This morning, I was taking Will to school after an appointment with his eye doctor. As we passed a gas station, I hit the brakes and ordered him to look at the cute old blue truck parked in front. Will gave me a funny expression that said, "Yeah, so what?" Something in that look made me burst into laughter and apologize to him for being his redneck mama.
Not only do I love old trucks, I also wear cowboy boots and Levi's almost all winter long. I listen to country music and sing along...loudly. I have chickens with names. I've been known to take a possum with me to work in a Have-a-Heart trap and release him in the woods near SuzAnna's Antiques. Sometimes, I cuss like a sailor. I have my own air rifle. My two-fingered, ear-splitting whistle allows me to call the kids to dinner, get their attention when their loud, or let them know where in the bleachers we are sitting.
It could be worse! I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't watch NASCAR. I don't wear tube tops with short shorts. I don't hunt raccoons but might consider it if they mess with my chickens. And, Lord knows, you'll never eat some kind of meat that requires skinning, scaling, or curing at my house. I have all of my teeth.
Regardless, I'm willing to be a Redneck Mama if I can have an old blue truck.