Wagons Ho

The kids and I leave for Mayberry today to attend the annual Stampede Rodeo and Party Palooza. Hugh will join us tomorrow and, in a rare occurrence; he will be joined by his parents, his brother and his brother’s family.

I’ve been looking forward to this particular Stampede for months because it is the closest that The Girls and I will have to a Girls Weekend this year and I really miss my friends.

Also, after twenty years of dedicated service, this may be my Dad’s last year on the Stampede Committee. He's being recognized at the rodeo on Sunday for his efforts and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that ceremony for the world.

Plus, Jules is coming in from Texas and Stampede is about the only time of year that I get to see her anymore, and, well, see above: missing my friends.

Barbie and my nephew are also going to be at my parent’s house so, it is shaping up to be quite The Gathering with good friends, good food, family, more kids than you can shake a stick at and, of course, the liquor flowing freely which reminds me; I must remember to charge my camera battery as I wouldn’t want to miss a single opportunity for blackmail pictures, um, I mean, pictures depicting the love, affection and reverence that we all hold for Stampede.

Yeah, that’s what I meant.

Anyway, my bags are packed, The Teenager’s bags are packed, her friend, who is joining us for the trip and who just happens to share her first name, thus forcing me to refer to the two of them as The Brookes for purposes of convenience, has, according to her Facebook page, been packed and ready to join us since Monday... of last week and I just watched the Man-Cub throw the obligatory three pairs of clean underwear into a plastic grocery bag thus accomplishing his “packing” so, we are good to go.

Don’t worry, as usual I have already packed a suitcase for him so he won’t go naked nor will he be forced to attend the carnival in nothing but clean tightie whities although that would make for a most excellent blackmail picture in about six years or so.

Which reminds me, must charge the camera battery and attend to the million and ten other last-minute details that accompany a trip to Mayberry.

Wagons ho, y’all.