Rednecks R Us

After reading some of my last few posts, I realized something. I have been doing a wonderful job of reiterating all those Arkansas/hillbilly stereotypes you may have. For instance, we live 3 miles down a dirt road. We live in a county where you can't buy a bottle of whine, but all the drugs you want are within reach (scary!). Our next door neighbors have chicken houses. Dogs outnumber people in our neighborhood. My husband hunts--Everything.

I honestly did not realize we were rednecks until I read our stories. OK, that is SO not true. I've always known my husband was a redneck. He has made that perfectly clear since the first time I saw him (driving someone else's truck and "celebrating" a huge buck his best friend killed. . .what the heck was I thinking?!) However, I still have some denial about whether or not I am a redneck. Sadly, I have a feeling which side of the line my children are on. . .

That said, stereotypes are wrong and misleading. Please don't judge all of Arkansas by my stories. I am sorry if I have been misleading you. We are not all like this. Seriously. Growing up, I lived on a paved road--a highway, even! We only had one dog. We could buy wine, but drugs appeared (to me, at least) to be scarce. My dad "hunted" once a year, which amounted to going camping with the guys. Ok, the next door neighbors did have chicken houses, but it is Arkansas. . .

That said, let me influence you twice more. . .

1) We were almost late to school today because the Tyson truck was stopped on the dirt road talking to my neighbor, the illegal poacher, about deer hunting. . .

2) When we got to the babysitter's, she had a deer hanging in her front yard. Her husband had killed a good size buck. (Although she told me she took the kids on a field trip to teach them about hunting--gotta love that!)

Please don't judge us. Laugh WITH us, ok?