Turning 13 meant birthday gifts and gifts equal new duds...cowgirl duds. Despite the constant reminders from mom that I don't have to look like a fashionista at the ranch I can't help but look good shoveling horse poop. I'm 13 after all and I have an imagine to up hold!
Mom, surely you remember the days when you were 13 and you got up like an hour and a half before school started so you could curl your hair into those perfect tubes?? By the way, those tubes were totally wack!
Being 13 means that Martha and George let me drive that John Deer cart thingy. So totally cool! Mom, did you jump off the cart when I took the wheel to take pictures or were you scared I'd injure you?? I'm leaning towards the stalkerotcy picture taken you are known for!
Mom witnessed the whole bucking incident and she did a good job restraining herself from rushing in to rescue me. I did my best not to cry. I'm pretty sure Cowgirls don't cry. Now my trainer Chelsea says that every cowgirl has to bring their trainer beer the first time they fall of their horse, but since I'm not 21 she will settle for double fudge brownies! I don't get why I have to bring her something...........she should actually be buying my mom gifts to convince her to let me keep taking lessons!!