Yeah...we think so.
In a superbly efficient moment of poor planning, I decided Monday night would be a fantastic time to make fried chicken...that I forgot to thaw first (a chronic flaw of mine).
Luckily, it was all drumsticks. Undaunted, I kicked off my shoes, popped open the windows, popped the chicken in the mikey to thaw, flipped on some 90s-era country music, and commenced to peeling potatoes, singing Randy Travis and dancing around the kitchen. (Have I ever mentioned I love to sing?)
The kids are used to it. Most of the time, they turn a blind eye. Bless their little hearts.
"Don't ever let anybody ever tell you your mama ain't country," I told Christopher, while I turned chicken legs and bebopped. He replied, "Oh, I never said you weren't."
Suddenly the lyrics to my old favorite "If That Ain't Country" by Anthony Smith ran through my mind and begged to be heard. I pulled it up on YouTube, shared it on Facebook, and....then the kids took over.
I'm stirring gravy, they're playing Big and Rich. They fix their plates and I counter with Trace Adkins. We're all dancing and singing and laughing and talking and eating.
Frankly, ya'll...that was fun.
I love you Lisa. I just thought you should know.
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