tailgating at Mama's

Mama Yum Yum's. That is where we ate tonight. Our little family of five went out to eat. It was great! At one point I really had to look around--to look at my family and feel pride.

Then, in an instant, I thought to myself (as Steve would say), "Self, why ARE you all doing so well while eating out? There is peace, you are relaxed, it feels, dare I say, easy. Something must be wrong".


And then? Then I looked at myself and my family. I mean really looked. I have no makeup on and have been wearing the same tank top since yesterday morning. Ella was wearing her patent leather black church shoes, purple capri pants and a hot pink shirt that is about a half a size too small. Her hair was all over with a bright red hair clip that was just barely hanging in there, maybe literally, by a hair. Paxton has had a spider t-shirt and clip-on yellow dress tie on since this morning, and for our dinner out decided to throw on some green and white shorts. Soaking wet sandal's completed the ensemble. Shepherd-- and this is the highlight right here-- started out wearing blue pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. After sucking on keys ( I know, I know), eating about eight wagon wheel puffs and grabbing for our beers, spring rolls and peanut dipping sauce, his shirt was more of an icky yellow-brown color and his pajama bottoms were caked with soggy, half eaten wagon wheels (I kept wondering where those darn things went. It seemed like he was just eating them so quickly! Little bugger just hasn't quite mastered that hand-eye-mouth thing yet, I guess).

So I did the unthinkable. I did it. Yap. There we were, looking, well, I won't say it yet. We were looking not-so-put-together. I didn't care. I did it. I had to. Steve look on, compelety mortified by what he knew I was about to do. The babies clothes came off... IN THE RESTAURANT. There we were, with our gross selves, dirty kids, beers in hand and....our naked baby. I undressed Shepherd, picked him up, gathered the kids and walked out to the van with...my naked baby. The kid didn't even have shoes on. Just the skin God gave him and a soggy diaper.

Growing up, when I would hear the term 'white trash' I always thought it was referring to a certain class. Oh no. How wrong I was. Now that I am an adult, I realize that all 'white trash' refers to is a certain "look". I do believe, tonight, my family and I embodied the true definition of white trash, right there, inside Mama Yum-Yum's.

You see, you can have class whether you make two hundred dollars a week or two thousand. Whether you live in a mansion or a mobile home, drive a Geo Metro or a Jaguar. It is not what's on the outside at all, rather what we do with ourselves and how we carry ourselves--our presentation.

So, I am going out tonight to move all the cars out into the lawn, flip that big satellite dish that we've been meaning to take the dump over and turn that baby into a gazebo. Then, I'm gonna get me some smoked weenies and pork rinds and have me a cookout. A real tail-gatin' cookout. I'm gonna do Steve real proud, ya'll.