Cowgirl Kenna

Last night McKenna tugged her old boots on. She's had them for more than a couple of years, and they've outlived both their usefulness and comfort. But she loves them, and as long as they're in her closet, she'll find a way to wrestle them on her big feet. After kicking around the driveway in them, she decided we needed to call her "Jessie" and that she was a cowgirl now. I asked her where her horse was. She said, "In the barn, Momma!" I asked her where her hat was. She ran in the house screaming for her big sister. "Laaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" After a few minutes, she came out looking like this.
Love,
Jessie's Mom

TomAYtoes and TomAHtoes

Which way do you say it?
It doesn't matter...either way I have enough of these suckers sitting on my counter that I could make enough sauce to float a boat to Italy.

Who wants to go to Italy?

I digress. I promised a picture of my garden, but I just can't bring myself to show it to you. I am embarrassed. Ashamed. Saddened that the time and energy and water I put in to this fruitful first-stab at a garden has ended up looking like an abandoned wasteland of weeds.

But I have this tomato.

It's cute, isn't it? Next year we're done with "cute" tomatoes. I want BIG, BEEFY tomatoes with teeth. Tomatoes a man could eat. These pathetic, red excuses for fruit are just slightly bigger than a grape tomato. Well, maybe not. They're bigger than that, but they still remind me of little bald heads.

Maybe I'm thinking of bald heads because lately I've been wanting to take a pair of buzz clippers to a few people who have really acted like bald-headed douchebags lately. Wait...this is a mother's blog. My children might read this.

That's okay. They need to know their mother said words like douchebag. It's what makes them tough. Or maybe I'll just delete this post in a few weeks.