Blitz Update

As many of you know, my sweet boy Blitz has multiple health problems and I am planning on having him put down...someday. Someday soon, actually. I'm prepared now, and almost want to do it just to get it over with, but my boy has rallied and even though he looks like a non-survivor of a concentration camp, he seems to be feeling pretty fancy.

I've heard about this supplement that can cure anything that ails anyone or anything.  I don't want to to say what it is, because just as many people believe that it causes the stuff that ails anyone or anything. I'm not in the mood for a debate and I sure don't want anyone telling me what a horrible person I am for taking risks with my horse's health. The way I look at it is this - my horse is dying. Slowing and painfully. This supplement may kill him and it may heal him. It's worth the risk.

Here's the other way I look at this - not your business.

On with my story...

Mike and I have decided to make a last ditch effort to save Blitz. We're overdosing him on said supplement that may kill him. Blitz does not like this, especially since we're giving him shots. Today was day three of said shots and he was having none of it. For such a little guy, he can put up quite a fight. Mike finally says to "try this" and the result is Blitz rearing straight up and looming over me.  He's impressively tall in that stance.  I jumped backwards - just a reflex, as I'm actually quite brave - and fell over the lawnmower.

"Huh," Mike says. "That didn't work."

I married a genius.

I figure if Blitz is looking better in a week, we have a winner. If he's not, at least we tried. I have a taste of having my heart back. If only I could have just one more time of riding him at full blast through the trails...well, I've got to be honest. It still wouldn't be enough. There's no other horse like him.

Whitewater Adventures

We're on our first family vacation as a blended family.  My normally unflappable husband got pretty "flapped" about 487 miles into the kids singing a variety of songs like "Dumb Ways to Die," "They're Taking the Hobbits to Risenguard," and the always popular, "Let It Go."  (That last one might have been me, actually."

We're staying in a "cozy" vacation cabin overlooking the Ocoee River that is, sadly, much larger and fancier than our everyday home. I had forgotten just how much I love the state of Tennessee.  If I ever had to leave the Heart of the South, this is where I would want to be.

One thing of note is the fact that everyone (namely, Scotlyn) is complaining of the bone-chilling cold of this area.  She has taken to wearing her Lord of the Rings cloak (yes, she owns one. I know.) wrapped around her to ward off pneumonia. It's 85 degrees, both inside and out. I will admit, it does feel a bit nippy after the high nineties temps we're used to. But, oh, so nice. *sigh*

So, on with my story.  Today we went whitewater rafting!  A first for everyone. We were so excited.  Our guide's name was Baby Huey...

Wait, I got ahead of myself. I requested a reservation over the internet and Dawn from Ocoee Outdoors called me back this morning to confirm a 1:00pm float time. "I know people from Franklinton," she says. Come to find out, she's related by marriage to one of my good friends.  We did the whole "it's a small world...how is so-an-so doing...I heard about that, so sad." and finished making the reservation. And I made a new friend. Then texted my old friend and told her all about it.

Our guide's name was Baby Huey. He was over six feet tall and he was no baby. Mike liked him but I couldn't hear a word he said. No hearing aids, you know, and deaf as a post. They would have been beneficial, especially when Huey said to lean in and I didn't and almost fell out of the raft. Mike let go of the end of his paddle, grabbed the back of my life vest and pulled me in.

And...the unmanned end of his paddle hit me square in the mouth. I have a fat lip. I always knew John Michael had anger management issues, but goodness, to just haul off and whack me in the face with a boat oar?!  Couldn't he learn to communicate a little better when he's upset with me? So aggressive.

Here we are, having the time of our lives.

 

The river was cold, let me tell you, and those waves wash right over a body. My body.  They didn't go on the other side of the boat - I think Huey planned it that way. He and Mike did a lot of talking that I couldn't hear. Methinks it was a conspiracy.

 

I haven't seen the kids grin like that this in a while. They sure seemed to enjoy themselves, and the views were beautiful. The hills rose up steep on both sides of us, sometimes sheer rock cliffs, but mostly tree covered mountainsides. We had to guide around rocks in the river and through flumes that seemed to shoot us like from a cannon, then we'd go through a pool where we'd float so slowly it was like we were on glass, barely moving.

 

At one point, we stopped at Jump Rock and tied all the rafts to each other, forming a bridge, and anyone that wanted to jump off the rock, could.  Ainsley wanted to go and I went with her. Jumping from boat to boat was like what I imagine being in Wipeout was like, and I knew I was going to fall between the boats and die of embarrassment.  I shouldn't say this because it's way tmi, but the main reason I was going to jump off the rock was to get in the water because I'd had too much Dr. Pepper to drink before we'd left the bus, if  you know what I mean? Yeah, well, be grossed out if you want, but you'd do it, too, if you had to. 

 

Once it was my turn to jump, it looked a lot scarier than I'd thought and I had to way the cost - possible paralysis if I didn't jump far enough out and landed on the outcropping of rock vs the need for relief. I jumped. 

 

 

 

 

The water was ice freaking cold. And fast.  I didn't even bob to the surface until I was past where I was supposed to start swimming in. The current was strong, too. I was a-swimming and a-swimming when I looked up to see all the guides on all the rafts poised to dive in and save me, lest I keep on floating, all the way to New Orleans.  Don't all rivers lead to New Orleans? Anyway, I made it back to our raft and was planning on hanging out for a bit beside the boat, take care of some business, you know. But Huey grabbed my jacket and hauled me in.

 

I went through all of that and still had to tinkle. Son of a gun.

 

Ainsley gets in behind me and bounces up and down. "Can I go again? Mama, wanna come with me?"  I glare at her as I panted for breath, sweating and shivering at the same time.

 

That's when the Mike leans over and tells me that we're almost half way done. My bladder shrieked in protest.

 

Epilogue: Both me and my bladder survived the rest of the trip, and we enjoyed it immensely.  I haven't had that much fun in a very long time. I can't wait to go again, and we'll do the Upper Ocoee, which has Grade V rapids!

 



Diva Day

Hey, Diva here.  I have to write this post on my human's blog because she still won't let me have my own BlogSpot. Humans are so greedy.  My human knows I would take over the world if she let me have my own blog. She's just scared.

Today was hotter than stink outside, but do you know what Kerri did? She came trot/limping outside, waving a new Vacquero bridle at me, where I was peacefully grazing and swatting at flies, and cheerfully called, "Diva, Girl, look what Mama bought you!  A pretty new bridle!  Do you want to come try it on?"

Hell, no, woman.  I turned my back to her. Do I want to try it on? Seriously, it's 99 degrees in the shade and you want to know if I want to try on an instrument of torture? What kind of stupid are you?

"Come on, pretty lady, I'll give you a treat," she sing-songs to me. I don't know if she thinks she's cute, but let me tell you...she's not. NOT. No self-respecting middle aged woman should skip around talking to horses like they're babies.  Men in white jackets could show up at any moment and lock her crazy butt up. (If she'd let me have a cell phone, they'd be here already.)

So, okay, I have to admit, the treat finally got to me, but I gave her a merry chase first.  She's limping more now than she was when we started.  What's really fun is letting her get really close, like close enough to brush my whiskers, and I whirl and trot away.  Not far, now, it's more torturous if I'm so near, and yet so far. 

My human's voice wasn't quite so sing-songy by the time she caught me, I must say. She put a new saddle on me, then had the nerve to ask me how I liked it. I would have liked to show her how I liked it, but her new husband was smart enough to hold my lead rope tight enough so my teeth couldn't do my talking on her butt. I laid my ears back and curled my nose, which to any intelligent human would have been intimidating.  She kissed me and scratched my ear. No respect.

My human set me up in all new tack today - new saddle (Endurance), new bridle, new bit - and this was the good part.  It was an O ring straight bit. She thought I'd like it better and, boy, was she right.  It was like not wearing a thing and I got away with murder when she climbed on board (almost literally, but I failed, dammit). The best part was the curb chain didn't fit so...easy bit, no curb.  I was home free, baby.  I could do anything I wanted and there was nothing my passenger could do about it.

I thought about all the terrible things my human has ever done to me - the wormings, the rectal exams, braiding ribbons in my tails - pink ones! - and ho baby did I have some fun with her.  I hit that pasture at a sidewinding crow hop with the wind whistling past my mane.  All I could hear were the shrieks - sing-song cheer was long gone - "John Michael, get another bridle!  Hurry before I die."

I've never seen the male human move so fast. He caught me before I could unload the female human and tap dance on her forehead and he switched bridles. Today was just not my day.

Female human decided we were going to "school".  I know a lady never says her age, but I promise you that I'm long out of the arena.  I don't need no stinking higher education, seeings how I'm perfect as I am. She wanted me to back, then sidepass.  I did a sidewinder already. Why didn't that count?  And when she finally got off, the saddle didn't even slide down and break her other ankle. Dammit.

Put me up and feed me, that's all I ask for. But nooo. that would be asking too much. Next, male human decides I need my hooves trimmed.  All four of them, for crying out loud!

"When we get done with this, should we go ahead and worm her?" he asks, bent over my hind leg.  I did my very best, but I could not produce a bowel movement at that moment. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Finally done with my feet, female human takes the freezing cold water hose and sprays me with it. 

That's it. This day is officially the worst day of my life.

Blitz

I haven't said much about Blitz lately, and I guess it's because I haven't wanted to say this, but here goes.

Blitz isn't doing well. He's lost weight, a lot of weight. He looks as bad or maybe worse than I've ever seen him and it's happened fast. I thought it was most likely his dental problem combined with a hard winter, so I had the vet come out and float his teeth. When the vet said his teeth weren't really bad, that took the wind out of my sails. If he got that bad and there wasn't a reason...

Blitz has always been a hard keeper, and he usually gets pretty poor in the winters, but this...?  It's bad.  He's sunken in and caved in.  the muscles in his neck are deteriorating. His hindquarters are drawn up, ribs showing, for goodness sakes, his breast bone is poking out!  I don't think he weighs 700 pounds. Mike's horse, Daisy, is the same height and weighs about 1100 pounds. That's the difference between the two. Granted, she's a chubby chick, but still.

Blitz still puts his ears up and his eyes are bright...enough. But he's not my Blitz, the psycho as my kids call him.

I don't think he's in pain, but I'm no longer confident of that. I hate seeing him this way and I hate worrying that I'm going to wake up one morning and he's going to be dead in the pasture.

I'm giving serious consideration to putting my sweet boy down. Burying him under the maple tree out back. Giving him the rest he deserves.  I don't want him to suffer.

Oh, but I'm so not ready to let him go. I call his name every time I leave the house and he looks up, turning that beautiful white face in my direction, ears forward, as if to say, "Yes, Mama?  And where's my treat?" As soon as he realizes I'm not giving him a treat he casually dismisses me and turns back to his grazing.  Or he walks to the fence, just for a scratch and in the slim hope I'll cave and give him a treat anyway. My boy loves me. And just looking at him is my therapy. Without him, I couldn't have made it through these last years of a roller coaster marriage and divorce. He's better than all the therapy in the world.

And oh, how I love him. I can't stand to see him like this. We've been through this cycle almost every year for the past eight, and every year it gets worse. It's wearing him down.  Even in the summer he doesn't get his strength back.

Can I say good bye? Should I?

Wedding Bells

My wedding is far from traditional.  I asked my dad if he was okay with NOT giving me away. I knew he would be, because he's the least egotistical man I've ever met, but I asked anyway.

"I don't want to give you away," he said, never taking his eyes off the tv screen. "I gave you away the last time and you came back."

My boys are giving me away.  Chad jumped at the chance, but at first Pierson wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of the wedding.  After thinking about it, he decided to go for it.

"I really want to get rid of you, and this is my chance," he said.

My family is overflowing with love and happy feelings.

Things Kids Say

Pierson asked me the other day if Harrison could come over. I'd already spent the day at the Dukes of Hazzard Reunion and I was DONE. I told him no way was I going anywhere else that day.  No way, no how.
Ainsley involved her nosy little self in the conversation. "You didn't have to go to school all week like we did."
"Oh really?" I gave her The Look. "I went to school for all thirteen years, and then I homeschooled you ankle biters for another thirteen.  What now?"
She scoffed. "But you didn't go this week."

She has upgraded from her laid back Janie to my cyclone Blitz in the horse world.  After chasing him around the yard with the saddle yesterday, finally managing to tighten it while he whirled and twirled in moves that would make a professional ballet dancer jealous, she climbed on.  He pranced and did some grande jete's.  She looked a little nervous and said, "I hope I don't fall off and get hurt."  Then she brightened.  "But then I won't have to go to school tomorrow!"  And they were off.

Scotlyn just pretty much stays in the mode of "you've ruined my life don't talk to me".  It's kind of nice. Except she talks to me at will.  I'd like it to go both ways.

Chad came over the other day and went to the Dukes Reunion with us.  He spent the whole day complaining that it was a foretaste of hell.  I couldn't argue. Three hours of waiting in line to meet Daisy and five people to go, she takes her lunch. Son of a gun. And worst thing - just as we got out of her line and went to meet Cooter, he closed his line and shut down for the day. He was the one I wanted to meet!
"Next year," Scotlyn says. 
When hell freezes over, that's what I say.

Pierson is mellow. Give him an Xbox controller and he's happy.
Ask him how school was and get the same answer every day. Without looking up from the screen he says, "I hate it and you've ruined my life."
Mission accomplished.

Free

I've been in a foul mood today.  It's not escaped my notice that since I left Peter, his family has suddenly taken an interest - for the first time ever - in my children...and in Peter.  This leads credence to their claim that I am, indeed, the cause for all the problems in their family.  After alternating between whining and complaining to Mike this afternoon, it dawned on me...

I don't have to deal with this anymore!!!

No more do I have to worry about what these people think of me. So they hate me.  So?  This matters why?  Ponder this for a moment....  It. Doesn't. Matter.  I don't have to give a rat's hind end about it any more.  I am FREE.

They hurt my feelings when they waited until I went outside to open Christmas presents that year.  It's in the past and I'm FREE.  They hurt my feelings when they invited everyone but me to a birthday party another year.  It's in the past and I'm FREE.  It always hurt my feelings when theymaliciously made fun of me and my husband joined in, never once thinking of my feelings. I'd moved across the country from my family and had only him and his family to lean on, only to have them treat me like a leper.  It's in the past and I'm - guess what? - FREE. 

If Peter needed to use me as an excuse for not calling, emailing, texting, or acknowledging his children for six years, okay.  He can claim it was my fault.  My theory is, if someone told me not to contact my children for six days, much less six years, I'd show them the door and tell them to not let it hit 'em on the butt on the way out. But, hey, that's me. I'm made of sterner stuff than needing to blame someone else for all my lack of character.

So, now you know. I have caused a whole family to fall apart and purposely kept Peter from having anything to do with his family. I'm gonna do the same thing to Mike, even though I love his family.  It's just what I do, you know, go around destroying perfectly happy, functional families.

It's a shame, though, cuz I sure do love Michael's family.  And they're even nutser than mine. That's saying something, too, cuz my family is some kind of crazy.

First Love

Twenty-six years ago today, I met my first true love. My mother says (and I do not remember nor do I admit to saying this) that my first words about him were, "That ugly white horse?"  But pickings were slim, and it was that "ugly white horse" or hoofing it (no pun intended) while everyone else went trail riding all day.

Six hours and six brain-jarring falls later, I begged my mama to buy me that beautiful golden palomino, and that day started a journey of love and adventure that I will never forget.  First, I had to name my new-found best friend. I was sixteen, so of course my loving mother foot the bill.  She worked at Vanderbilt Medical Center then, and their (the university, anyway) motto was "Go for the Gold.  Hence, Vanderbilt Gold was his moniker.

Vandy and I were quite the pair.  I know this is shocking to all that know me, but I was a tad....rambunctious...in my younger days. Shocking, I know, but tis true I had an adventurous streak.  Well, Vandy met my wild streak and raised the stakes.  We ran helter skelter up those Tennessee hills, through creeks and ponds, and did our best imitation of Man from Snowy River.  If you've ever seen that movie, you know what I mean. And all before I had a saddle. Saddling the horse took up valuable riding time - ain't nobody got time for that!

Vandy came with me when I moved back to Mississippi and we spent some time swimming in the Mississippi River (I don't recommend that - killer undertow).  He saw me through more boyfriends and breakups than I care to think about.  He was my constant. One guy, a particular favorite, once commented, "You love that horse more than me." Uhh...duh? If Vandy didn't like the guy, the guy had to go.  Luckily, Vandy was a friendly sort of fella, real affable and laid back, so it wasn't a problem much.

Until you got on him.  Then he turned into a psychotic ninja Tasmanian Devil on crack. Goodness, I just loved him.  He had one little bitty fault - he didn't know whoa.

Yeah, that could be a problem.  All gas, no brake. Once, while in Florida (I stole my boyfriend's horse trailer the night of graduation and went on a road trip) we were a lovely stroll down a sandy road.  Vandy didn't want to stop and the highway was coming up pretty fast.  Still he wouldn't stop (a little stubborn, that one) and splat, down we went like roadkill on that sun-baked Florida highway.  The car missed us by about ten feet, though, so I count my blessings.  Vandy was okay, so don't worry.  I was a good cushion.  When I got home to my grandparents' house, Grandaddy looked at me, swathed from neck to ankle in gauze and one arm in a sling, and says, "Fell off yer horse again, did ya, girl?"

But honestly, my favorite time was the mule train to downtown Natchez during my senior year of high school.  About 200 horses and mules paraded all the way from The Barns on Liberty Road the 3 miles or so to Under the Hill.  Vandy was full of hisself that day and bounce, bounce, bounce was all he was capable of.  The three Dr. Peppers I'd had before we left The Barns became unbearable as we were passing the backside of the stately First Baptist Church.  Luckily there was a strand of trees there.  I hated to do it, but people, I was desperate, okay? I didn't want to tie Vandy up; he was so excitable that day, you know.  So I decided it would be better to hold him.

Wrong! 

Just as I was *ahem* in position, Vandy's ears perked, he bugled as the last horse paraded past on the road below us, and off he went, determined not to be left behind.  Picture it, my horse dragging me through the woods, bare bottom up... nevermind.  Don't picture it. I managed to stop him long enough to make myself presentable, haul myself up, when he leaped off the five foot bluff onto pavement and hauled a.. *ahem* tail, he hauled tail to catch up with the others.  Only he didn't stop when he caught up with our group.  Noooo... he kept going, all the way past the wagons, past the leaders, past the police that were stopping traffic.  The whole time, people in the parade were muttering along the lines of "what a showoff", "needs to learn to control her horse".  My mother watches me go by and only thing she says to those around her?  "Never seen that girl before in my life."  Only thing I could think of was "I'm going to die, and I still have to pee."

In conclusion of that fun story, I got poison ivy in a very impolite place to scratch in public. Try explaining that one.

So, after Vandy came with me from Tennessee to Mississippi to Florida, we both eventually wound up back in Tennessee.  I had some rough years, mostly of my own making, but some just the rough knocks of life.  Vandy was always there.  I used to watch the sun rise while laying against his shoulder, and sometimes we fell asleep that way.  He would come running when he heard my truck turn in at the top of the drive and he'd be waiting at the gate for me.

The day I had to sell him was a hard day for me, but my life had turned a corner.  I had a child and there wasn't enough time or money to care for both.  I think Vandy understood.  I've never stopped missing him and I'll never stop loving him.  We had some happy years together and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Vandy was truly my first love, and he's always in my heart.

Housework...PFFT!

I'll tell you what, unless these kids learn a better way to walk than on my floors, they better stay OUTSIDE!  I'm tired of this mess.  It's sweep sweep sweep, mop...no, I don't mop, but I should.  Our socks stick to the floor.

And let's discuss this Aussie and her hair.  She promises she's done shedding. NOT. I don't know how she weighs anything, considering I sweep up her body weight in hair on a daily basis.  And those "Guaranteed to remove the undercoat" combs?   LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE. They should be burned at the stake for those lies.  Or better yet, come to my house and sweep.  Change my sheets, since she likes to sleep ON my pillow.

How would a giant red Aussie look with a poodle-do? 

We live on a gravel road.  That's always fun when you have glass end tables.  "Kids, stop writing 'wash me!' in the dust. It's rude." 

Here's another fun one.... "Take the ducks outside.  I don't care if you wiped their webs, they're still outside animals."  How about this? "No, you can not sleep with your baby....Yes, I know he's a very well mannered horse, but he's still a horse and we have a ply wood floor.  And he's not potty trained.... I know Scooby poops in the house, but he weighs five pounds.  Big difference.  Huge."

I want a maid.

So, back to my story, I swept today.  Timed myself to make it more fun.  (Didn't work.)  Then I mopped.  Timed myself with that too.  That's half an hour of my life I'll never get back.  And the mop, because it was on the back porch, was covered with fire ants.  They BIT me!  Like mopping isn't insulting enough. 

This is why I should never have to clean. I'm going to watch back-to-back episodes of Castle now.

Homeschooling Lessons

People are always asking me what it’s like to homeschool, so I came up with a tidbit from the other day.  Enjoy.

Me:  Ainsley, did you get your language arts books out like I told you?

Ainsley:  (who has been happily jumping on my bed while I attempted to make phone calls, lands with a thump and looks at me as if I have sentenced her to the gas chamber.)  I don’t feel good.  I’m sick.

Me:  I hope you don’t die before we finish school.  Where are your books?

Ainsley:  *sigh* On the table.  (She shuffles her feet as she makes her way to her death sentence, holding the back of hand to her forehead.)  Do I have a fever?

Me:  No.

Ainsley:  You didn’t check!

Me:  I have radar that picks up on fevers.  You don’t have one.

Ainsley:  You’re gonna feel bad if I die.

Me:  I’ll cry terribly.  Let’s begin with the definition of a verb.  ‘A verb is a word…’  Ainsley, sit up, please, and say the definition with me.  Sit in the chair.  Sit UP.  Now, let’s try again – ‘A verb is a word…’  If you don’t say it with me, we’re just going to keep doing it until you do.  I can sit here all day. (Total lie, but what she doesn’t know…)

She finally mumbles the definition of a verb through heaving sighs of disdain. 

Me:  In Exercise 1, read the sentence to me.

Ainsley:  I have a scratch.

I’m looking at Exercise 1, and the sentence there is:  Jimmy Carter was president, so imagine my confusion.  I look at her.  She’s picking at a scab. I’ve learned from experience to never engage in these conversations.

Me:  (louder) In Exercise 1, read the sentence to me. 

Ainsley:  Buddy gave it to me when we were playing.  I have one on this arm, too, but Scout did this one.

Me: Ainsley!  Ex-cer-cise ONE.  READ. IT.

Ainsley: (looks at me accusingly) It hurts.

Me: (gritted teeth) Read. The. Sentence.

Ainsley: Don’t you even care if I’m in pain? 

 

And that, my friends, is homeschooling in a nutshell.    

 

Assessment Day

Today I went for my job assessment test at the Workforce Commission.  I got there a half hour early because I left home with plenty of time to allow for morning traffic, wrecks, or the very real possibility of having to tailgate a tractor for ten agonizing miles, and encountered none of these instances.  I signed in and the receptionist went to get my person. 

Susan (name changed to protect the innocent) came to the front and introduced herself.  She shook my sweaty paw as I hopped from foot to foot. 

“Could I use the restroom before we get started?” I asked.

“Of course!” She said, ever so friendly.  She handed me a key and pointed to the door I had already tried.  Why does anyone have to lock a restroom?  Do people steal toilets?  Is there a run on hand soap?

“Thanks so much,” I said.  If only I’d stopped there, but no… “I always have to go when I’m nervous.”  Shut up, Kerri!  Shut UP! 

“And you had a long drive, didn’t you?”  Bless her heart, trying to make me feel comfortable. 

“I did, and I was drinking the whole way here.”  Susan’s eyes widened. “Dr. Pepper!  I was drinking Dr. Pepper!  Not drinking drinking, because I never do that.  I mean, when I was younger, I used to….”  I was finally able to control my runaway mouth and nodded toward the restroom.  “I’ll be right out.”

She nodded, looking a little shell-shocked.

The interview progressed from there fairly well, I think.  She asked lots of questions about homeschooling, and I do mean lots of questions.  Looking back, I’m thinking maybe she was wondering if I was/am qualified to bear children, much less educate them.  I was finally allowed to sit at the computer and take the test.  I’m proud to say I passed it.  Granted, it’s not a pass or fail test, but I’m going with ‘I passed it’ because it makes me feel good. 

I must say, Susan did seem shocked to note my scores, bless her heart.  I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe I had a brain, and I actually scored rather high in certain areas.  If you’ll notice my snooty tone of voice, I’d appreciate it. She pointed out some of my possible careers, specifically noting that physician was listed.  Whooo, doggy, I is SMART, girl!  My head got so big I nearly floated out of there.  I don’t plan on going to school for 14 years, but shyute, as smart as I am, who needs med school?  I already know it all, like my teenagers.

Then again, when I got home I read over all my other possible career choices, and listed below physician was race car driver and ditch digger, so maybe I shouldn’t put too much stock into this assessment business.  A whole day spent, and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  I’m not sure I even want to grow up.

Moving On

I'm back in my Grace House. :)  It's a good feeling, I tell you.  I've already visited with several neighbors, and it is so good to be home.  Yes, it's "just" a double wide, but it's HOME.  I've known from the moment I first came over the hill with the realtor more than seven years ago, that this was the place for me, and it still is. I love the property, I love the neighbors, I love watching the sun set from the front porch and the stars at night.  Maybe I wish it had real walls and not those cheesy wallboard things, but hey, other things are more important.

Today, my parents are coming and we're finishing up the moving.  On Saturday, the kids and I got our mattresses, the couch, and our essentials to spend the weekend.  And of course we got the animals.  I've never seen any happier horses!  They were trying to pull us out of the trailer and toward the pasture.  They'd eat a a few bites of grass, then run - something they haven't had room to do - then eat a bit, then run some more.  Already they act like we don't exist, where before they came up the fence the second we walked out the door.  I guess they're feeling self-sufficient enough that they don't need us anymore. :) 

The dogs are happy enough, except poor Sugar.  She used to be an indoor dog here, and we wouldn't let her come in at the other house.  I've decided to keep her an outdoor dog, and she is so confuzzled.  She lays in mud and kept the house so dirty all the time, so I'm putting her torn up loveseat in the barn, but she waits at the front door with a sad look, not understanding why I've rejected her.

The kids appear to be adjusting well.  The girls definitely have, and are thrilled to be home.  Pierson is the one that didn't want to move back, and he seems okay.  I worry about him because he won't talk about his feelings, and even if he's angry I wish he would tell me. But he does seem to be okay now that he's back.  The shorter drive to town seems to be a bonus, and being closer to his best friend will be nice for him. We'll make this work.

As for the renter, she did some things that I believe were intentional.  I think she deliberately messed up the shower head, because I can't imagine letting that go on for a long time.  It was spraying straight up and soaked the floor with a great deal of water in a very quick shower, even with a towel on the floor.  The floor is soft over a good portion of the bathroom and into the closet, so it will have to be replaced fairly soon.  It cost $8 for a new shower head and took me less than two minutes to replace it.  One of those minutes was trying to open the stabbing at the plastic packaging with a knife.  It was her responsibility to let us know of any repairs that needed to be done, so her negligence cost us hundreds of dollars in furture repairs. 

Plus, she took the mailbox, post and all.  Pierson found it yesterday, behind the barn. The neighbors said that she took it down over a month ago, which is when we gave her notice to move.  Her spitefulness will cost her her deposit. And we gave her almost two months of free rent. I don't understand why she was angry.  She left the house nasty dirty as well. Oh well, she's out and I'm home.

I've been running crazy little with lots of errands and little things to be done, and will continue for the next few days.  After that, I'm hoping life will settle to normal hecticness. I haven't worked on my novel in months, and I'm ready to look at it with fresh eyes and finally finish it.  I've figured out what's wrong and how to make it work, but I have to have the time to set aside and DO it.

Life is a wonderful place these days.  My God is a wonderful God and He is mighty to save. His Grace is covering me. His Peace is in me.

Update

Two days ago, I signed divoce papers.  Yesterday, they were filed with the court, but they are not in effect until I actually move to my new residence in a few weeks.  I'm waiting until the tenant moves out. It's been a roller coaster ride, I assure you.  So many people have, mouths agape, asked me "Why?"  They are so shocked.

Well, I can't tell you why.  It's not because I don't know.  Goodness gracious, do I know.  It's because there are children involved - my children. Unfortunately, my children also want to know why, and I'm at a loss of what to tell them.  Going into details will not help them, and adult matters are not for them to know. 

For those that think we had the perfect marriage...  all I can say is, appearances can be deceiving. Maybe we should have fought more in public, or at least where our kids could see it, because they say they neither saw nor heard any of it. I've always heard it's best not to fight in front of the kids, but considering their complete shock, maybe they should at least have a hint all is not well in Mommy/Daddy Land.  I find that hard to believe because the walls of the doublewide were mighty thin and I'm a yeller, but maybe they didn't hear because they didn't want to hear. I hate what my kids are going through, but even for that, there is no way I can spend one more moment going through this.

Here's a bit of advice - if he tries to control your life, any part of it, it only gets worse with time. And you had better have your ducks in a row.  Louisiana does not view being a stay-at-home mom with any ounce of respect.  Under the LAW, you are expected to bring in an income unless you have a physically disabled child or a child under five.  He was able to refinance a vehicle last week without one word to me - which may now be considered joint debt - but I have no options to get a running vehicle without help from friends or family.  He is getting the six bedroom house on the lake (I don't want it, but hello) and the new truck.  I'm getting the doublewide and the van has 216k miles on.  When asked if he would pay the repair bill on it since he didn't pay the support payment (which is more than 25% less than he told me he would pay) on time, he said no.  He would take me where I need to go.  I want to ride with him like I want to get shot in the head.

But this is important for you to know.  I am the bad guy.  I want this divorce and I do not have grounds for it. He did not cheat on me and he does not beat me.  Therefore, I will not be able to stand before God with my decision.  Folks, I am going to hell.  I now understand why people hate religion.  If it were not for my belief that God is not this angry, vengeful being that he has made him out to be, I would be an atheist, too. 

I'm struggling with my faith right now.  My anger is strong and raging.  And yet....I know I have only sixty more hours.  Sixty more hours until he leaves for his next offshore hitch and I will be free of having to deal with him on a daily basis.  He has no more control over me.   I'll get by without his precious money, and at least then he can't say I "owe" him anything.  I've been low before, and I've pulled myself up.  I'll do it again.

I can focus on my kids again.  And I can be me again. And I can turn to God again.  Looking forward to that.

Yeah.  Looking forward to that. 

It's a Dog's Life

I have five dogs, and I'm currently sick of five of them.  Any takers?  Let me describe them to you, and I'm sure you'll be bowled over by their charms and ready to drive right over here to snap them up before someone else beats you to it.

1. Overweight black lab.  Her desire to jump on you is proportionate to how clean your clothes are.  Also related is how muddy her plate-sized paws are.  Very sweet and loveable.  When one is laying in the hammock relaxing, she does her best impression of a tea cup chihuahua as she attempts to nestle in the crook of one's neck.  So adorable.
2. Half beagle, half unknown something, but quite possibly not canine.  Male, three years old.  Great with kids.  Playful, beautiful, sweetest, bestest dog we've ever had. Until...he ate the neighbor's dog.  Someone's getting snipped...
3. Toy rat terrier, five pounds soaking wet.  Three of those pounds are his ears.  Annoying little snot face that peed on the Christmas tree and left little presents under it every day.  We couldn't even have a tree skirt. Yippy little sucker too.  I'm trying to think of something nice to say...I'll get back to you.
4. Doxie.  Six feet long and two inches off the ground.  The authority of a drill sergeant but the self-discipline of a gnat.  When it's raining she refuses to do her business outside. She stands at the door and barks at ten second intervals.  I never knew dogs could tell time, but she's got it down pat.  She once jumped out of an upstairs window and sailed off the porch roof.  Her ear's kept her airborne for a hundred feet.
5. Mutt.  Brown, stupid, somewhat lovable if you don't want a dog that has any semblance of a brain anywhere.  He likes to lay down in front of you when you're walking then when you trip and fall on your face in front of him, he looks at your like you're an idiot.  He also likes to stand in the middle of the road causing car accidents.  I keep waiting for someone to hit him, but they keep slowing down. No one's perfect, I guess.

One or more of these dogs ate my Christmas chocolate.  Numbers one and five are exempt because they stay outside, but two through four are likely culprits.  You may choose any of the five.  I know it'll be hard to narrow your choices down, given their high quality of breeding and training, so don't feel you need to limit yourself to just one.

Thank you and Merry After Christmas.

Dits and Toodles

Just a fly-by post today with some tidbits of this week:

• We had strong winds last night and woke up this morning to find the dumpster turned over.  Chewie had a fun time dragging the trash over every inch of our property.  Did I mention we have ten acres? Never name a puppy Chewie.  Every time we say his name, he thinks we're giving him an order.  It's the only thing he minds us on.
• On the way to Covington, we noticed a blown over Porta-Potty.  So glad I wasn't sitting in that when the winds hit.
• I've decided to be more conscientious pay more attention to stuff.  I stopped in a gas station to buy a Dr. Pepper a couple days ago, and I made sure to count my change instead of just shoving it in my pocket as usual.  I was so proud of myself for being diligent and a good steward that I patted myself on the back all the way to the car.  Yup, I left the Dr. Pepper on the counter.
• I got my hearing aid back... three weeks to the day after I dropped it off.  Seven to ten days, my foot.  And it cost more to fix than my first hearing aid cost, period.  But hey, it comes with a six month warranty.  Yippee skippy.
• Found a great way to send annoying child to bed on time.  I start cleaning house and ask for volunteers.  Instant sleepingness.  The reason this is not a favored option is that I don't like my part in it. 
• There's a dead animal in the chimney, or at least I assume.  I can't find it anywhere else and the smell is more or less in that area.  In desperation, I'm currently burning that sucker out with sweeper logs.  Either it's going to be cinders or the house.  One way or the other, the smell will be gone.
• A little hint on decomposing animal smell - Febreeze only goes so far. It really doesn't kill all odor.  And candles?  They mingle and you get Decomposing Pumpkin Spice.  Not pleasant, and I'll never eat pumpkin pie again.

Insomnia

Someone in my house is an insomniac, but I'm not mentioning names.  This particular person came storming up to me last night as I was anxiously awaiting the results of who will be the very first winner of Abby's Ultimate Dance Competion.

She stands between me and the tv, blocking my view just as they prepare to announce the winner.  "I can't sleep!"

I fumble frantically for the remote.  Everyone has to have priorities, and mine is pausing the show lest I miss the announcement while my drama queen has a nervous breakdown.  Hey, it was pause the show or push the kid out of the way.  I think I chose the loving mother route. 

I found the remote and paused Abby in mid-mouth.  "You were saying?"

Fists balled at her sides, veins throbbing in her neck, she glared at me as if I personally played clanging cymbals at her bedside while tap dancing on her forehead.  "I. Can't. Sleep." She spoke through gritted teeth.

"Have you tried taking a warm bath?  I find them soothing."  In other words, go away.  She went away.

Five minutes later she was back.  "I don't feel any different."

I stared at her.  "You were supposed to soak in the tub.  Relax?"

"It was boring."

"Try reading."

She stomped to her room and I went to bed, secure in the knowledge that my favorite dancer won Abby's Ultimate Dance Competition.  All was right in my world.  Now, for some background, I also struggle with insomnia.  I used to spend hours walking the floors or counting sheep until the voices in my head would shut up enough to let me sleep.  Then I discovered the wonderful world of sleep-inducing drugs.  I'm now a big fan of my pillow and blankie.
 
For the first time in a week, I was dozing off blissfully without pharmecutical help when an elephant charged right up to my bed.  "I...can't...sleep...," it trumpeted. 

I gave her various ideas.  She hated them all.  Baths were stupid, reading boring books were stupid, watching tv with the sound off was stupid, and listening to music was stupid.  Want to know what was sounding pretty good to me?  A hammer. 

Does that make me a bad mother, to think of that?  It's not like I actually did it, right?  But a nice little knock on the noggin would solve both our problems quite effectively. 

Quite soon, she was curled up in the bed next to me, snoring contentedly.  I was wide awake, staring at her, still thinking of that hammer.

What Do You Write?

The other day a man asked me, “What do you write?” 

I opened my mouth to answer him before I realized that I had no answer.  What do I write?  He was waiting for an answer and my mouth was hanging open, letting flies in. 

“Uh, I write…” I swallowed, trying to think of the last thing of import that I’d written.  Does the annual Christmas letter count as literature?  I blog, sure, but doesn’t everyone?  And I’m fairly sure that, while my 503 Facebook friends absolutely adore my status updates, that doesn’t count as being a published author. 

I looked at the guy, still waiting for an answer, the darling patient man. Darn him.  “Crap.  I write crap.”

His eyes widened as he backed away.  “Nice talking to you.  Hope to see you around.”  Or not.

But I’m still a writer.  Sure I am.  It’s all in my head, just waiting to be put on paper.  What is writing, after all?  Black ink on white paper. 

Heart Horse

My Heart Horse

As a horse person, I love all horses.  I love the variety they come in – so many colors, from the palest palomino to the dark bay, from glimmering white to black as sin.  I love the aristocratic stance of the Andalusian, with their flowing manes and tails, and I love the shaggy little Shetland pony in someone’s backyard.  Each one has a story, from the most expensive to the one not worth the cost of their hay.  And each one is priceless.

At some point in their life, every horse person comes across that one special horse.  We know that horse is going to be important to us from the moment we first lock eyes on it.  This is our heart horse.  Let me tell you about mine.

I answered an ad for a horse I really couldn’t afford – but if I could, he was in my price range – and in my excitement I practically sold him to myself over the phone.  The owner’s wife didn’t even have to say much.  Her answer to “how big is he” was “Not too little but not real big.”  My response was, “sounds perfect!”  When I asked about his personality, like, was he sweet natured, she said, “He doesn’t bite or kick or anything.”  “How wonderful!” I exclaimed. 

I really, really wanted a horse, and I guess I wanted one right that day.  I guess it could be said that I’m a bit of an impulse buyer.  I loaded the kids and the husband in the van and drove the thirty miles to see him, right that very minute.  I have to admit, my first sight of him was a let down.  He was a plain ol’ red horse.  Just…blah.  I guess I expected bells and whistles or something.  He wasn’t going to be my horse after all.  My heart drooped. 

But then, he heard our voices and he looked up, ears pricked forward.  The blah exterior was gone and I all I saw was his glorious white blaze between two alert, attentive brown eyes.  His neck arched and he shifted so that I saw his white stocking, a stocking so tall it ran past his hock on his left hind leg, ending in a jagged lightning strike.

The owner didn’t seem excited about me riding him.  “He can be a handful,” he warned.  I hadn’t ridden much in years, and as much as it shames me to admit it, I’d lost my nerve.  I’d been thrown by a crazy horse and had a second crazy horse run over me.  My faith in horses was shaken. 

But looking at this one, dancing around, flashing the whites of his eyes, he didn’t make me nervous at all.  He was upfront about being crazy, you know?  Not trying to act like he was normal and then taking me by surprise.  I liked that.  I knew we’d be okay, this red horse and me.  I climbed on his back, which was fun in itself, since he was turning in circles around the man holding the bridle. 

“You can let him go,” I said.

“I dunno if I should…”

The horse was wound as tight as a bowstring, but I nodded.  “We’re okay.”  He let go and the horse spun, ready to go in all directions at once. 

“Need a whip?” The man yelled.  Uh, no thanks.  I don’t think he needs any encouragement to go.  Geez.  We whirled our way around the yard, through rose bushes and pine trees and something else I sincerely hoped wasn’t poison ivy.  When we got out of sight of my sobbing children and hand-wringing husband (who was on his cell phone making funeral arrangements), I whoa’d the horse.  Foreign concept or not, he finally stopped…sort of…and we talked for a minute.  Then we walked….sort of….back to the barn.  Everyone breathed a big sigh of relief when they saw us come back into sight.  Peter gave me a nod, and we made arrangements to pick the horse up asap.

“We call him Blaze,” the previous owner told me.

I smiled.  “His name is Blitz.”

 

 

It’s been more than six years now since the day Blitz and I met, and I love him more every day.  He’s getting a little bit older, and maybe I am too.  His health isn’t doing so good, and only recently have I finally accepted the fact that he probably won’t live to be an old horse.  Every winter he loses weight and we struggle to put it back on.  He eats more than twice what the others do, but he stays underweight.  He has dental problems, high metabolism, and would you believe he has seasonal allergies… to grass?  He’s a horse, for crying out loud.  So andeasy keeper he is not.  I could not give him away if I wanted to, but that’s okay, because I have no desire to part with him. He’s my friend, my baby, and my therapist.  I would say he’s cheaper than a licensed therapist, but I’m not so sure.

Just recently, we’ve started to suspect that he has heaves.  This is horse speak for COPD.  It will continue to get worse each year, especially in the winter.  I’ve noticed his stamina is down, but he still loves to run.  As long as he’s happy, I’m keeping my boy with me.  When he suffers, though…

When Blitz’s life is filled with daily pain, and I know it won’t get better, I’ll let my sweet boy go.  But until that day, I will enjoy my time with him and treasure the years I’ve had.  I’m not going to try to prolong his life by keeping him in the pasture un-ridden.  He wants to go, he wants to run, and I’m going to let him.  The saying from the movie Steel Magnolias comes to mind:  “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special.” 

He is my heart horse.  I knew the day I met him that he would be special, and he is.  When I open my door and call his name, and he looks up with those bright eyes and perky ears and whinnies his girly-horse whinny, my heart feels a tug.  So the next time he tears down the fence to take a midnight jaunt down the highway or breaks his bridle in the middle of a 20 mile trail ride or bites my butt to get to the carrot in my pocket, feel free to remind me of how much I love my sweet boy. 

 

Everyday Life

While I was looking for my old blog post about Pierson's flu shot yesterday, I had to read through a lot of my old blogs.  I used to keep pretty up to date on daily happenings on what brats my kids were, and I don't do that anymore - probably in part because they can read now.  It was fun reading through them, even though most of them were about who threw up and how many times on any given day.

Anyway, I think I'll start keeping things up to date with more mundane stuff here instead of just the really fantastical stuff, like how Blitz is the most perfect horse in the world, which you already knew, and when the dogs eat the furniture.

Today was a day. 

Yeah.  Definitely a day.

I had to take Maxie (doxie) to the vet to get her teeth cleaned.  They were some kind of nasty, and if we didn't have it done we ran the risk of the build-up getting into her blood stream and getting to her heart.  The thought of that sends me into a snotfest, so I made her appointment for today and had to have her there at 8am.  Poor baby didn't want to be left in a cage, but I left her with her special blue blankie and Scotlyn bundled her in her Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit, so she'd look nice for Dr. Stafford. 

After that, I decided if I had to drive fifteen miles, why not forty?  So I looped through Bogalusa to Franklinton to have the van looked at.  It needs a new tire.  But again, if I'm going to get one new tire, why not two?  Problem is, I'll have to order them because the genius that built the GMC Safari thought it would be fun to slap on some weird sized tires that no one's ever heard of before.

Came home.  Scotlyn needs help with math.  No problemo.  I like math.  She needs to know how to find the volume of a prism.  Problemo.  There's a reason I dropped out of college. 

Back to pick up Maxie - no time for lunch, but it smelled good.  Maxie was a good girl and didn't bite the vet, but she did pee on Scotlyn in the car.  I'll blame it on the drugs and give her a treat when she feels better. 

I left to pick up a friend's flat bed trailer to load hay.  Backed up to the trailer.  Went too far.  Pulled forward.  Too far.  Back.  Too far.  Repeat twelve times.  Cry and kick the truck.  Limp.  Hitch trailer five minutes after I'm supposed to actually pick up the hay, which is fifteen miles away.  Leave, forgetting to get the money to pay for the hay on myway through town.  Remember when I pull up to the hay barn.  Cry again.

Get hay from understanding man who must have a keen sense of woman on the edge.  He tells me a check is just fine, or I can pay him later.  Nice man.  I'm going to make him cookies.

Go home with hay.  Get lost.  On the way to my house.  Don't even bother crying again.  While pulling into the pasture with the hay, all the horses run out of the pasture hell bent for leather.  I don't even care anymore.  At least I won't have to feed them. Stupid animals come back, and I think of locking them out.  Unload hay, decide while I have kids to help me to put my horse trailer gate back on trailer (don't ask).  Drop the gate on my foot.  Again. 

Return flatbed trailer to friend.  Go to town because I'm almost out of gas.  Go to Winn Dixie for groceries.  Leave grocery list in truck.  Shoot from the hip and find Hershey's French Silk pies on sale - BOGO.  It must be a sign from God.  Buy groceries, load them in the truck, which had to go in back seat because the bed had a 1500 pound bale of hay and 300 pounds of horse feed that still has to be unloaded.  Can't wait. 

Fell asleep in parking lot.  Head home (after I wake up, not while I'm still sleeping).  Forgot gas.  Turn around.  Remember I have a diesel now.  Got diesel.  Came home.  Told the kids if they didn't do their chores (kitchen was nasty) they would never eat again and I think they knew I meant it. 

Hiding in room with no intention of ever leaving, even though my stomach is growling and I have chicken salad and fresh baked croissants just two rooms away. 

And Peter put in his notice today.  He starts his new job in December.

Pierson's Flu Shot

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Today was Ainsley's 2 year appt at the drs. She's up to a whopping 26 lbs 6 ozs. What a tank, huh? The dr asked me if I wanted to get her the flu vaccine. Last year she was so sick I nearly had to take her to the ER, and Pierson too, on New Year's Eve. So I said yes. The dr offered to do all the kids. And that was the end of my peaceful existence. Scotlyn started crying (wailing's more like it), Pierson climbed under the chairs and yelled that no one was ever going to give him a shot ever in his life, and Chad started laughing....until I asked why he was laughing about getting a shot. "What, you mean I have to get one too???" Yeah, that stopped him laughing pretty darn quick. That'll teach him to laugh at his brother and sister. Then he started asking how big the needle was. I would have loved to torment him, but Scotlyn and Pierson were listening too. I can't scar them for life........yet. So, fast forward a few minutes, and Ainsley has gotten the shots I allowed and had her finger pricked. She stopped wailing and was reduced to an occasional sad sniffle. And she wiped her snotty nose on my shirt. And it's the others' turns. Pierson is still camped out under the chairs, assuming he's invisible. But since he's still yelling, we're pretty sure where to find him. I told the nurse it might be prudent to go by age. Chad smiles. Oldest first, I say. Like I said, he's going to stop delighting in his sibling's pain and terror. So he is very much a wimp himself, but this time he didn't cry...quite. His eyes got really wide and he held his breath. Brave guy. Scotlyn's next, and she's hollering like we were stringing her from the rafters, but she basically quit her snotting and slobbering as soon as the nurse was done. Now....Pierson's turn. I move chairs, but he hangs on to them. I had to pull the chairs all the way out to the middle of the floor, and one of the nurses - yeah, one of them (they called in reinforcements) - held onto the chair while I tried to pry him away from it. He stretched a good bit before we managed to seperate them. (He's still bellowing, by the way.) I stuffed him down between my legs, clamped on to both arms, the nurse tried to grab one of his arms but she really got mine until I had to ask her to let go of my wrist. So, with him held down by me and two quite hefty nurses, he got a tiny little shot in his arm. That's when the fun started. Once we set him free he tore out of the room, past the crowd that had gathered, through the waiting room, and all the way to the elevator, all the while still roaring that he wasn't getting a shot ever. (Sorry, dear, too late.) Chad corraled him and dragged him back while I checked out. Then that nurse (I think she did it on purpose) said, in the children's hearing, "make sure you make the appt for the booster shot before you leave". Ever so cheerful. Witch. So we start all over again, with Pierson bellowing that he's never coming back here again, and he's mad. Yeah, really. News to me.

We make it to the car, and I make the mistake of trying to cheer the child up. Yes, I know, what was I thinking. I had the audacity to sing. "Rain rain go away, come back another day, Pierson Sam wants to play." According to Pierson, he does not want to play. Not today, not ever. He will never play again in his whole life. Did I mention ever? I think he's gets his dramatic tendencies from Peter's side of the family.

He falls asleep in the car. I'm not sure what wore him out. We get home and I offer to carry him in the house, but he gives me a rather scary look. I thought maybe sleeping he'd forget about being mad at me, but nope, he informed he's going to always be mad. He asleep now, but I'm sure he's still mad.

50 years from now, at my funeral, I'm sure he'll tell his grandchildren all about the day his mother made him get a shot when he was 4 years old. And he will still be mad.

 

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