Yee Haw

There's a rodeo in my backyard. Bucking broncos are rearing up, sending their riders into gleeful screams, even as they are thrown hither and fro. Originally there was but one pony in our household but the Girl's recent birthday brought another via UPS.

The Boy's Radio Flyer rocking horse is faded and weatherworn after two years outside; its bright red now dulled to a boring pink. The thick rubber straps that support the horse are now frightfully cracked and dull, leading to our hope he outgrows it before disaster arrives. The Girl's pony, however, is resplendent in its newness, red as an apple, utterly free of cobwebs.

The two of them began their bouncing two days ago after I put together the Girl's. A gift from my inlaws, her pony was as exasperating to assemble as I remember her brother's being and for some reason I made the same errors this time as last. The kids helped with the process, the Boy by distributing screws around the patio, and the Girl by constantly lubricating the screwdriver with saliva. The hour and a half or so that it took is yet another example of quality time.

Instructions on proper bouncing and rocking technique have flowed endlessly from the Boy to the Girl. She takes his advice for what it's worth, but prefers to simply rock violently in unison with him. They have been, for the last two evenings, totally exhausted come bedtime so I have decided to keep the rodeo as part of the daily schedule. It serves a purpose beyond their entertainment.

My great fear is that they will ask for lariats with which to lasso the unsuspecting dogs. This would be frowned upon, but I am not against the occasional bout of steer wrestling. That might just exhaust them further.