Bluebonnet bonanza

(Due to my crowded hard drive, our galloping colt video is delayed. But here is something fun all the same)

It’s that time of year. It’s the time that we parents in the Texas Hill Country do what no other parents in their right mind would do with their children.

We pull over to the side of busy highways, drag out our children from back seats who are dressed just for the occasion, and traipse them through deep weeds so we can get our coveted Texas BlueBonnet Picture while semi trucks blow by at 60 miles per hour.

Why? Because we’re sentimental around here, that’s why.

It’s been a rough two years for bluebonnet fans. The few bluebonnets that poked up during the drought in the wild were straggly loners, not suitable for photo time. Those that did manage to spring out of the parched ground for a day quickly collapsed when 14 families huddled around them for a picture.

I’ve tried many times to seed my yard with bluebonnets so I could avoid the roar of the 18 wheeler as we sit in a “field” also known as the Highway Department’s “right of way.” But those flowers must require exhaust fumes and asphalt within 20 feet to grow.

This year we headed out to our traditional spot along Hwy 306 (based on the number of trampled bluebonnets, this location is no big secret) for our big photo shoot. The flowers are stunning. Having saved up their blooms for so long, they have burst forth on the scene like second graders pouring outside for recess.

Unfortunately, it’s been at least three years since we’ve taken our pictures in the flowers and during that time there’s been a development.

Mireya is not thrilled with bugs.

Okay, a mild understatement. A tiny grass bug flew into her room the other night and we nearly had to call in the National Guard.

Needless to say, with wildflowers, there are bugs. I chose not to mention this in advance. Timing would be everything, I reasoned.

After hustling the kids into position, I managed to snap off a few pictures before Mireya high tailed it to Daddy and the shoulder of the road. Frantic brushing off of the dress followed.

The pictures are filled with that “get me out of here, there are BUGS” look on her face and a very strained smile. Not exactly the look I was going for, but one thing for sure.

It’s a Hill Country kind of memory.

(PS We are at C-1 - although I'm hauling later TODAY, so technically we're at C Day! *happy dance*)

OT Princesses and Laundry

(don't forget to enter the contest, if you haven't already!)


Princess of the Laundromat

It’s really wonderful to still have my grandmother here to remind me that the princess crown hasn’t fallen far from the throne in our family.

Yes, at one time, I was the princess.

I was the tomboy version, not much into fashion, but certainly in charge of my own little fiefdom. And my throne was: the laundry cart.

When I was growing up, my grandparents owned a Laundromat. It was the best place in the world. It always smelled like a cross between powdered detergent and freshly dried clothes. When I get to heaven (presuming a fairly forgiving criteria for entry), I imagine the entire place will smell like that.

There were so many great things for a kid in the Laundromat. First there was my grandfather’s rolling padded board. It was what he used to roll around on the floor to get the money out of the machines and to do work on them when they needed it.

I was a holy terror on that thing, zooming up and down the linoleum, barely missing running down half a dozen people every lap. Yes, it was a precursor to my injury filled days on skateboards.

I also had the coolest job in the place – giving change. I remember standing on my tiptoes behind the counter with four fingers each holding down a quarter. I’d take the dollars then carefully slide the quarters across the counter.

But nothing was as fun as the laundry cart. My grandmother would dump in a nest of warm, dry towels and blankets and put me right in the middle of them. I’d play in this royal chariot for hours, periodically being rolled from place to place. Sometimes I’d just fall asleep in there, the hum of driers all around as a sort of lullaby.

When customers would inquire about wresting away the cart to do their own laundry, my grandmother taught me a very important lesson about life’s priorities.

Grandparent first, small business owner second.

Yes, I got to keep my cart. My grandmother would help them fold clothes, soothing any irritation at a spoiled young granddaughter hogging up a laundry cart.

My grandmother reminds me to keep this in mind when my daughters are hogging up the TV, the couch, and the attention at Grammy’s.

After all, they are really just continuing a family tradition.