Why I Drink...

Some mother/daughter quality time.

Normally I look at the time I spend at the barn as my downtime.  You know, my happy place.  The place where I relax and unwind after a long day at work.  The place where I get to share my love of horses and riding with my children.  Blissful perfection, yes?

Pfffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttt!

The night started out well.  We got out of the house on-time. There was very little traffic.    Sophie rode Sugar and I rode James.  We both had good rides.

Then it started to unravel.  Soph finished first, and when I brought James in, Soph had put Sug back in her stall and was busy cleaning tack.  As I walked over to Soph she got a weird look on her face and then immediately looked away from me.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Nothing," was her reply.  Oh-kaaaaaaay. My Mom-dar was pinging but I decided not to push the issue.

While I untacked James I looked over at Soph and said, "I'd like to get out of here early, so can you clean my tack?"

And there it was.  The big eye-roll, the big drawn-out sigh, and then, "I knew you were going to ask me that.  You always make us clean your tack. What-everrrrrrrr."

3...2...1...BLASTOFF!!!!!  My vision went red, my blood pressure spiked, steam came out of my ears, and I'm pretty sure my head exploded.

Yes, I could have chosen to let this slide, shrugged it off, or simply reiterated my request. That would have been the mature thing to do.  (Just for the record, I do plenty of tack cleaning.  My own, and the kids.')

I did not go the mature route. I proceeded, in clipped tones, to remind Sophie of how many times I'd cleaned her tack, rolled her wraps, picked up her horse's stall, run back to the truck at horse shows to retrieve forgotten bows/garters/gloves, cleaned up the wash stall after she made a mess out of it, put away her grooming kit, wrapped her horse's legs, tacked her horse up, and helped her groom. I ticked off each bullet point in rapid fire succession, my voice getting louder as I made each point.  I even decided to list all the things I'd ever done for her, starting at conception, because yeah, I was on that kind of a roll.

Oh yeah, I was playing the guilt card.  You bet I was.  There was a point to be proved, dammit.

She stared at me, mouth open and eyes wide, as I delivered the coup de grace, "Now you can clean my tack AND pick out both horse's stalls."

We finished the barn chores in silence, which continued on the ride home.  At one point I considered throwing out a conversational peace offering, then thought better of it.  "Let her stew," I thought.  I had nothing to apologize for, and I can play the silence game as well as anybody. (Yep, that's me, a model of maturity. NOT!)

Soph cracked first.  She asked me how my ride was. "Fine."  A mile further down the road she asked if I was hungry. "Nope." About 10 minutes later she caved and apologized, which I accepted gracefully, the model of parental grace and maturity.  She then proceeded to go into a dissertation on her thoughts regarding the afterlife, major religious dogmas, and her hair (should she cut it, straighten it, get anti-frizz serum or a conditioning mask?)  I just drove, trying desperately to keep up with the wildly vacillating topics of conversation.

At one point she looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, "I'm why you drink wine, aren't I?"

"You're a big part of the reason, sweetie," I replied.

I believe honesty is important in child-rearing.

Best Laid Plains...

Ok, you know how I told you I wouldn't be blogging much this week on AWIP because I was blogging for HJU about the George Morris Gladstone program?  Well, it seems I fibbed.  Just had to share this.

Today I was all fired up to ride after seeing the flatwork session at Gladstone. I was gonna do some snazzy work with Sug, yessirree Bob! THEN I got home and the Boy tells me that he NEEDS to be at his spring concert tonight. Yesterday was when he first mentioned he HAD a spring concert, but then the story was that he did not need to go. Today that changed. He needed to go to protect the sanctity of the bond of clarinet players or something.

The recommended attire is for these events is white shirt with black pants. He pulled a shirt out of the closet and came downstairs looking like an extra from Fiddler on the Roof .  Seems my white peasant tunic got mixed in with his stuff somehow. We laughed hysterically for a few minutes before going into my husband's closet for something a bit more appropriate and putting the poor kid out of his misery.

Given how his revelation today affected my plans for the evening, I'm not feeling guilty about the fact that I am still laughing at him.  Don't get me wrong, I'm so proud of Noah for honoring his commitments and his responsibility to his fellow band members. I just wish he'd filled me in on the schedule a bit earlier, ya know?

Tonight's sacrifice assures me of the Mother of the Year award, yes?

(BTW, You get AWIP style points if you can name this tune!)

In Praise of a Little Alone Time...

A Mobius strip.  Pretty innocuous, huh?

I'm an only child.  This is pertinent information as it will help you better understand my occassional need for alone time, which may or may not be more highly developed than some. I also love my kids to distraction.  I do.  I love them like crazy, understanding that at the same time they often drive me batcrap crazy. 

I think that's so because as an only child, I spent a great deal of my formative years on my own, engaged in silent, solitary, peaceful (mostly) activities.  Now all my time is spent in a frenzy of chaos, and while I would not change my life, sometimes I long for a little "alone time" and I don't think I am a bad parent or person because I do (or, at least I don't think that way most of the time). You following me?

Tuesday night it was my son's turn to come to the barn with me.  It was a more than typically rushed evening, as we had to be home in time for me to run out to my daughter's orthodontist appointment.  Picture the Boy and me driving down a busy NJ highway, me with my eyebrows drawn together as I mentally work through some work issues.  It occurs to me that there is a sad lack of parent-child interaction, so I weakly offer a "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Dammit.  I know better.  That particular question always leads to an aneurysm inducing answer.  Yesterday's gem was, "I'm thinking about Mobius strips."  WTF?????  Go ahead, Google away. M-o-b-i-u-s strips.  Lord knows I certainly had to, even after he tried to explain the term to me.  I knew I'd heard of them, just couldn't pick one out of a lineup.  Sigh.

Then we rode.  I kept stopping what I was doing with Sug to offer help. I know, big mistake. I could almost hear Sugar thinking, "Shuddup fercripessakes and leave the kid be.  You have your own issues to worry about."  Then there was the rush to get cleaned up and get home.  The watching-him-take-5-trips to the tack room when he could have saved time by bring everything at once. (Yeah, of course I had to point that out, for which sin I was treated to the dreaded Eye-roll of Annoyance).

Yesterday I got to go to the barn by myself.  And have a lesson.  By Myself.  Could focus 100% on my ride.  Groom and clean tack without distractions.  No one to ask where the hoof stuff was, or where their girth/gloves/helmet/favorite saddle pad was.  Nobody asked me if I had a drink or snack on me.  (Yes, of course I do, honey.  Actually, what you call my big butt is actual a mini-bar stocked with your favorite treats - let me pull a vitamin water out for you!)

It was absolute bliss.

Tonight it's Soph's turn to come to the barn as we have a lesson.  I'm wondering which daughter will show up.  Will it be the taciturn pre-teen who huffs and eye-rolls every time I say something?  Or the Chatty Patty who needs to fill every silence with news of school going on, soccer gossip, or random noises?  I already know I'll be clucking at her to finish grooming and tacking up, and then alternately begging her to hurry up and threatening to leave her there if she doesn't clean her tack faster. 

Guess who was playing with Mom's
phone when she should have been cleaning tack?

I think one solo barn day a month is fair.  That's not asking too much, right? 

Quality Time...

Libby and Percy. 
Good friends of the
2-and-4 legged variety.

Serendipity.  Don't you just love that word?  It means a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise." That was last night.

Sophie was in Hershey park (again) with a friend, so Noah and I went to the barn by ourselves.  I guess most of New Jersey is on vacation, as for once Routes 287 and 78 were relatively open and we made good time.  That enabled us to make a stop at Melick's Town Farm for carrots, some apple butter, locally grown veggies, and homemade cookies.  As we drove away Noah turned to me and said, "You know, something about shopping there just makes me feel so good." I replied, "You know, I feel the same way," and for the rest of the way to the barn we had a lovely discussion about why that was.

We got to the barn, groomed the girls, and then split riding time on Sugar.  Our barn buddies Terri, Libby and Tamsin were also there, so it was a nice communal ride.  Bless Tamsin's heart, she'd brought pizza along for all of us to share, so after we cooled out the horses we all sat down and had pizza, beer, and the cookies Noah and I had liberated a little bit earlier.  Tamsin's hubby Dave and her son Trevor joined us, and we all relaxed while Trevor, Libby's dog Percy and Billie Jean, the barn's mini donkey, provided entertainment.




Billie Jean thinks she might like some wine...

Trevor: Ready to Ride!

The evening was balmy with a gentle breeze, and the moon was in full view over the treetops.  After we all went our separate ways, Noah and I had a lovely chat while driving home, one of those everything-and-nothing chats that just make you glad you're together. (Hopefully he'll remember this night I commit some infraction and he's convinced I am the Worst Mother on the Planet.)   Don't you just love when things just fall nicely into place and you have a peaceful, enjoyable evening with your friends of both the two-legged and four-legged varieties?

The Horse Show That Almost Wasn't...

Sophie pats Cookie after a job well done.

Sometimes I wonder if this parenting thing is going to be the death of me.  Really.  You know those mothers that seem completely nonplussed despite the fact that they've got 8 pre-teens running through their yard and dinner to cook and a science fair project to help make?  You know - the mothers who smile serenely and who seem to know the absolute right Dr. Phil/Oz/Spock thing to say when their child is sad or mad or glad or in the middle of a $hitstorm of angst and drama?

I'm not one of them.

The other night, Sophie was overtired from a sleepover the night before and seemed a bit bummed out. While she was organizing her stuff for the following day's horse show, I made a few attempts to find out what was going on.  I used my sweetest, best, most understanding Dr. Phil voice each time.  I swear to you I did.  It didn't work.  She was mute, until all of a sudden she wasn't, and then she was face down in tears on the bed, howling.  Absolutely howling.  The cats peeked in, took one look at the situation and got the heck out of Dodge.

More gentle probing (and by God, I was exhausted at this point) got the kid to spill the beans.  The cause of the drama?  Camp had been "boring", the afternoon snack was "bad", and we didn't get a chance to go to the pool because I "needed to go grocery shopping." 

My brain snapped.  I had a full-on WTF aneurysm. Gone were Doctors Phil, Oz, and Spock.  In their place was the wrath of Mom, and it was a righteous and awesome wrath.  To put it bluntly, Miss Thing got an earful, and I was about half a second away from pulling her out of the show. I don't have a problem doing that; I've done it before. However, a small part of my brain was saying, "She didn't really do anything wrong.  She was tired, you pushed her to tell you what was wrong, and she did. You just didn't like her answer, or the drama that came with it."  So, before I did anything irrevocable, I got my husband's opinion on the matter, and a very rational friend's thoughts as well.  Ultimately, we decided to let her show, but to enforce consequences later by having her do extra housecleaning chores and sit through one of my long winded lectures on "Why what you did was unacceptable: Part XXIII."

She woke up the next morning as her normal self.  She was helpful, respectful, and listened attentively to her trainer and to me.  She said "thank you" whenever people complimented her on her riding or on her pony.  She was considerate of her pony and praised Cookie with many pats after each round.  There was no sign whatsoever of the sulky hell-child of the evening before.  She even bear-hugged her Grandpa and thanked him for coming to watch her show.

Reserve Champion.  Happy child. Tired Po-Po.

Wonderful!  Happy child, happy Mom, happy pony (there were lots of treats and hugs).  She almost had a relapse when we handed her the bucket of cleaning supplies, but took one look at me (I think I might have been drawing in a deep breath in preparation for another Shock and Awe campaign) and thought better of it. 

She went off to clean.  I went off to take a nap.  This parenting thing is exhausting.