West Texas Mama

     Working in the education industry, one interacts a lot with parents and children.  El Hubbo and I have NUMEROUS stories - some humorous, some sad, some downright ridiculous.  We were both, fortunately, raised by parents who encouraged our independence.  Today's child is more often coddled and protected by fierce "helicopter parents".       I have decided I want my own club.   The Survival of the Fittest Child Rearing Club.    To earn membership, you must demonstrate the ability to allow your children to (1)learn from failure, (2) experience the glories of dirt, and (3) earn their keep around the house.       Learning from failure may include watching your child fall down concrete steps at a softball game.  If you can look at your child, quickly assess that there are no broken bones and only minimal blood, and say, "Ah, brush it off.  There's no crying in softball!" and then take your turn at bat.  You might be worthy of membership.     Experiencing t

I’ve neglected my blogging responsibilities, and I’ve missed you, dear readers, but not enough to deny myself the many pleasures of the local fair.   I affectionately refer to this time of year as “Corn Dog Week”, and many were consumed.   But that is not all that one may gain from frequent and regular attendance to this celebration of all things fried and weird. There are many thank yous I should give to those who make my fair experiences worth-while.   Thank you, older ladies in strapless shirts who believe you rock the tight jeans.   You make me feel much better about my modest, age-appropriate attire that frees my mind from worry over wardrobe malfunctions or the overt ogling of toothless carnival workers. Carnival employees, to your many ranks I owe much.   Thank you to the game booth attendant who knocked the rust off my ability to do complicated calculations in my head and challenge him on exactly how much I really owed him in order to get my darling son a nasty, cheap angry bi