Roadside Trip!

We visited the Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch today, voted one of the best roadside attractions in America! It must be right up there with the World's Largest Ketchup Bottle. As advertised, there's a little something for everyone.

The first stop was the mini-donkey land. The instructions said to hold one piece of feed flat in your palm. Nicco was a little nervous of the donkey mouths and just wanted to offer them his cup of feed, but we didn't let him. He opted out of feeding the donkeys when he saw our slobbered-upon palms.

 The lady who checked us in told us to watch for the one who smiles:

 He was a total ham. He smiled when you told him to. It was really amusing.

There were also pretty little deer.

 They were even more slobbery than the donkeys. Nicco wanted to pet them, but not feed them.

 Next we went to the goat penthouse...

 Nicco cranked food up to the top.

 Some more goats...

They are affectionate, but we chose not to give them kisses.
And of course, the famed ostriches.

 After we fed all those critters, we climbed aboard a MONSTER truck for a tour of the ranch.

 From the truck we passed Picacho Peak and learned that it was once a lava flow.

 We also learned about the Ostrich products: meat, leather, and feathers.

We saw the boys. Isn't this guy handsome, strutting about? A red beak means he's ready to breed. It also means he's feisty. Apparently, ostriches kick when they're fighting for the ladies. Their kick is nasty--they have massive hooked talons that can kill a lion with one swipe. I'd still probably bet on the lion in a fight.

 A nest. The reason they say ostriches have their heads in the sand is that the parents dig holes for their eggs then turn them with their necks every 4 hours or so to prevent the embryo from sticking to the side of the shell.

 A full egg weighs about 4 pounds and the shells are super thick...they have to be able to support the 250-300 pound grown-ups sitting on them!

 Also on our ride we came across The Three Amigos:

 And we learned about our state flower, the Saguaro bloom, and how birds nest in hollowed out saguaros.

 We touched a dead rattlesnake and learned that you can get bit by a rattler, even if it's dead! If you happen to step on the head of a dead rattler, the fangs can penetrate your shoes and the venom is still potent. So the responsible thing to do if you kill a rattlesnake is to cut off its head and bury it.

 At the end of our ride, we stopped by the "pier" and went ostrich fishing:

 Our guide, a self-proclaimed Oklahoma Redneck, told us if we caught one we could take it home. We didn't catch one.

When we got back to the feeding area, we ran into one of Nicco's buddies from school:

 Then we fed the ducks and the lorikeets.

 Nicco was a little nervous at first,

 but then he had fun with the very friendly birds.

 Here's the truck we rode on:

The other passengers were all from out of town. They came from Washington, Alaska, and Missouri. Only one other person was from AZ.

It was fun and worth the trip. They are a family owned and operated ranch and our redneck guide asked us to spread the word if we had a good time, but if not, "it's yer own durn fault and keep yer traps shut!"

If you ever find yourself on the highway between Phoenix and Tucson, stop by. You won't be sorry!

Snap-tastic!

Nicco learned to snap.
He's very pleased with this new talent.
He snaps everywhere he goes.
He snapped underwater in the pool.
At dinner last night he said he doesn't need a toy because snapping is just like a toy!
When I tucked him in for bed he snappity-snap-snapped into his jammies and under his covers.
He wondered aloud why "snapping gave me so much energy!"
He said he will snap all day and all night because it is just so much fun.

He woke up this morning with a spark in his eyes, a spring in his step, and a snap in his fingers.

He can even do it two handed:

Snapping is awesome, says Nicco. And "snapperific!"  

For the Grandparents: Big Big Dreams Part II

Here are some videos from the kindergarten performance. 

This is the song from which Nicco learned to snap.

Big Dreams are okay!

It's funny to watch this one without sound. All those little tongues going la la la la la la la la la....

I love Nicco's face in this one...don't tell me that I cannot be!

 Nicco, Jackson, and Aeriel closed the program with their "Thank you" line.

Super cute. Yay for kindergarten babies!

Big, Big Dreams

This morning was Nicco's Kindergarten Musical Program. The little guys have big, big dreams!

Nicco is one of the taller kids in his class, so he was on the top row. Mr Serious. I wonder how one mom missed the memo about wearing the school shirt? Maybe it was dad's day to get the kids ready for school...

Speaking of dads, Patrice did manage to sneak out of work for the program, surprising and very much pleasing his boy.

Nicco and his teacher. She was a little bleary eyed and red faced. It was more emotional for her than it was for me, although I confess, I had my moments this morning.

Jackson, Nicco, and Elizabeth--Nicco's two best buddies.

They insisted on funny faces.

"It" being getting up and going to school for 180 days.

I'm totally anti-graduation for anything other than high school and college, so the theme here bugs the living daylights out of me. It's a little too toddlers in tiaras for me. Not to mention rewarding a non-accomplishment which then in turn diminishes the actual accomplishment that is graduation. Grr. I was just glad they didn't do a ceremony with pomp and circumstance. A musical program with end-of-year gifts and visiting is appropriate.

That being said,

This is a pretty great picture of my little boy looking a little grown-up.

Hubby Has a Hobby

Patrice likes guns. He's been learning and practicing more and more and recently he took a ride out to the Tucson Skeet and Trap club and had an epiphany of sorts. He found something that called to him. Or he found an excuse to get a new gun.

The day of his first visit to the trap and skeet club was the day of the trap and skeet World Cup. He watched both the men's and women's finals and spoke with some of the competitors, one of whom was French and as it turns out actually lives only about 30 miles from his parents' home. Anyway, he was impressed and interested and learned about the club and started researching shotguns. He's gone back a few times to practice and get instructions and last night, we went along.

The Tucson range is a world-class facility and regularly hosts international and Olympic training events. This weekend they are hosting the Olympic trials for the upcoming games in London. We might go back.

Here's Patrice, loading and warming up.

And here's the view. It's pretty spectacular! I like the layered look, myself. The gravel, the dirt, the weeds with whitish blossoms, the shattered remains of neon orange targets, yellow grasses, green palo verdes, topped with the purple mountains majesty.

Patrice came over after firing off a few rounds to ask Nicco what he thought and the boy said, "This is awesome! Thumbs up!"

Then he said, "Wait, no! TWO thumbs up!"

The rule at the range is that anyone in the field must wear ear and eye protection. Nicco geared up and followed his papa out to the field in the setting sun.

Patrice made Nicco the judge and assigned him the task of counting his missed shots. Nicco, sitting up high in his official chair, took the responsibility very seriously.

The daddy has a fan!

And we may have a junior trap and skeet shooter on our hands!

Mothers' Day

I'm writing this today because tomorrow is my day off. Day off from what, you ask? Why, from being a pampered housewife! Yes! I'm taking a break!

My husband asked me my plans for tomorrow and what I want, and the answer to both questions was "nothing." But, I lied. I do have a plan. I plan to get up whenever my kid or my cat bugs me bad enough to move my bones off my super comfy fluffy bed and feed him/her. I plan to watch French cartoons and maybe eat cookies and ice cream for breakfast. I plan to go to church and get a sad looking flower from a sad looking 12-year old boy after listening to the small children sing songs about mothers. I hope they sing I often go walking in meadows of clover... because it's one of my favorite primary songs about moms and if someone else is singing it, I don't have to. Because I can't. Not since my sweet aunt had the idea to make me and my cousins sing it at my Grandmother's funeral. (It went something like this--I often *sniff, whimper, squeak, sniff, sob, sob, sob, sniff*.)

Dear Mother, all flowers remind me of you.

After church I'm going to enjoy my Teacher Appreciation Day flowers while they last, read a book, and bask in the glow of motherhood reflected on the faces of the man and boy who made me a mother.

I'm Committed...Again

A while back I got inspired by my sisters losing insane amounts of weight and becoming speedy little speedsters and started running again. I ran 3-5 times a week (a sort of non-committal commitment) and ran a 5k in April. Then it got hot here. I love the heat, but not to run in! And I can't get up early enough to beat the heat in Tucson.

So my commitment lagged. I was planning to swim in the summer to keep in condition but the local lap pool is closed this summer for renovations. Brilliant!

My friend recently purchased the nearby Lady of America gym and I figured that joining the gym would be a good way to reshape my shape. On Monday I happened to be at the gym at the same time as another friend, who happens to be super thin. (She's just a year younger than me and her body age is 18, if that tells you anything.) We went on a tour/introduction to the equipment in which we were measured all around (ugh...those numbers have changed dramatically since the last time I had any kind of measurements taken, roughly 20 years ago) and I said to my friend that I've never felt fat in my life until that moment. Her son has recently adopted a line from a movie referring to in-shape bodies as "sculpted marble." I'm a little more like sculpted jello.

It's only been four days so far, but this commitment will be more difficult for me to give up on--I'm visible at the gym.

Off to the Races

It's Derby weekend, don't you know? Time to don your fancy hat and go to the track. Sip mint juleps and place your bets.

It's not Kentucky Oaks, but there's a track about an hour and a half south of us so we ditched church and went to the races.

With the wind in our hair, we jumped in the jeep and headed south to Sonoita. Pronounced Son-OY-ta. Personally, I would say Son-oh-EE-ta, but apparently, I would be wrong.

(That's me in the rearview mirror of the jeep...you can't see me because my hair is blowing around like mad...I kind of like it...)

We had some drama before we left because my boy couldn't find the lenses for his goggles. You see, he doesn't like the wind in his face the way I do. Oh mama, the drama. But, we found the stupid piece of plastic and happily, were on our way.

The welcome sign to the town of Son-OY-ta has horses racing. I kind of think that is all they do there. It's a small town, out in the middle of friggin' nowhere, with a bunch of ranches. Horses and cattle. That's what they do. And wine. There was also a sign saying "You are entering wine country." I'm guessing we are among the rare and few French people to visit "wine country" in southern Arizona. Otherwise, they would not possibly call it "wine country."

As we got closer to our destination, Patrice asked where we were supposed to go. I said, "I don't think we can miss it." Sure enough, a cowboy welcomed us to the fairgrounds.

There were races both Saturday and Sunday this weekend. The fairgrounds' website announced the events for both days, with a derby hat contest, mint juleps, and a mariachi concert on Saturday (that's what you get when the Kentucky Derby and Cinco de Mayo collide) and free military day on Sunday. Even though I wouldn't get to strut my fancy stuff in the derby hat contest, we decided to wait until Sunday so that we could go with the Daddy. There were hats at the track, of the cowboy variety:

And the Rodeo Princesses were on hand to congratulate and provide a photo op for the winners.

The trumpets blared, warning the betters (or is it bettors? Gamblers? Anyway...) that they had 5 minutes before the race to place their bets.

We saw quarterhorses...

...and thoroughbreds. We preferred the longer races for sure, and I secretly desperately wanted to yell "C'mon Dover, move yer bloomin' arse!" but I refrained. It was hard.

My funny honey bunny wore his goggles all day. The security guards and ticket-takers and our neighbors in the stands all made funny, amused, and yet somehow very kind comments. For a boy who does not like attention, he sure attracted a lot today. 

Shine on, buddy. Be you.

Speaking of Secrets...(Now with Video!)

Nicco and Jackson have a secret handshake. Except it isn't a handshake.

First, they punch themselves in the face, like this:

 Then they throw their hands forward like this:

Funny boys. I don't know why they have a secret handshake. But it makes me giggle.

(Doesn't my baby look sad and puffy in the eyes? Darn allergies!)

P.S. At dinner tonight I got Nicco to demonstrate his secret handshake, which isn't a handshake. 

It's a Secret

In the car on the way home from school Elizabeth said she saw something she wasn't supposed to see and she's not supposed to tell anyone.

Nicco asked, "Can't you tell your best friend?"

Elizabeth asked, "You're my best friend?"

Nicco asked, "Can't you tell your friend?"

What's in a Name?

That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

Poor, naive little Juliet. There is much in a name, as she tragically discovered. Our name is more than how others identify us, it's our identity-who we are.

My close friends and family call me Tam. I'm comfortable as Tam. I am Tam. Tam I am. But I always introduce myself as Tamara. The only person who was ever allowed to call me Tammy was my grandpa.

My older sister is Diana, not Dian-na or Diane.

My home teacher is Mason Dixon. Did his parents do that on purpose? Did they hope he would grow up and embody the spirit of compromise? Or did they hope he would be able to stand his ground- a line must be drawn here! This far, and no further! Or did they just love the name Mason so much, that the last name was inconsequential? Did they figure that people are so culturally and historically ignorant that no one would even think twice about a kid named Mason Dixon?

My mom is Damaris. People have asked her what she goes by. Uh, by my name, Damaris. (idiots)

Patrice used to get offended when he would get phone calls or mail for Ms. Boudou until he realized that he could legitimately blow them off by saying truthfully "There's no Ms. Patrice Boudou here."

We agonized over Nicco's name. We wanted something normal without being common, unique without being weird. And we wanted a meaningful name. Nicco means "victorious." I understand when people ask if it is short for something, but I don't understand people who want to change it to a nickname. What would a nickname for Nicco be? Apparently, to his music teacher, it would be Nicky.

On Thursday mornings his music teacher is the gate guard at school. I heard her call him Nicky the first time a few weeks ago, but I was already in my corner watching him walk through the courtyard and around the corner and I felt dumb going up to her to correct her. I asked Nicco if she always calls him Nicky. He said, "I think she was just being funny." I told him it is okay to politely say to her, "My name is Nicco." But he's shy.

I forgot again last Thursday to stay close to him so I would be nearby to correct her for him and he came home and said, "Ms. Luck called me Nicky again."

Today when he saw her at the gate he walked me back a few steps and whispered, "Can you tell her my name is Nicco if she calls me Nicky again?" So I did. She apologized. And I'm sure she will call him Nicco from now on.