When life gets you down… DECORATE!

I’m over it.  Pity party done.  Shit happens.  It’s happened before and it will happen again and the world will keep spinning.  I actually got over it about an hour after my last post but have been too busy to come back and assure everyone that I am not, indeed, hiding under a black  shroud sobbing hysterically.

I got up early the next day and headed out to the barn to pack up and move the hoofed one.  No. He’s not sold.  But my trainer, who has been a dear friend for the past two years, took a job out of state (contributing to my Friday sadness and anxiety) so we also packed up to start our own new adventure.  We are now official residents of the Colorado Horse Park and after just 48 hours I’m loving it.  As in loving it enough that I’m toying the the idea of NOT selling him after all.  It’s been a long time since I boarded at a full service barn, complete with a grooming staff that pampers the horses in the owner’s absence.  My guilt over not having as much time for the hoofed one, in lieu of my two legged baby needing me, may be alleviated.   All I know is that the possibility has re-lit a little flicker of fire in me.  I need my horse time.  It is my therapy.  I wanted to sell him for very valid reasons, but perhaps it’s not the best idea in the grand scheme of things.  We shall see. 

The N-Man went as an elephant for Halloween this year.  Ridiculously adorable.  Alas, my camera is broken (ahem, Santa?) so there are no pictures to memorialize the holiday this year.  But there was plenty of sugar high and giggles to be had.  Perhaps I’ll dress him up again at Thanksgiving and make him pose for a late photo op. Who’s going to know the difference?

And what to do on a Sunday afternoon with lingering blues and a child away with his father?  Go to Home Depot and go hog wild.   I know I’m not looking right now, but some how Home Depot always builds my confidence.  I always ALWAYS have encounters with the nicest men, non employee men,  when I’m there.  And more importantly, there’s nothing better for your ego  than launching a plan, putting into action, and seeing it through to the end yourself.  I love decorating and home improvement.   Sunday’s mission… take down the crappy, broken vertical blinds, repaint the dining room, and hang a new light fixture.   Amazing what a coat of fresh color can do for a room and your soul.  Again… no camera.  CRAP!  But that’s ok, because it’s not  finished yet  anyway.  I need to call my handy man to come put in the chair rail and crown moulding and wait for the new window treatments and art work that I ordered to arrive. But still, I love it.  LOVE  IT!   I would rather sit here in my pajamas all day admiring my masterpiece in progress than go to work, but life is calling.

That said, time to head up so I can head out.

Random updates out of the blue

1. The hoofed on is officially for sale.  I’m sad.  I’m ok with it.  I feel guilty.  I don’t want him to go.  I hope it happens fast.   When I bought him, I knew he wasn’t my forever horse.  He was largely an investment.  And as with any investment, you have to know when it’s time to sell.  And it’s time.  For a variety of horse business reasons, and even more personal ones.  The N-Man is about to turn 3.  (Excuse me for a moment, but how the @%@)&^(&#$ is he about to be THREE years old???)   And every parent knows that 3 is a magic number when it comes to activities.  Soccer, karate, suzuki violin… they all open their doors at three.  And suddenly, come spring, my time will be in demand for other things that are not all about me.  It makes no financial sense for me to own a horse I can only see two times a week when I can just take lessons on someone else’s.  And so, it is official.

2.  X.  He’ll never change.  He’ll never grow up.   Long ago he said he wanted to take the N-Man to visit relatives for Thanksgiving this year.  I was open to it.  Then he told me no, he couldn’t afford it.  I started making different mental plans for my holiday.  Then last week he told me that his father offered to pay for the plane tickets and wanted to know if I was ok with the N-Man going.  My biggest sticking point was making sure we balanced out his complete absences from my major holiday by ensuring he could spend Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day here.  X’s immediate reaction to that suggestion was to invite himself over for Christmas dinner.

I just got off the phone with him and in discussing it again he once again announce that he would be coming for dinner.  I told him no and,  class=”hiddenSpellError” pre=”">suprise suprise “>suprise suprise, he argued with me.  Apparently because it’s HIS son he can do what he wants.  I offered to bring the N-Man to him later in the evening and he told me that wasn’t acceptable so he would be coming for dinner.  God help me for what I said next.   With no warning to me, my mouth suddenly blurted out  Look, I don’t think my boyfriend is going to be comfortable with my X husband having holiday dinner with us.  

No, you haven’t missed anything.  Yes, I just lied and told my X that I’m involved when I”m not.  But I swear it wasn’t a tactic for promoting jealousy or playing games.  I’m just at my wits end for how to deal with his bullying.  It happens less and less but when it does it’s still unbearable and it seems nothing I do even remotely works.  He just bulldozes me emotionally until I give in and do what he wants, because it’s easier than continuing to fight with him.  But I”ll tell you one thing.  I am NOT having him over for the holidays again. I did it last year and was miserable.  I”m not doing it again.  And blurting out what I did served it’s purpose.  So, to that extent, I make no apologies.

X’s immediate reaction to my non existant news was to tell me that he had to approve the people HIS son spends time with and he would take me to court to prevent ”this man”  from coming to my house for dinner.  Then he asked me how I would feel if he had a  girlfriend and had her over for the holidays instead of me.  Honestly, whatever.  It’s not my place to tell him who he can and cannot have in his life.    I don’t want to have a pretend family dinner with him.  Does he seriously believe that just because we were once married we are still so entwined?  I just can’t wrap my brain around his though process at all.

3.  Aside from his ultimatum that I never date again, X also told me that if he takes the N-Man for Thanksgiving, I have to take them both to the airport.  I told him no on that point too and again he argued.  I have a car seat in the car.  Um, so does he last time I checked.  He needs help in the airport with the N-Man.  Um, so maybe you shouldn’t be traveling with him if you can’t handle it.  He doesn’t want to pay to park his car.  Not my problem.  He finally told me we’d discuss it later and I just reminded him that, no, the issue was resolved. 

It just never changes and it never will.   So long as he gets his way he’s happy.  If he has to compromise anything his mission is to make the entire world a living hell until he does get his way.  I absolutely hate that I have to share my child with this person.

4.  On a more positive note, I’m in love.  Not with a person, but with a house.  And the timing may be perfect.  I love the house that I’ve been renting the past two years, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not our forever home.  As much as I love dating this house, I do not want to marry it.   One mile northwest of us though, there is one that I’m falling for…hard.  New construction in a darling little bungalow style community.  All the same school districts.  Almost exactly the same amenities as my current house, only with bigger rooms, a mud room entry perfect for exploding children, and a full basement to grow into (ie a full basement to lock screaming boys in when the N-Man is older and wants to have friends over to sleep.)  I’ve even picked out the lot I want.     End of the row with green belt open space on one side, backs up to a community playground, only one physical neighbor.  And it won’t likely be released for sale until late spring/early summer.  Exactly the time I’ll be serious about writing a contract.  But don’t hold me to committing.  I reserve the right to change my mind 1,001 times between now and then.

Flashback

Between 1977 and 1988 I managed to break my nose eight times.  Today at the barn I tried to do it again.  As I was getting the hoofed one ready for our ride I lifted up the cross tie, started to duck under it, realized I needed something so let go to turn around and grab it, then promptly turned back around just as the very large, very heavy metal clip was swinging  back… directly at my face.  BAM!  It hurt like a MF-er but gradually subsided.   In fact, I completely forgot it had happened (suffice to say it’s not actually broken)  until I came home two hours later, got out of the shower with water in my eyes ,and squinted in the mirror wondering what was on my nose.  Yeah, that would be the big cut and bruise right where I got whacked.  Lovely.  Lesson:  it is not enough to wear your helmet only when you are ON the horse because you might be a clumsy, stupid, on the ground accident waiting to happen disaster like me.

On an unrelated note, I took myself out to see Inglorious Basterds this afternoon and loved it. I’d give you my real thoughts but I don’t want to spoil anything.  However,  I had to raise a serious eyebrow at the group of women walking out of the theatre in front of me, complaining about the violence.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but complaining that a Q.T. flick is violent is akin to whining that taking a shower gets you wet.  What did you expect?

Friday friday friday

I can’t be coherent this evening.  It’s just not possible.  My disjointed thoughts include:

1.  I arrived at X’s house  for our usual Friday morning N-Man exchange just before 10:00 am and had to pound on the door for almost 15 minutes before he answered.  Apparently he was still asleep.   I know he went out with the guys last night ( that was his given reason why he couldn’t take the N-Man home for an extra evening after we were finished with Chuck E Cheese) and I know how much he drinks when he’s out with the guys.  Aside from that I’m not going to jump to conclusions that I can’t back up.  I just know that I was not happy to see him looking green and acting as if I’d shown up unannounced at 3:00 am.  And would it really kill the guy to put on something other than his boxer shorts before he answers the door for me?

2.  I’ve gotten into the habit of taking myself to the movies.  For the most part I hate going to the movies with someone else and I’ve given in to that indulgence regularly lately and love it. I was in a non-descriptly, weepy, blah, entirely female kind of mood this afternoon, the kind of mood that every woman out there knows can only be cured by a good, no real reason for it cry.  So I went to see My Sister’s Keeper. Yep!  That did the trick.  And then I came home and have no N-Man here to hug fiercely.

3.  I approached my trainer today about my thoughts on potentially selling the hoofed one, couldn’t actually say the S word and burst into tears.  I think it’s fair to say I’m definitely not there yet. 

4.  I got an envelope in the mail from The Man today.  Definitely made me raise an eyebrow. Apparently he was cleaning out his car and found a rusted, broken, cheap, tacky, and obviously completely worthless bracelet in the back somewhere and assumed it was mine and mailed it to me.  Sorry not mine.  An email could have told him that if he’d asked first.  But whatever.  I threw it in the trash.  What is it with the random, bizarre interactions/communications I’m having with men this week?

5.  I have some pretty heavy duty stuff on my mind this past week.  Thoughts that are suprising to me.  Thoughts that appear to be, at this juncture, slightly more than just passing moments.   I just want to make sure they are thoughts that are seriously here to stay before I open my mouth here and freak anyone out.  Don’t worry.  They aren’t bad thoughts.  But they’re pretty life changing and serious.

6.  I’m getting my hair chopped off tomorrow.  OFF.  Boy short.  Think Halle Berry.  I’m a little anxious about it but know I”ll walk out feeling much freer and am not chickening out.   Tomorrow’s post = the before and after.

And with that, I’m kicking off my weekend by ordering Chinese and eating it in bed as I watch TV and then fall asleep early.  Ten years ago I would have found that oddly pathetic.  Now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.

Back on the horse

They say it takes three months to get into shape and three days to completely fall out when you stop.  Been there done that, time and time again.  I know good and well from my re-introduction to riding almost two years ago just how painful it is to get back up on the horse.  How discouraging it is to look back on your past glory while you plod slowly along in the present, thighs burning every step of the way, wondering how you ever did it and if you’ll ever be able to do it again.

Well apparently the same can be said for writing.  It’s been ages since I sat down and made a focused effort to keep things flowing, giving in to excuse after excuse for not being around.  I have amazing thoughts that never get put down on “paper.”  Questions I would love to bounce off the singleton community.  Diddies from the N-Man that never stop.  So what gives?   Resolution:  every day in the rest of August I WILL write.  I will be here.  I will put something, anything out there.  It’s the only way to get back in the game.  It may hurt.  It may be incoherent.  But it. will. be.

To kick things off, five random things that have recently crossed my mind:

1.  The N-Man came home from Florida with what turned out to be a urinary tract infection that spread to his kidneys.   Thus the week long, crazy high fever.  Later this week he has to go in for more tests and an ultrasound to see if there was any permanent damage caused.  Mama bear is worried.  It’s hard enough when he’s in pain, but when that pain involves sticking tubes up his junk…   Oh.  And if X tries to engage one more doctor in a conversation about circumcision because of this I won’t be responsible for my actions.

2.  I loathe my appearance right now.  Not right this second, but in general.   I look tired.  I look old.  My hair is a hippy disaster yanked back in a perma-ponytail because I don’t have an hour a day to blow dry and style it.  Yes.  That’s how long this rat’s nest takes to put in proper order.  I want to chop it off again.  Go back to boy short.  Been there plenty of times and always love it, so why am I so scared to do it again?  Because someone recently told me men prefer longer hair.  And I want to bitch slap myself for even remotely indulging that thought process.  Screw what the general male population prefers.  I want my hair short.  Hmmm… no horse show next weekend.  I think I’ll set up an appointment for a serious mowing and some ridiculously fun colors next Saturday.  I’m also pondering a little nip, tuck to the prodigious proboscis, but we’ll see.  I do guarantee that that most certainly won’t happen next weekend between morning coffee and afternoon stress relief on the elliptical.

3.  Horse shows.  UGH.  I rode like crap today.  No really.  I swear I’ve done this before.  But since so many of the ridiculously thin early twenty somethings that dominate the adult division rode beautifully, but off course, I still managed to pin in every class.  My trainer says I’m definitely getting better.  Hard to believe her on a day like this but deep down I know she’s right.  So no more self loating.  Can’t win ‘em all.

4.  I’m contemplating selling the hoofed one.  No. SERIOUSLY.  I know!  CRAZY!  Not right away, but like in a year or so.  No I’m not hanging up my boots again but as the N-Man gets older he’ll need more and more of my time and the responsibility of actually owning a horse will become harder and harder to fit in.  I can half lease a horse and not have all the vet bills and time commitment to deal with.   Plus, I have to remind myself that I bought him as an investment horse.  It will be hard to justify not crying as I bid him farewell when doing so will  end in enough money to make a down payment on a house.  But right now it’s just a thought.  It’s not going to happen in the near near future.

5.  When making a “Friday night mistake” it is not enough to just ensure that your “mistakee” lives in a different part of town.   Because if said “mistakee”  also happens to work in your neighborhood and innocently stops off at the same grocery store where you shop to pick up a few things on the way back to his different part of town, you could possibly find yourself suddenly ducking and running down the frozen food aisle with your pre-schooler squealing in delight in the shopping cart and catching a raging case of frost bite from stuffing your head in a locker full of frozen brussel sprouts to hide until said “mistakee” has safely left the premises.  Just a thought.

Smiling in my sleep

I’m wiped out from a long, perfect day in the glorious, Colorado, spring sunshine.  The kind of exhausted that leaves you aching and incapable of even traversing the staircase, despite the promise of a warm, soft bed.  But, through the haze, I can’t stop smiling, beaming , more like it.  It finally happened.  The hoofed one and I came together and busted it out.  I won’t dazzle you with technicalities.  What matters is he did everything he was supposed to do, with me on his back, for the first time since we met.  And the end result was clinching our first Reserve Championship as a team.  My dear friend -  since  all regular players need a catchy, annonymous title we’ll call him Camera Guy –  nothing less than a genius  behind the lens, was there to capture it all. 

All about me

Excuse me while I indulge in me.  I figure you won’t mind.  After all, you’re here on my blog, reading about me and my life.   So either you want to know all about me, or you are so amused and/or disgusted by my over inflated ego and sense of self that you just can’t bring yourself to look away from the train wreck.   And if the later is the case, I can make some great recommendations for people to talk to and steer you back to a more satisfied and fulfilled life of your own.

Anyway, I digress. Back to me.  There’s nothing I love more than looking at pictures of the hoofed one and me.  Not in the, Wow, I’m so great I just can’t stop staring, sense.  But in a, let’s see where things are at and how far we’ve come, learning kind of manner.  I’m a very visual person and gain a lot from seeing still photos and watching video replay.  So I was thrilled to come home today and find pictures from last weekend’s horse show waiting in my mailbox.  Props where they are due first, since I’m about to post a scanned  proof  of a picture that, yes, I will be actually buying.  Thank you, as always,  Bryan Ryder of Horse & Ryder Photography!! 

And with no further ado, here were are!

Far and away the best picture we’ve had taken of us, thus far, since finding each other.  And on to my critique a la George Morris.  My back is flat and relaxed.  My eyes are up and focused ahead.  My hands/release are pressing into just the right part of his neck.  And I am thrilled to see that I am no longer standing on my toes and pressing off to climb up his neck.  I’m actually jumping with him, instead of ahead of him.  He looks relaxed.  His ears are up, looking for the next fence or turn, and he has a pleasant expression on his face.

 The ugly.  First of all, we aren’t doing the A rated horse shows this year so he isn’t braided, which is not a big deal, but it makes me crazy, aesthetically speaking, that his mane is flying every which way in this picture.   Photoshop please! He’s a little drapey with the lower part of his legs.  His knees are up and square and even, but he really should be tucking and popping them a bit tighter.  I suspect, as the fences get bigger, it will happen.  He is just a five year old after all.  And me… UGH!  Those pesky toes.  At least they are no longer sticking straight out at a 90 degree angle but I really need to work on keeping them pointing forward.    And my lower leg has slipped back a tad too.

But it’s a far cry from last season.  We’ve come a long way, Baby!  And only better things ahead.  So have at it, you arm chair Grand Prix riders.  It’s your turn.  I’m tough.  I can take it.  What do you think?

My horse was raped

Now let’s sit back and see how many hits that  title gets! 

I admit, since becoming a single parent I find my self lost in morbid thoughts far more often that I would ordinarily think is appropriate.  Not “life sucks. I wish I was dead” morbid, but just back of my mind awareness and fear of what the N-Man’s world would be like if, God forbid, something were to happen to me.  I can’t bear the thought of him losing either of his parents.   I’d already begin to tone down my former adrenaline junky ways before he was even a thought, but now that he’s here…  There are certain risks, even calculated ones, I’m just not willing to take any more.    I’m just outright overly cautious sometimes. Save for the barn.

Clearly, there is a lot of risk involved in the horse world.  Those of use who ride have plenty of our own yarns to spin.  Christopher Reeve is the most common example that comes to mind  for the non-equestrians.     And while his situation was extreme and brought on, basically, by riding his horse head first into the equivalent of a large tree cemented to the ground in a cross country race (at least in the hunter jumper world, our jumps fall down if you are unfortunate enough to hit them) there are plenty of other dangers lurking on the ground.  Horses are big, very big, animals.  Even the most even tempered pets can have their moments.    And don’t forget about random acts of the universe.  My senior year of high school, I was just walking my horse after a ride when he tripped, spooked himself, and reared.  I turned around to look, just as he flung his front hoof up, and got kicked in the face.  It happened just like that.   It was ugly.   That unpredictability is why the N-Man, busy, busy, busy, marginally controlable  little boy that he is,  rarely comes out to partake and, when he does, he is never more than arm’s length away from me. 

Today my mortality slapped me in the face again.    Just before I started to tack the hoofed one up for his ride, it dawned on me that, because of the recent rain, he hadn’t been out to play in his field for three days.   Horsey cabin fever!   Probably best to take him to the indoor ring and let him run loose, get it out of his system,  first.  Our indoor ring runs parallel to the barn and is connected by a narrow breeze way, approximately six feet wide by twelve feet long, steeply sloping down.  I walked the hoofed one into the breezeway and opened the arena door to discover there was a horse  loose in there.  I attempted to back him up and  out but he was having none of it.  My only option was to take him into the ring just long enough to turn him around and walk him out forward.   As I did so, I suddenly realized, to my horror, that the horse in the ring was actually the barn owner’s three year old stallion, over looked when the barn guys had brought the horses in from morning turn out.  Young and dumb and pumping full of intact hormones, before I could react, he had already charged excitedly across the ring , like a drunk frat boy with beer goggles, and was attempting to mount the hoofed one.

Standing in a 6X12 hallway, holding a 1400 pound horse, whose eyes were rolling in fear and increasing panic as the crazed, horny stallion continued his attempted rape, I immediately realized exactly how dangerous of a situation I was in.  It crossed my mind to be grateful that I had already put on my helmet as the potential outcome flashed through my soon to be crushed brain and I wondered who would know to pick the N-Man up from school while I lay on an operating table.   I hoped I’d be concious long enough to direct someone to my cell phone, left in the car.  Then I kicked into fight mode and started to yell into the barn aisle for someone to come down and get hold of the increasingly aggressive stallion or at least attempt to close the door between the two huge animals.   Somehow, all seven people who had just been up there were suddenly all elsewhere at that exact moment.

The hoofed one was now squealing and kicking at his attacker and straining harder to get away.  I also was starting to feel the panic arising in me  as the only place I could go was out of the breeze way, directly in front of him.  At that moment someone else finally appeared and rushed in to assist.   It was too late though.  The hoofed one could no longer take it and began to charge back up the ramp kicking, violently followed by the stallion. I ran, from the side, pressed up as flat against the wall as I could be, desperately trying to keep up with him, until I was in the open barn aisle. Then I dove into an open stall, letting go of his lead rope as the meylay  finally exploded and both animals charged off full speed down the row and out the open door.  It probably lasted a grand total of 30 seconds.  It seemed like an eternity.

We must have all been a sight: the hoofed running for all he was worth, squealing and kicking as he went, with the ever determined stallion right on his heels, biting and still trying to mount him, followed by me, the gal who had heard me yelling for help, and all three barn guys chasing after them, shrieking, and praying they didn’t run out into the road.  In the end they both ran into a dead end between the pastures, where we were able to climb on the fences and eventually separate them.  But not before the stallion was kicked and required a few stitches and the hoofed was was worked into a frenzied, frothy, terrorized sweat.  Wouldn’t you be too?   Really, he’s not that kind of horse.  

OK.  You know I had to make at least a lame attempt to laugh at this.  Laughing at life is what keeps me going.  But in all seriousness, not exactly the relaxing afternoon I’d hoped for.  Once everyone was safely back in their stalls and checked by the vet, who just happened to be there when it happened, and  I had a chance to stop reacting to the urgency of the moment  it took a good half hour for my breathing to return to normal and to stop shaking.   That adrenaline I thought I had left in my past is still pumping, five hours later.   I think now would be a good time to pull out my health and life insurance policies and give them a good looking over,  just to be sure things really are in order.