WIN! WIN! WIN!

By Jody Worsham, co-author “Kin We’re Not Related To”

All rights reserved for bigger, taller, wider, heavier trophies

Our state song says it all:

“Texas, our Texas, all hail the mighty state!  Texas, our Texas so wonderful so great!                   Boldest and grandest, withstanding ev'ry test.  Oh Empire wide and glorious, you stand supremely blest."

Now you might think it was a sad day when Alaska joined the union and became the assumed largest state, but Texans just claimed that when all that ice and snow melts, Texas will still be the biggest state.

Texans are by nature the most competitive people on earth.  Whatever it is, we have to be the best, the biggest, the tallest. the smartest, the cutest, and the fastest.

 I was born and raised a Texan so I am competitive to the bone.  Get a room full of Texans and a contest, well, what can I say.  This past week has been highly competitive.  I made a quilt for the school's Fall Festival.  Rather than raffle off the quilt, the school decided to hold an auction for the quilt.  Now I had spent six months hand quilting that thing and as soon as the auctioneer asked for an opening bid, up came my hand.   Then another Texan raised my bid, and my husband raised that bid.  Well, not to be outdone I raised his bid. 

"Jody, you're bidding against me," Dr. Hubby said.
"That's ok, it's your money.  You can afford it."
"Not at this rate” and he hustled me out of bidding range.  I heard the quilt went for a high price, but it would have gone higher if Dr. Hubby had just let me stay in the bidding.

Then there was the Fall Festival Children's Costume Contest.  No prize, just a First Place 8  1/2 x 11 Xeroxed certificate...in color.  The thirteen-year-old flat refused to wear anything I created.

"Mama, I have to go to school here.  I see these people every day.  You really expect me to go as 'Miss Recycle' and wear a costume made out of trash?   Pleeeeeease don't ruin the rest of my life!"  as if I had ever done anything to ruin any part of her life... past, present, or future.

Ok, she is thirteen...and taller than me...and I would have to raid a couple of dumpsters for the necessary recyclable material.  On the other hand, the nine-year-old is shorter....

"Look boy, just do what she says.  You might as well learn now; it is easier to give in then to argue with a woman, especially one born and raised in Texas her whole life. You are not going to win," said the wise and experienced Dr. Hubby to the panicked nine-year-old.

"You only have to wear the costume for five minutes.  Just long enough for the judges to be suitably impressed. " I blatantly did not lie, just stretched the truth a little.

"Ok, but can I at least be a zombie?"

"Sure." My brain neurons began firing like tinfoil in a microwave. 

I skillfully sprayed two empty two liter sized Dr. Pepper bottles and a swim mask with gray paint. I found a gray painters head stocking I had been saving for just such an occasion. I cut the straps off a back pack (oops sorry, did you need that for school?) removed the vacuum cleaner hose from Dr. Hubby's shop vac (you never really cleaned your shop anyway)  hot glued part of a semi-broken flashlight to the vacuum hose, and made some swim fins out of construction paper.  I guess you don't mess with a man's chain saw covers.  They were too heavy anyway.

I hot glued some dead leaves and twigs to the mask and glued the "air tanks" to a piece of cardboard.  Then I slapped some white baby powder on the nine-year-old's face and Wah-la!  Scuba Zombie! 

And yes First Place Funniest Costume.  And yes, therapy will be required.

Next, Atwood's Pet Costume Contest.  Let the Competition Continue!!

1-800-U-R-N-H double Hockey Sticks!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for plane tickets to the Artic

I knew this past weekend was going to be hot. I live in Texas. It's hot in the dead of winter.

Our favorite and only RV camping spot has shade trees but none when the sun hits the side of the trailer in the afternoon when they are needed the most. This time we thought we were prepared. We arrived at the campsite straight up high hot noon. Dr. Hubby proceeded to set up the trailer and then to unfold the six windshield reflectors for eighteen wheeler trucks he had bought. He began placing them on the roof of the slide-out. He used 2x4 blocks and bungee cords to hold them down. Then he attached more windshield reflector things to the outside of the windows using those suction cups things for holding Christmas wreaths. I had already applied tin foil to the inside of the windows before we left home. When he finished we looked like the Beverly Hillbillies.

I'm sure the people next door expected to see us emerge with tin foil wrapped around our heads so our brains wouldn't be sucked out by the aliens. I will say, however, that the TV reception was the best we've ever had.

We turned on the AC and set it for 45 but it couldn't keep up with the increasing heat. Inside the trailer with two children, two dogs, and two adults was like living inside an Easy Bake Oven. We went outside where there was a breeze. Outside the trailer with two children, two dogs, and two adults was like living in a convection oven, hot air blowing hard!

We had the Scalped Yelp with us and a black lab puppy we were "holding" for the new owners until they returned from the cool mountains of Oregon, assuming they would, indeed, return. Anybody who has ever had a puppy or tried to potty train a two-year-old knows that when they "have to go", they have to GO, right then no waiting. When the lab puppy yelped at 3 a.m., Dr. Hubby yelled for him to "HUSH". I, on the other hand, knew that sound meant "I need to go potty and I have a really bad tummy ache." Any mother of eight (ten if you count the dogs) knows that sound so I put the leash on the puppy and took him outside. Yes, he HAD to go and yes he had a tummy ache for good reason.

The heat and the puppy tummy ache continued for the next two days alternating with puppy throw-up. I gave the puppy Pepto Bismal but that did not buy me enough time to get him off the bed before we had major poopage. I stripped the bed linens and headed for the nearest wash-a-tiera. Dr. Hubby tried hosing down the trailer to cool it off. When that didn't work he turned the hose on himself, the children, and the dogs. I was still washing bed linens.

Sunday afternoon word came down that the fireworks scheduled for that evening had been cancelled due to the high fire danger. The six-year-old, I think delirious from the heat, chose that moment to confess that he had given the puppy a Snickers and animal cookies on Friday as a treat. "Did you give the puppy a lot of Snickers and animal cookies?" I asked. The future politician evaded the question with "Well, how many is a lot?"

I Googled puppy diarrhea plus Snickers and animal cookies overdose. The recommendation was to keep the puppy cool, no stress, and hydrated. I thought that made pretty good sense for us as well so we cut our long weekend short by two days. Dr. Hubby readied the tin-foil-alien-non-heat-repelling RV for travel and we headed for home.

We arrived home by midnight. The children slept all the way as did the dogs. It helped that we had the air conditioner turned so low it was spitting ice. Once home as I slid between the icy sheets of our bed with the air conditioner set on a comfortable 62 and the ceiling fan blowing just short of hurricane force winds, I turned to Dr. Hubby and said "I don't want us to turn into one of those old couples who are content to just sit on their front porch sipping mint julips, but dang, it feels good to be home and in our own bed." He snored in reply.

If you need to get in contact with us our new number is 1-800-C00L-DUDES R-HOME. We are no longer in Hell.