When Son #1 was three, he attended day care. One day, the facility rented a horse for professional pictures. All parents were told to dress their child in cowboy clothing for picture day. Sadly, Son #1 had clothing technical difficulties. Son #1 does not own any western wear and never has but he DOES own Dallas Cowboy apparel. So on that fine morning, Son #1 picked out his Tony Romo jersey and proudly marched into his classroom.
During the lesson, the teacher taught the children about cowboys, horses, and their clothing. She pointed out children that were dressed in their best western apparel and labeled them as cowboys. Son #1 pointed to his Dallas Cowboy jersey and proclaimed. "I'm a Cowboy too!"
Just as the teacher was going to correct him, she looked at his shirt and smiled. "You ARE a Cowboy!" She exclaimed.
That's right baby! Son #1 is the best kind of Cowboy!
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Monday, May 28, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Man Card
We watch TONS of football. Son #1 is the ultimate Cowboys fan. We are in the process of brainwashing Son #2. (Cue evil laugh.)
One fine Sunday afternoon as we cheerfully watched a couple unnamed but yet highly despised teams get eliminated from the playoffs, a funny beer commercial flitted across the tv channel. Son #1 zoomed his cars around the imaginary racetrack on our living room floor. As the characters in the commercial derided a guy for his chick-like behavior, my son slid his race cars in for the final lap of the pretend Indy 500 seemingly unaware of the tv noise behind him.
The tv man quipped. "Well, that's the second unmanly thing you've done today."
My son's favorite toy car roared by. "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
The tv man's friend shrieked in a high pitched voice. "Get me off this thing!!!!"
Son #1's evil nemesis car was on the heels of the favorite toy car. "Zooooooooooom!"
A final zing ended the commercial. "Man up!"
Son #1 muttered to himself as he took his cars around the last bend. "Strike three...you lose your man card."
One fine Sunday afternoon as we cheerfully watched a couple unnamed but yet highly despised teams get eliminated from the playoffs, a funny beer commercial flitted across the tv channel. Son #1 zoomed his cars around the imaginary racetrack on our living room floor. As the characters in the commercial derided a guy for his chick-like behavior, my son slid his race cars in for the final lap of the pretend Indy 500 seemingly unaware of the tv noise behind him.
The tv man quipped. "Well, that's the second unmanly thing you've done today."
My son's favorite toy car roared by. "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
The tv man's friend shrieked in a high pitched voice. "Get me off this thing!!!!"
Son #1's evil nemesis car was on the heels of the favorite toy car. "Zooooooooooom!"
A final zing ended the commercial. "Man up!"
Son #1 muttered to himself as he took his cars around the last bend. "Strike three...you lose your man card."
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Slow Mo Football
Everyday, I witness a choreographed performance of Slow Mo Football. Usually, the team that is playing is different each day.
As I walk in from work, Son #1 sprints down the hallway to the end zone. He dodges tackles, side steps imaginary cornerbacks and runs the homestretch to score a touchdown. The imaginary crowd goes wild as Son #1 spikes the ball and proceeds to get a flag for excessive celebration.
Now it is time for the kickoff. Son #1 kicks it long to the 5 yard line. Now he is the defense and proceeds to tackle my legs as I put down my purse and take off my jacket. I go to hang up my jacket while Son #1 body checks me from every angle.
He shouts. "Ha ha! I tackled you. You're down!"
My response is usually a pronounced. "Oh no!"
His defense stops the other team. It's 3 and out. Good job Son#1!
Now he is on the receiving team. He catches the kick and begins to run for yardage and possibly a touchdown. Oh no! He's tackled at the 40 yard line.
The imaginary team huddles together and then breaks. They line up at the line of scrimmage. I remind him. "Don't throw the ball in the kitchen or my bedroom." "Ok Mama." He replies. The center hikes the ball. The quarterback throws it to his star receiver. Son #1 catches and sprints 50 yards for a touchdown in the final seconds of the game! The imaginary crowd cheers! Son #1 and his team win again!
SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: GO COWBOYS...WE LOVE YOU ANYWAY!
As I walk in from work, Son #1 sprints down the hallway to the end zone. He dodges tackles, side steps imaginary cornerbacks and runs the homestretch to score a touchdown. The imaginary crowd goes wild as Son #1 spikes the ball and proceeds to get a flag for excessive celebration.
Now it is time for the kickoff. Son #1 kicks it long to the 5 yard line. Now he is the defense and proceeds to tackle my legs as I put down my purse and take off my jacket. I go to hang up my jacket while Son #1 body checks me from every angle.
He shouts. "Ha ha! I tackled you. You're down!"
My response is usually a pronounced. "Oh no!"
His defense stops the other team. It's 3 and out. Good job Son#1!
Now he is on the receiving team. He catches the kick and begins to run for yardage and possibly a touchdown. Oh no! He's tackled at the 40 yard line.
The imaginary team huddles together and then breaks. They line up at the line of scrimmage. I remind him. "Don't throw the ball in the kitchen or my bedroom." "Ok Mama." He replies. The center hikes the ball. The quarterback throws it to his star receiver. Son #1 catches and sprints 50 yards for a touchdown in the final seconds of the game! The imaginary crowd cheers! Son #1 and his team win again!
SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: GO COWBOYS...WE LOVE YOU ANYWAY!
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