Resilient Rider

There are no pictures of the fall. But here's what happened.

Evelyn entered her first class very confidently, and made a pretty exasperated face when they called her name LAST, as in, 8th place.

"That's okay. Just keep doing your best. You've got 3 more classes. Keep at it!" I encouraged from the shaded two-rows of pop-fold-up bleacher seats.

So she guided her pony Maddox along the rail and begin the next class. She did a great job of following all the announcer's instructions, and then they called out to change directions. She stopped her pony, signaled the move and changed the whip to the other hand. Just as she did so, she brushed his back with the crop and simultaneously someone popped out of their chair. Pop! Hop! The pony leaped just a foot off the ground. Evelyn flew off to the side and landed on her bum.

Her trainer rushed into the arena. The announcer called for everyone to halt. Evelyn cried. I made my way to her and listened to her cry. It was not a pain cry. It was a bruised ego cry. I held out my hands in front of her. Slowly she reached for them, stood up and melted into my arms. The stands clapped.

Over in the shade I waited for her to get her frustration out. There was dirt in her pretty blonde hair, sweat on her brow, and tear-streams on her pink cheeks. People came over to say how brave she was. A woman gave her a pink handmade pony as a bravery award. A dad offered water. The medic wanted my signature. I wanted to hear from Evelyn.

"So what would you like to do?"

"I want to get back on."


"Well you can do that and get right back into the next class. I need you to make a noise for me. Go like this 'GRRRRR!'"

She laughed and at her sister's insistence made the gutteral noise to clear out the nerves.

She dusted herself off and hopped back on Maddox. The next class was called Obedience. She had to follow many instructions on getting her pony to halt, back up, trot, walk, walk a circle. She won a very well-deserved 2nd place ribbon. That's my girl!

Saturday morning. Evelyn awakes at 6 am, just as usual. She walks confidently and quietly into my room, opens the porch door so the dogs can relieve themselves and gingerly climbs into bed with me. Her long soft legs rub up against mine, and she coos, "Good morning, Mommy." Life doesn't get any sweeter.

We giggle and snuggle for a few minutes and then head to the kitchen, careful not to speak too loudly and wake any sleeping siblings.

She wants to make or bake something. So we think and think. I have some tapioca flour, some rice flour and float the idea of making popovers. No, she says. So we search online for "pinspiration" on Pinterest and she sees some glistening Texas Roadhouse Dinner Rolls that she likes.

Two hours later, we enjoyed warm fresh yeasty rolls with butter and honey. Worth the wait.

The recipe is everywhere if you google it, but here's a link with pictures to make it easy on you. (we didn't use an electric mixer; we used adorable little almost-six-year-old hands to do the trick)

Manwich

Ah pregnancy. It's a miracle. I've waded through the three months of feeling queasy and anxious. Now we are in the sweetspot of cravings and flavor sensations. Only this guy is throwing me some curveballs. I don't recall having headaches with prior pregnancies, or craving CHEESEBURGERS every single day. I am comforted only slightly by a friend's tale that a vegetarian amiga of hers had to give it up and succumb to the beastly cravings during her pregnancy. Here I thought this would be my healthy, amazingly natural SoCal pregnancy. I pictured myself relishing every bite of a mound of vegetables. Ha! Nothing like motherhood to remind you you DON'T control everything. So here he is, growing like a little meat-eating manly man inside me and rapidly taking my hard-earned jogging frame to something much more Rubenesque. Eh, well, I am rolling with it.

This trimester will not be focused on daily updates from baby center on how my little munchkin is growing, nor am I sitting in front of A Baby Story watching other families' dramas unfold. We've been down this road and this time feels like a much faster, easy ride. We're already in week 16. I've got 25 baby chicks, 3 children, 3 dogs, 5 horses and 13 hens to keep me on my feet, a home expansion underway (dude needs a room) and a very busy, hard working husband I hope to see occasionally.

I plan to have a hospital birth with minimal intervention. I will hire a doula to attend the birth. After a somewhat "precipitous labor" with Evelyn, I'll need someone on my side if the baby comes out like a freight train. Al will be there, of course, but I distinctly recall the look of helplessness on his face as I turned to him and said, "HELP ME!" during the last 5 minutes of my last labor. Poor guy looked at me, sweaty-lipped and completely unable to do anything, which is so far from his normal at-the-helm demeanor. I hope a doula can give us all a little more confidence and guidance, or at least run and fetch me a cheeseburger.

Be Mine, Valentine: How to Make a Sweet Backpack

After a fruitless search on Pinterest for a Kindergarteners' Valentine box craft, I came up with this fun, messy craft using tri-fold paper towel boxes (purchased at Target).

The first step was to gently open the boxes from the bottom and remove all the paper towels. I will use them for other crafts, messes and a few puppy accidents around the house! I taped the box shut with a few pieces of regular old scotch tape. 

Then, using a mixture of 1/2 warm water and 1/2 Elmer's glue, the children wet the outside of the boxes completely, using their fingers as paintbrushes. 

Next, they dipped pieces of paper napkins, which I had precut into one-ply squares, into the glue mixture and applied them to the outside of the boxes.

It was really messy fun!

When the children finished covering the entire box with napkins, I pasted one small piece of napkin with their names Sharpied onto the middle of the backside. We allowed the boxes to dry overnight. Then I poked four holes and made shoulder straps out of some inexpensive rope found at Home Depot. 

I cut out the hole for their "mail" following the opening for the napkins.

They were so proud!

 ...and it was a very efficient and fun way for them to distribute their Valentines!

Retirement

No, I don't mean me. I'm not feeling that old on my first full day of 39! Yesterday we drove in my friend Jamie's swanky truck with Graham's horse Kane Creek Kaos boppin' along behind in the trailer to his retirement in Descanso.

Descanso, indeedy. Descanso means "rest, relaxation. break" and that's just what Kaos needs. We purchased him for Graham to ride in the show arena. Within a matter of months, lameness appeared and despite valiant efforts by Dr. Colburn, we could not block the pain. We knew the best thing for this guy was an early retirement.

It's not so easy to find a forever home for your old, lame or otherwise "unuseful" horse. Harder still, finding one within visiting distance. Luckily, we have a resourceful friend in Debbie Rocha, who came up with a lovely solution. Her involvement with Lions, Tigers & Bears in Descanso proved to be the ticket. Lions, Tigers & Bears (LTB) doesn't just house the animals in its name - Kaos gets to live on about 10 rolling acres of oak-tree-shaded, boulder-outcropped land, beside a full menagerie of animals that includes llamas, goats, a miniature donkey, chickens, pigs, a miniature horse, and more.

Of course, the whole mission of LTB is, as the name suggests, to provide a refuge for lions, tigers, bears and other large cats wronged by human interaction and educate us on these magical, WILD creatures. You may remember a bear in the news recently in the LA area named Meatball. He has his own Facebook page, I'm told. He now resides in a fabulous bear habitat at LTB, complete with waterfalls, an enclosure with radiant heating and lounge nets made from interwoven, donated firehose.

So it was a joyous, if freezing cold (yes, no hyperbole there - ice in SoCal!) day as we launched Kaos in to a happy, rider-free life in Descanso, CA.

Here's a shot of the whole greeting committee coming out to welcome the new resident.

Homecoming

I'm flying over Texas. Some 400 miles ago I flew over Austin, where both my sisters live. I imagined what they might be doing as I viewed their city from 40,000 feet. Mundane morning rituals - Jenn climbing out of the hybrid, liberating a thermos containing vital last sips of warmish English breakfast tea from its cup holder, juggling keys, lunch and reading materials while shutting the door with a hip, Em sitting in exercise gear at her home office, crafting a supportive note to a client (the fifth such note of the morning) all superfluous emails wooshed into the trash, cat nuzzling her ankles and balking verbally if her hand momentarily lapses in its caresses.


Now we are flying over West Texas. West Texas: just the name of it conjures up images of tumbleweeds and Wild West saloons. I've lived there, and it IS all that and more with its cowpoke summer camps and oil derricks galore. But this morning it is a vast expanse of chrystalline white on murky brown. I am reminded is a favorite line in James Harriot's short story "Moses the Kitten" where he describes the Yorkshire Dales as "looking their coldest not when blanketed in white snow, but as now, when the first sprinklings streaked the bare flanks of the fells in bars of black and white like the ribs of a crouching beast."


I'm going home. We are going home. Not to the only home we've ever known, but to the only home we've ever created as a conscious decision to create happiness in our lives. Two years ago this past December we boldly moved to California, choosing a spot that offers small-town amenities, access to horses, beach and year round sunshine. It does not disappoint. No stoplights. A quaint Fourth of July parade through a four block village. Orchards. Fresh air and lots of outdoorsy fun in that sunshine.


I've missed my babies while I've been away. I miss Paige's gentle morning hug and sympatico eye contact throughout the day, the warm delicious buttered toast feel of Graham's cheek and arms as I wake him for school and he arches his back in an accordian-like stretch, Evelyn's pixie bounce and belting pop-music warbles as she does her own thing her own way, with flair, always. The dogs. The sunrise over black mountain out my bedroom windows. The frost on the golf course. The crush of eucalyptus mulch under my shoes on the bridle paths. The chickens. My kitchen and all the mess I create there, even!


To paraphrase Lyn Yutang, the best part of traveling is coming home.