to be funky and retro. Oh Target, you are such a kidder with your tongue in cheek nod to the 70’s.
You almost had me going there for a minute.
Then, while shopping at Nordstrom, I saw these Steve Madden shoes.
And then I saw these Nine West shoes.
Michael Kors is also a fan.
Hello. You’re not fooling me, footwear fashion designers.
Those are Yo Yo’s.
And I’m starting to think they look cute.
Help me. I’ve been brainwashed.
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