Mutton Bustin'

A few years ago I went to a rodeo. I enjoyed it very much and was fascinated by the sub-culture of cowboys and cowgirls that it represented. It was a world of its own that some people build a life around, and that many devoted fans follow; much like the sub-culture of ballroom dance that I am a part of, only with fewer rhinestones and more leather.

One of the things I remembered most from the rodeo was the Mutton Bustin'. In this event a child age 3 to 6 is placed on the back of a sheep and released into the arena to see how long they can hold on. Kind of like bull riding with training wheels. I remember thinking, for some reason, that I would love for my kids to do this. I don't know why I thought this. But it just seemed like a really unusual, gritty, and memorable experience to have. But the idea left almost immediately. Since I don't wear Wranglers and spend my time at rodeos, I knew that this was probably not going to happen. We are a family of dancers after all, not bull riders.

But yesterday I found myself at the Puyallup Fair. I was in the bathroom when a woman said to her daughter, "If I sign you up you are really going to have to hold on to that sheep's neck . . . " and then she was out of range. But I had heard enough. There was Mutton Bustin' to be had.

So we found the arena. And I tried to talk the girls into it. Cora was too old, but under the weight limit, so she could ride as an exhibitionist. Sydney could compete. Maryn was too little. Unfortunately, Maryn was the only one willing to do it.

So we just watched the competition. We saw a lot of kids falling off sheep and face planting in the mud. As I watched I realized that there are few activities that would be more wrong for my tutu-wearing, princess-loving daughters than this one. Just the mud itself was enough to make them cry, nevermind the animals, and the crowd, and the falling, and the getting stepped on by little hooves. Oh well. I released the idea into the universe once again.

But as we were leaving, Cora completely surprised me by saying, "I want to do it."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I want to do it."

There was another competition scheduled for 5:30. So we went and entertained ourselves for bit and returned. I kept expecting Cora to back out, but she was excited. By this time my own heart was beginning to race. (Sydney was not to be persuaded. Since she had worn a skirt to the fair, I didn't press it. Maryn was still ready to go: "Wanna ride a sheep!")

We got Cora signed up, outfitted with a vest and a helmet, and gave her some coaching. Matt and I, having neither of us ever mutton busted before, couldn't resist giving advice nevertheless.

Matt said, "Do you want to know a secret? Sheep don't care if you pull their wool. It doesn't hurt them one bit. So you just grab on to that wool and don't let go."

I said, "Cora. You are very strong and very light. You know how you can skip bars on the monkey bars at school? If you can do that, you can do this easily. Use all of your muscles and just stay right on top of his back. Squeeze onto him with your legs like you are doing a piggy back."

Matt took Maryn and Sydney into the crowd to watch and I went and waited behind the gate with Cora.

In bull riding, the goal is 8 seconds. In mutton bustin, it is 6 seconds. Most of the kids we had seen that day stayed on for 2 seconds or less.

Since Cora was one of the older kids, she was second to go. She climbed over the gate and they loaded her onto the sheep. I couldn't believe I had actually talked her into this, and I hoped it would end well. I whispered, "You go girl! You can do this!"

With that, they opened the gate and her sheep shot across the arena like a bolt of lightning, with Cora clamped onto his back like a baby monkey. I couldn't believe she was still on it when he reached the other end and started to turn. She fell off sometime after that, but it was definitely one of the best rides of the day. She hopped up and ran through the mud back to the starting point. (Later she told me that when she was getting up she saw one of the sheep pee, and she bashfully reported that she even thought it was her sheep that had peed. I told her she probably scared the pee out of him. She laughed and laughed.)

Meanwhile, the crowd was cheering and the announcer was telling them: "Come on! When they smoke 'em like a bad habit you've got to cheer louder than that!"

I was amazed. Cora was completely inspirational. I couldn't believe her courage. I couldn't believe how completely out of her comfort zone she had gone.

The next time I am afraid to try something new, I am going to remember watching the wooly backside of that sheep speed away from me with Cora bravely and deftly clinging to his back in front of an arena full of strangers. I find that image delightful. I hope she always feels that kind of power in her life. The thought of it makes me feel like I can do anything.

My Cora. My hero.

Why I am Considering Shaving Sydney Bald

Maryn is currently addicted to cutting her own hair. I have discovered her twice in the last 24 hours with a pair of scissors going into her hair and taking out a chunk before I could get the scissors away from her. We have now implemented a scissors moratorium at our house.

I suppose this is a phase, and that I should be grateful. Whitney, the little blond across the street, went through a phase where she was cutting not only her hair but also her eyelashes, claiming that they "were too long and needed a trim." I hope Whitney doesn't give Maryn any ideas. Maryn + a pair of scissors + eyeball = disaster.

Perhaps the hair cutting thing is a necessary rite of childhood. Cora just went through this a couple of months ago. It was an event for which I was totally unprepared. First, because Cora is traditionally very obedient. Second, because Cora is seven and I figured I'd passed the "destroy your hair with scissors" window. Apparently not.

Cora was at school when she was overcome by the overwhelming urge to hack off her hair. She pulled the rounded end craft scissors out of her desk and went at it--putting all of the hair clippings into her desk, and then wrapping them in a sweatshirt that she stashed in her backpack. She took at least four inches off in some places--in other places it was just one or two inches. It was quite a new look, as you might imagine.

The biggest mystery in all of this is how a seven year old girl manages to do something like this to herself without her teacher noticing? We still aren't sure about that. Cora claims that her teacher was at her desk the entire time Cora was executing her covert hair assassination.

Sydney hasn't had her phase yet. I'm hoping that perhaps she has lived vicariously through her sisters and won't feel the urge. But you never know. Maybe she'll skip scissors and head straight for a razor. Maybe I should just head the whole thing off and shave her head now. Now that would be some proactive parenting.

Greedy-land

I've just returned from Disneyland, which is a fascinating place. From the moment you walk through the gates you are transported into another world that seems more colorful and exciting than the one you left behind. There are several parades a day, ice cream and candy available on every corner, people running around in elaborate costumes wherever you look, music, fireworks, lightshows . . . . everything you could imagine.

But what I was most fascinated by on this particular trip was that it seems when one enters this alternate reality one feels inclined to adopt alternative values. Or at least I did. And I saw others doing things that I found to be questionable so I don't think I'm the only one.

Now, before you go thinking that I was shoplifting Mickey ears, I would like to explain what I mean by alternative values. It wasn't that I was doing things that were overtly wrong--it was just that I found myself being a lot more narcissistic than usual. I felt like I was running around the park trying to grab as much of the experience as I could for myself and my kids. I hardly gave a thought for other people, except to wish that they weren't in my way. Hurrying to get a better spot in a line, crowding in for a better view of the show, and feeling this strange of disappointment if I wasn't being expressly delighted and entertained at every turn.

I saw others scrambling as well, in their own ways. At the entry gates we saw a family trying to pass off a 4-year-old for a 2-year-old. I saw lots of people in wheelchairs that looked like they weren't wheechair regulars. I think Disneyland is the only place on earth where faking that you are wheelchair-bound is advantageous. You don't have to walk for miles around the park AND you (and the sucker that you talked into pushing you) don't have to wait in any lines.

I might not have even given any thought to any of this if that lady hadn't called me a liar.

I won't bore you with too many details. Short Version: I was waiting in line with Sydney to meet Princess Tiana. Lady (Disneyland employee) comes up and tells me I cut in line. I'd been there since before the line had formed, waiting at least 5 minutes, and so I politely said, "No, I'm sorry, you are mistaken." I expected that to be the end of the conversation. Lady doesn't believe me and we have an exchange in which she basically calls me a liar. I know that I am not a liar, and that I didn't cut in line, and since I am completely stubborn in every way, I ignore the lady, take Sydney to see Tiana, and leave Lady with smoke coming out her ears as she complains to a fellow employee.

It made me realize that in my normal life I expect to be taken at my word, and I usually am. I place a high value on my honesty was highly insulted to be called a liar. But in my normal life it also wouldn't have been that big of a deal to simply say, "I'm so sorry, I didn't think I had cut in line, but maybe I'm wrong. Please accept my apologies and we'll move to the back." But you see, in Disneyland, being polite would have meant losing precious time that I could have used waiting in line for another 90-second thrill.

Don't get me wrong--Disneyland was great. I loved it and feel absolutely fortunate to have been able to spend time with my family and friends there. We made lots of great memories. I just found it interesting that from the moment I walked into a place that was so abundant with opportunities for pleasure that all I could think of was getting more and more and more.

Why couldn't I have sat down on the bench and said to myself, "It is enough."?