Wednesday, June 19, 2013

This Day

I want to remember this day. My day. When Chris took off work and we slept late. He served me eggs and cheese because the muffins were moldy and we're leaving in a few days so I refuse to buy more groceries!! The way the big ones (can they really be that?) pounced on me with shrill screams and toothless grins while the baby constantly dropped her head on my chest.

How I convinced them into the National Cowgirl Museum because I knew their short attention spans wouldn't make it till the afternoon. How overwhelmed I felt by all the photos of the women: ranchers, cattle hands, performers...all cowgirls in their own right. How overtaken I was by the strong feminism of the place. I know nothing about ranching or rodeos, but I felt a connection with these women. Doing what they loved. Following their dreams, their hearts. In a time when it wasn't safe or considered right. How breathtaking.

I want to remember showing Daddy all the cool things that we saw last week while he worked. Sharing our day with him. A weekday. Pulling my big girl into my lap (despite my swimmy head) because the giant screen scared her. Feeding The littlest chickadees to keep her quiet so Daddy could enjoy the show too. Watching my young scientist explore and learn, even though he's already too cool. Holding his hand during the scary parts of the 3d movie, thankful he wasn't too cool for that.

Even the leaving the ice cream place part because sometimes when you're seven and it's not you just have to melt down. It's ok. I've been 7 before. I've been 27 and melted down much the same way.

I want to hold on to girls with heads thrown back, mouths open, deepest of deep sleep before we even
 get out of the parking lot. Of Texas clouds and kid sized cowgirl boots that started out as a joke and ended up as a steal!!

Of ice cream till our bellies hurt and kids with second winds that hold on long past mom and dad.

Thank you Lord for this day. This place. This time. These people. I'm not worthy, but I am ever grateful.

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