Put Your Go Britches On

Perfect. Here is the clean Shopify version with actual paragraph breaks. I’m keeping the wording from your Facebook post and formatting it so it should paste correctly.

Title: Put Your Go Britches On

Dear Friend,

Growing up, my Deddy always said we had to get up and put our “go britches” on.

Now, you might would think that meant we were going somewhere, but nope. Nine times out of ten, we weren’t going anywhere. 😂 “Go britches” just meant you were dressed and ready for the day. Clothes on, hair fixed, shoes on...ready from head to toe. There was no getting up and wandering around half the morning looking like you’d just rolled out of bed.

Honestly, little Miss Sas didn’t think too much about it. Most days I probably was going somewhere eventually anyway, even if “somewhere” was just riding my bike all over downtown Webb with the other neighborhood kids.

Then I got to be a teenager, and Lord knows I wasn’t trying to sit at home then either. If I wasn’t at work, I was probably riding around town or down some backroad somewhere. We didn’t necessarily have anywhere to go. We just needed to be going.

Funny how that works.

Then adulthood came along. Marriage and kids and errands and appointments and all the things that meant I really did need to stay ready to go most of the time. Somewhere along the way, though, I got tired of always feeling like I was sitting on go.

I don’t want my shoes on all day anymore. I don’t particularly care if my hair is fixed if nobody is coming over, and I have discovered that I quite enjoy wandering around the homestead in comfy clothes with my hair looking like it has absolutely given up on me. 😂

I still put shoes on when I go outside, though. Deddy made sure of that. All those years of “Put some shoes on!” left me with feet so tender that walking barefoot through the yard feels less like connecting with nature and more like some kind of punishment. I see people strolling barefoot across gravel and think...absolutely not.

But lately I’ve been watching Bubs, and I swear sometimes it’s like watching an old version of myself. He is at that age where he wants to GO. If he isn’t gone, he’s making plans to be gone. Who’s doing something? Where’s everybody going? What are we doing tonight?

And every now and then I want to ask him why in the world he can’t just stay home.

Then I remember.

Because at his age, I couldn’t either.

I wasn’t a homebody. Not even a little bit. I think COVID changed that in me more than I realized at the time. We were all forced to stay home for a while, and somewhere in there I discovered something...

I actually like it here. 😂

I like being home. I like days when I don’t have anywhere I have to be. I like knowing I can work around the house, piddle with something outside, drink another cup of coffee, and never once wonder whether my hair looks presentable.

Don’t get me wrong. Invite me to a good party or get-together and I’ll probably be there. I’ll put on my go britches, fix my hair, and even put on real shoes.

But we’re gonna need to limit that foolishness to about once a week. 😂

Because apparently somewhere between being that little girl riding bicycles all over Webb, that teenager riding backroads just because she could, and this season of life...I finally figured out where I was always in such a hurry to get to.

Home.

And wouldn’t you know it? Deddy spent all those years making sure I had my go britches on just for me to grow up and decide I’d rather take ’em off. 😂