And They Call The Thing A Rodeo...

My Dear Readers,

It is a beautiful day here in Eastern Nebraska and I'm in a very good mood. The children are playing outside, which explains my level of calm. The baby is blithely nursing - this is an accomplishment, I tell ya - not because he's eating, Oh no, he does that all the time - but because he is now such a nursing aficionado that I can rely on him to be snack-happy while I type with both hands. 

Sorry, there will be no pictures. 

Instead I'll treat you to the definition of aficionado. 

Aficionado : a person who likes, knows about, and appreciates a usually fervently pursued interest or activity.  

Yep, that would be him.

My kitchen is clean and I am managing to corral the laundry. There are pricarious stacks of boxes around the house. I have to keep a close eye on T-boy or he will climb Mt. Cardboard and jump off the corrugated cliffs. The last thing I need at the moment is a child in a cast, help us all! We are all getting excited about moving and the paperwork pack-horse manages to travel steadily toward the elusive closing date without too many hitches in it's get-along.

So, because I'm massively behind this month and this month my behind is massive...

Because life has been bucking me off my blog lately and because my camera has been sitting this one out...

I'll share a real live rodeo moment from a while back.

I bought the tickets for Mr. Loggerhead because he enjoys a good rodeo and it had been years since we went to one. Over seven years, in fact, I think we were dating the last time we watched the cowboys hit the dust. The closest we've come since then is watching my sister's dating habits - the cowboys hit the dust all right. "Cowboys aren't really my type", she says. 

I can see why, in a way...

They do this on purpose. How much sense can they have? [hee-hee]

These guys were the true heroes of the hour. 

Three cheers for our troupes!

Three cheers for wisening up, too.

Mr. Loggerhead rode saddle broncs on the rodeo circuit for a while.

His mama found out. 

He started dating me. 

That was the end of that.

Being married to me and having three children is enough of an adrenaline rush for him these days.

Thank goodness.

I mean, hello!? 

They weigh umpteen pounds, get points for being mean and have horns!

What part of that says, 

"Hmmm... I think I should jump on his back and see if I can stay on for 8 seconds."

Whatever it is, it says it over... and over... and over. 

Because those guys just keep getting back on those bulls. 

And sometimes that big ole' bull really gets on them.

Yeah, you better limp, boy!!

Personally I go to look at the horses.

And I secretly root for the bulls.

I can relate in a way. 

Don't you ever just want to say, 

 "Get off my back, would ya?" 

and give those worries a good buck and a kick?

This one was my favorite. He just stopped.

I can relate to that, as well- sometimes I stop and forget to start again, too.

Oh and here's a shot of Mr. Loggerhead and I trying to put T-boy in time out.

And we're down!

Hmmmm... the hog-tie. Maybe we'll try that next time.

Speaking of trying things...

This is a sheep.

On it's back is someone's four year-old.

They call this a sport.

The announcer called it organized child abuse.

My kids said, "We can do that! Piece of cake! We wanna try!".

They're tough, my kids.

So tough.

Look at that face.

Or not.

She cried when we told her you had to sign-up ahead of time for Mutton Bustin'.

Big, salty tears were spilled over not getting to ride a sheep, people.

"You can do it next time, honey. Here, have some cotton candy."

Because putting my child on the back of a dirty, wooly beast, with only a bike helmet to protect their melon, and watching, while screaming, "Don't let go, baby!" as the baaaaa-d thing meanders across the corral, wobbling all the way and bleating plaintively to it's friends, "Help! It's got me and it won't let go" -  is definitely on the top of my mothering to-do list

No really, it is.

Next, we distracted her from the sheep-ish moment by pointing out the women's barrel-racing and asked if she'd like to do that someday. She said, "No, I'm gonna be one of those girls on the horses with the sparkly pink shirts and crowns on their hats." 

Good gravy! Out of the whole place she zeroed in on the dad-gum 'rodeo queens'.

So much for the tough-girl act.

***

I think this guy won.

Pshaw, I could do that! He thinks he's talented.

But can he load the dishwasher faster than the baby can unload it... or wrestle the baby into a fresh diaper without any toxic evidence left on the baby, him, the floor, or the ceiling... fold all the clothes while bouncing a baby on his hip, stopping the pre-schooler from knocking the piles over by letting him use his feet for Hotwheels ramps and drawing letters in the air for the kindergartner?

I think not.

And after all that what did he even win? 

Enough money to put fuel in his truck, buy some supper for himself and his horse and the opportunity to do it all again tomorrow night.

There are days when I feel like a winner too.

Like today.

What did I win?

Enough rest to fuel up my body, the strength to make supper for myself and my house and the opportunity to do it all again tomorrow night.

And they call the thing a rodeo.

I call it, LIFE.

 

And it's always better when we end it with a song.

Love,

Hanging On Tight In Nebraska