Western Wear

This is the month of the rodeo here in the Metroplex, so understandably, the rodeo is the focus of learning in school. Yeehaw! (Well, really just in Gracie's kindergarten class, but yeehaw anyhow.) To end the unit, the kids were to dress in western wear and come in for a day of cow-person fun.

Though we do live in Texas, and though James was an Ag major at an Ag college, and is a die hard Aggie to this day, not one person in our home owns a pair of cowboy boots. So, yesterday afternoon when the note came home from school, we haunted our bargain-hunting haunts and found some cute wardrobe additions that would convince people my kids could get their cowpoke on.

On our way to the store, I asked Bub if today was western day for him also, and though he really wasn't sure, he thought it probably was. He'd not gotten any notes home about it, whereas Gracie had gotten several, but that's not unusual. Because of a lack of communication, more than once I've had to take his word on a matter despite the fact that his primary struggle in school is paying attention and/or remembering things. Anyway, once at the store, we found just enough western wear to be convincing and participatory without going over the top. For Bub, a checked cowboy shirt and a sheriff's hat. For Gracie, a cowgirl shirt complete with sparkly pink thread (because that's so practical to wear while roping) and some cute black boots with flowers stitched up the sides (because who says you can't be fashionable on the range).

Everything was laid out and set to go, but over breakfast, Bub said, "I hope this is Cowboy day." Now, Bub has an extreme aversion to being embarrassed. I can't think of anyone who enjoys embarrassment, but it really distresses him deeply. When I heard the uncertainty in his statement, I decided he wouldn't be wearing his hat -- a decision which led to an immediate broken heart. He thought I was being incredibly mean to him, and it took some time and several tears before I could convince him I was looking out for his best interests. I reminded him of the embarrassment thing and said the shirt was enough that if it was western day for him, he would look like a cowboy. If it wasn't western day, he would look like a regular kid with a checked shirt on. He finally understood and allowed Gracie to wear his beloved hat instead of him.

Mere moments after our struggle, we were both so relieved I'd stood my ground. We have a covered porch in view of the bus stop, so our house is a haven for huddles of neighbor children waiting to go to school. As we were bustling out the door this morning, they commented on Gracie's western wear. When I asked them if today was western day at school, they were all puzzled and insisted that it wasn't. It was then that Bub and I exchanged glances, and I think he knew (at least for that moment) that I'm not so horrid after all.

Cowkids
(Forgive the bags under their eyes --
they're not morning people either.)


Gracie's depiction of cowgirl responsibilities:
Feeding Cows.