N's version of heaven? Not so much. But she still has the cutest NASCAR pout ever


This Yankee went to NASCAR for the first time ever.

I attempted to live tweet it but was completely distracted by my own jorts. In fact, my red, white and blue ensemble complete with a Walmart bag were a huge hit. And by huge hit, I mean no beer was spilled on me.

I have no full-length photos, but I'm totally thinking: Jorts are number 1!

We arrived and were greeted by two teens in a golf cart with a flag “ICE & CIGS.” My kids declined since they weren’t hot or in need of cancer.

Where was the Ice and Cigs cart when I was in college?

We immediately put on the kids’ headphones in case the next cart offered them beer and sex, and we headed to the race track.

Good-bye ice and cigs girls.

When we entered Richmond International Raceway, I was overjoyed to realized that Cars was completely accurate except for the talking cars part.

I think that's pit row!
My job seems so much less weird now.

We took our seats to watch driver after driver, we’d never heard of, introduced until YAY DANICA! YAY DALE, JR!.

Then we bowed our heads in prayer, and THANKED GOD FOR NASCAR. A-freakin-men.

As the race began, E was transported into heaven on Earth. (prayer totally works!) He spent the entire time yelling: GO, BLUE CAR GO!

N's version of heaven? Not so much. But she still has the cutest NASCAR pout ever
We don't actually know anything about NASCAR so Go Blue Car was the equivalent of Go Fast Guy.

I spent the entire time looking for mullets and found only one minor mullet so I yelled: Way to ruin the stereotype, NASCAR!

Impressive dedication nonetheless.

We were 85 laps into the race when I realized it would be dawn before it ended so I bribed E with presents, and we waved good-bye to the blue car and our first NASCAR experience.

I can't hear you but I can see you taking my picture and thinking about leaving, and I'm annoyed.

As we left, I did see this sign in the parking lot, which helped to reaffirm that we were in fact at a NASCAR race.

No Tents Allow In Lot A. Who knew that could be a problem needing to be clarified?

Between you and me, we cannot WAIT to go back.

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Um, yes, we ARE at a country club.

I Gave Birth To Southern Children. Oops.

I am not Southern. I don’t puddle. I don’t host BBQs that include pulled pork, graduation parties that include country music or meet-the-baby events. And I don’t do small talk.

The one Southern thing that I do, or did, is have Southern children. Born and bred in the gentile capital of the Confederacy.  And we don’t plan to move any time soon so they’ll never grow out of it.

Anyway, it’s too late…

My son’s worn a pink polo shirt with seersucker pants.

Um, yes, we ARE at a country club.

My daughter has worn a shirt emblazoned with “Baptized in Muddy Waters”

I have no idea what that even means.

They’ve already been to a football game at The University. (University of Virginia’s fond and strange nickname in these here parts.)

They love pork and spoon bread.

They can use y’all without irony. And they won’t realize that yous guys is just as useful.

They think summer starts in May and end in October. Then the leaves change for two weeks before they expected to bring winter coats to school for 50 degree brrrr weather.

They know that threat of snow means no school and buying five gallons of milk and actual snowflakes means we cannot leave the house except in a sled.

I worry about them.

Well, up until the car ride after our first 90 degree day this season. (Yes, it’s April. Yes, I’m crying.)

We’re driving for three minutes when my son says: My armpits need help.

Me: What?

My son: My armpits are HOT.

My daughter pipes in: Hot on head. Hot on head at playground, too.

My son: I’m too sweaty.

My daughter: Too sweaty, TOO!

Me: Hold on guys, we’re almost home and then we can go right inside.

My son: Mama, my back is not okay. It’s getting so sweaty. My back, Mama! MY BAAAACCCKKKK.

My daughter: HOT! HOT!


Oh and this was AFTER I put on the air-conditioning in the car.

Whine away kids! Because I smiled the whole way home.  As it turns out, a few all y’alls and a popped collar cannot taint this Yankee blood.

PS. We’ll be back outside come October.

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