I was recently asked by some friends of mine if I’d be the godmother for their fifth baby who is due in six months or so. I enthusiastically typed YES!!! because this is the modern world and she’d asked me over Facebook IM. Also, I’ve never actually met them in person, but we’ve been friends for years. And they live in Ireland.
The internet has made life interesting. And fun. The internet has made life fun, and made the world small enough that a web designer in Northern Ireland and a writer in Texas can be good enough friends (even though they’ve never met face to face) that her asking me to be her baby’s godmother didn’t seem at all odd.
I’ve been sitting here thinking about this new wee Irish babe and my obligations to him/her. (We don’t know if there’s indoor or outdoor plumbing yet.) He has four sisters, so I’m assuming godson until the ultrasound tells us differently.
As a good God-fearing Christian woman, I want to make sure that he knows Jesus, and that he knows Texas. It’s the closest thing to Heaven on Earth, and truly is God’s country, so I have an obligation to make this little Irish fella as Texan as possible, so I’m packing up a care package and sending it across the pond as fast as I can. It’s never too soon for him to be working on his drawl.
I’ve already put a little bit of dirt in a box for them. They can place it under the bed in the hospital, and he can be born on Texas soil. I figure he can’t go wrong with a start like that. Afterwards, it can go under his cot (crib), and he can sleep on his own little bit of the Lone Star State.
I’m throwing in a couple packages of bluebonnet seeds. I’m not sure how they’ll do in the Irish climate, but I do know that you can’t be a Texas baby unless you’ve had your picture taken in a field of bluebonnets. It’s best if you’re on the side of the highway with the wind from passing traffic ruffling those baby-fine curls, so his dad will have to do some donuts in the yard to get the full effect.
I’ve included CD’s of Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and George Strait. Our boy needs to know both kinds of music, Country and Western, and they should help him to develop a respectable drawl while he “rocks in the cradle to the crying of a steel guitar.” Heaven.
I’ve already sent my teenage sons out hunting for a rattlesnake rattle. They drop them from time to time if they’re not using them. If they are…well rattlesnake is tasty, and this is a good cause.The little booger’s going to need something to play with, and his Mama will be happy that we’ve found something organic and all natural. If the sound of it sends small animals running for their lives, well, that’s not altogether a bad thing…is it?
Plus, we can always use the skin for baby’s first pair of boots.
If he turns out to be a she, we can dye them pink and add a little glitter. Boot scootin’ is really the only way go. (If you don’t want to have to get your own snake, you can buy the boots here.)
There’s still a little more room in the box, and I’m adding as much as I can. I’ve got an obligation here, so help a sister out. What would you put in the box?
**No rattlesnakes were harmed by my family in the writing of this post. I can’t speak for the fellows who made those boots. I’m pretty sure the snake wasn’t a volunteer in the making of them.
Texas countryside By Leaflet (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
bluebonnets: By Mannypr (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons
baby in bluebonnets by Bella Mia Portraits via Facebook, with permission
rattlesnake By Clinton & Charles Robertson from Del Rio, Texas & San Marcos, TX, USA (Western Diamondback Rattlesnake (Cortalus atrox)) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Needmore Gin By Leaflet (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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