Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Deepest Dreams

Tonight my husband and I were sitting on our swing, watching the sun set over our lake-not-a pond when I confided my deepest, most desperate longing to him.  Well, maybe not my deepest dream, but definitely in the top ten. 

After I told him I needed a new truck because our 99 Dodge Ram was losing it's pulling power going up hill (poor thing has more miles on it than Mater), I added that maybe we should just go ahead and get a new trailer too.  And no need to be stingy, because of my dream, you see.

I want to competetive trail ride someday.  Oh sure, it'll be when the kids are older.  Shucks, Ainsley's only nine now.  Soon as I get her out of diapers, I'll be ready to head for the open trail.  Whoa, she is out of diapers!  I want that truck and trailer combo lickety-split, baybee!  I'm partial to blue, but green is okay in a pinch.  The trailer should have one of those swing out saddle holder thingees.  And a bathroom.  I'm so done with public restrooms. 

Peter interrupts me.  Excuse me, where did he come up with that?  It's rude, and just when I was spending his money.  He says he'd like to try some of the Extreme Cowboy race stuff.  Puh-lease.  That stuff costs money, and if anything is going to cost money around here, it's going to be spent on me. Duh.

Besides, it's my dream.  Butt out, Mister. 

Our marriage is built on a solid foundation.  He makes the money; I spend it.  Or, as I like to sum it up:  what's mine is mine, and what's his is mine.  It's all so easy.  Why's he want to go messing with that with his silly dreams for, anyhow?

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Battle of Wills

I'm watching a battle of wills, and I think there's a clear victor.  Ainsley has decided to clean her horse's feet.  Her horse, Sweet Baby Jane - whom I think was named by someone with a perverse sense of humor - has decided that she likes her feet just the way they are.  So 49 pounds versus 849 pounds.  It's been amusing to watch. 

Ainsley runs her hand gently down Jane's leg, just like I've taught her.  I can see her mouth the word "foot" from where I sit in the dining room, and I'm pretty sure I can see Jane snicker as she shifts her weight to said foot, refusing to budge.  Ainsley tugs, then pulls, harder and harder still, until Sweet Baby Jane turns her head and bites her in the butt.  Ainsley stands up and slaps her on the neck, mouths a word I'm fairly sure she's not supposed to say, and shoves the horse to the side.  Or tries to, rather.  It has the effect of a gnat running into a brick wall. 

So she tries another tactic.  She goes to the Janie's head and sweet talks her.  Murmurs some sweet nothings in her ears, strokes her blaze, and I'm sure compliments her only eye as bright and lovely.  Walks back around to try the foot again.  Nothing.  No response. 

She jumps up and down a few times, screaming in rage as I howl with laughter from the table.  Jane stands stoic at the trailer, swishing her tail in victory.

Ainsley rallies, narrows her eyes into Slitty Eyes of Death, and walks to Jane.  Her fists are balled by her sides and shoulders are hunched.  I don't know what she says, but Jane picks her feet up before Ainsley even touches her.  Maybe she wants to keep her only eye?  What I do know is this:  Ainsley can be scary when she wants to be.