country life, humor, Uncategorized, writing

Oh Lord, It’s (Not) Hard to be Humble

My dad used to sing me an old Mac Davis tune every now and again.

Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble
When you’re perfect in every way
I can’t wait to look in the mirror
‘Cause I get better lookin’ each day

To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble
But I’m doin’ the best that I can

Mac Davis never had a four-year old.

Last night, Wyokiddo and I were in the pheasant pens with Outdoor Guy.  We were helping him run the birds into their barns for the night.  Despite the blazing hot temperatures we’ve got going on here in southeastern Wyoming, it is still too cold for the youngest chicks to be left outside at night.  Our family’s after-dinner activity from May to early July is to “shoo the birds,” as Wyokiddo calls it.

Last night, I was paying more attention to someone coming down our drive than I was where I was putting my feet.  As I walked backward, I caught my foot on the edge of a covered drip pit and fell ass over teakettle, as Dad used to say.

I wasn’t hurt.  Much.  It was one of those times when I felt myself flailing, then falling, but couldn’t do much about it other than windmill my arms in the air uselessly.  I landed mostly on my ass, but my teakettle took a decent lick, too.  Wyokiddo saw the whole thing go down.

Her first question was about my health.  “Mama, are you okay?”

After assuring her I was, her next statement really took the wind out of my sails.

“You sure do fall slow.”

It is quite easy to be humble when you are a klutz and have a brutally honest preschooler around.



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