Chapters

The big day arrived faster than I imagined, even though we had prepared for it. After a weekend spent getting ready and attending her first prom, we woke up at zero-dark-thirty to drive two hours to the DMV to take Little Miss’s driver’s test to obtain her license.

I was the nervous one. Sitting in the back seat, praying the entire drive that the test would go well, that her nerves would fade into the background, and she would remember all the tips we’d taught her over the last year of driving together. 

“You’re going to do fine, sugar. But if your mom keeps talking, we’re going to make her ride in the trunk,” my sweet husband said, with a giggle. 

We arrived early because early is on time, and on time is late. (This is not my rule. I’m more of the ‘on the dot, on time’ kinda gal. But my compadres? They enjoy being a good half-hour early.) We sat in the parking lot and reviewed a few more tips before entering the DMV. Upon our entry, I knew my role- quickly become best pals with the instructor. Not only is this just good practice in general, but I knew it would ease Little Miss’s nerves. Within two seconds, the little light that said “I’m your new BFF” shone above my head, and the instructor told me every detail about her weekend. #nevermetastranger

With her new license photo taken, Little Miss grabbed her keys and headed out to the parking lot. We watched from the windows like two puppies, with our noses pressed against the glass.

She began with the pre-road-test check of her car…turn signals, brake lights, horn…horn… blaring horn that will.not.shut.off. #shit

“OH NO! OH NO! Go HELP HER!!!!” I yelped, as my sweet man made a mad dash to the car horn, while Little Miss tried her best to melt into the seat in utter embarrassment. (Also...Hi, Daddy...I know that horn was all you!)

The horn stopped, we all laughed, and off they went. It seemed like they were gone for hours, but it was only a matter of a few minutes before they returned to the parking lot. 

“Let's go get your LICENSE!!” my new best pal exclaimed.

I could finally breathe. Taking a test is one thing, preparing your child to take said test, a test that ensures they are prepared to operate a motor vehicle on a roadway with other drivers is quite another. WE PASSED!!

Last night, as I set my alarm the nostalgia washed over me. This will be the first time I haven’t taken Little Miss to school in eleven years. All those mornings of truck-kareoke and gossip sessions- we will have to find a new routine, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

This morning was a little less rushed on my side. We talked as we got ready and before I knew it…

“Okay, I’m going to go now!” I heard as I turned around to see her, packed and ready with her keys in her hands and a confident smile on her face.

“But…I’m not sure I’m ready,” I said.

“I’m ready!” she said smiling, as we walked outside and she ordered me to not video her pulling out of the driveway. (I did not comply.)

As she drove out of the driveway, I felt a familiar feeling in my stomach as the hot tears rolled swiftly down my cheeks. I was standing in the doorway of Ms. Haywood’s kindergarten classroom, watching my little girl run off to play with her friends, excited to start her new journey. She was ready then too. 

As parents, I guess we are never quite ready for some chapters to come to a close, no matter how much we prepare ourselves or our children for the next. However, I am ready to dive into the chapters ahead, as long as I can still hop back in the passenger seat every now and again.

Morning Drives

Morning Drives.

Since Little Miss began her school career, our morning drives have been some of my favorite times of the day. The process of getting to the drive might’ve been questionable, being two strong-willed gals who don’t wake up especially loving mornings, but the drive has always been our time. From kindergarten on, she has been our official car DJ choosing everything from Carrie Underwood to Wu-Tang. (We are a diverse duo.) In between songs, we would briefly discuss what was on our agenda for the day, which would oftentimes include excitement to see pals or mutual hate for PE class.

Now she’s 16, and while she isn’t driving on her own quite yet, our rolls have already reversed a bit. Sitting in the passenger side of my best friend's ride…(if you know, you know) now I’m the DJ. I catch myself turning down the music so she can focus, and watching as she promptly turns it back up. I remember doing the same maneuver with my mom.

As the days grow nearer for her to get her full license, I can’t help but feel so many emotions. This is a vessel that will carry her to her future, in the literal sense. And while I’m so proud of the goals that drive her each and every day, I’m selfishly already missing our morning drives together.

Little Miss- I hope you remember our drives as fondly as I do. And don’t forget your part in Shoop, whether I’m sitting next to you, or just in your heart. I love you, my baby!

16

Sixteen years ago, almost to the minute, I met the most incredible little person. In the first moments of staring into her eyes, I wondered a thousand wonders. Who would she become? What would her hobbies be? Who would she look like? What would her personality be? I hoped, wished, and prayed our bond would be as strong as mine is with my mom, who was looking over my shoulder with a smile brighter than I'd ever seen before. 

"Did you ever know you could love someone so much, baby?" my mom asked.

I didn't. I was quickly whisked out of labor and delivery, and into a room upstairs. It seemed like only a few seconds later my family was bidding me farewell for the evening and I was left alone with my new best friend. I was mesmerized by her and equally terrified I would do something to break her. I had mothered many animals- but human babies? I retired from my babysitting career after one summer. Babies were bossy, sticky, and kind of germy little creatures. But this one? This one was perfect.

After we came home from the hospital, our days became quite routine. My life had never been so routine, in fact. I learned quickly that Little Miss enjoyed a schedule and come hell or highwater (and sometimes she was the hell and the highwater) we were following the schedule to ensure a decent night of sleep. We blinked a few times too many, and the days of rocking chairs and bottles were traded in for strolls to the park and visits to the children's museum. Little did I know, the seasons that would follow would fly by faster each year.

I suppose every parent becomes nostalgic on their child's birthday each year. In reflecting today, I remembered the thousand wonders that flooded my mind as I stared into Little Miss's eyes for the first time. Who would she become? Her. She's become her, as simple yet complex as that sounds. She has become her own person; a person I am thankful to have had a hand in molding, but am not sure I did near as much as she did along the way. The truth is, just as she grew into herself, I grew into myself all because of her. She continues to teach me and mold me into a better person each day. What would her hobbies be? Well, what started as a hobby, quickly escalated into a career. Her heart is on the stage, and when she steps onto that stage, she becomes the character she portrays. Her work ethic at sixteen is stronger than most adults in this world. Who would she look like? Her Bub...100%. And sometimes, when she gets really excited to share a story, it is like looking in a shorter, brunette mirror. What would her personality be? Kind. So incredibly kind. She loves her people fiercely and would do anything in the world to support them. She can argue better than I ever hoped to and has a poker face that would even confuse Lady Gaga. 

The hope, wish, and prayer to have a bond like my mom and I's, a best friend bond, was answered, and then some. While our bond is absolutely as strong as my mom and I's, so is her bond with my mom. She, my mom, and I are like a tiny girl gang. We have traveled all over the east coast together to see concerts and countless theatre productions. Where one goes, so do the other two. 

Sometimes when we make a wish or say a prayer, I imagine God just winks at us. Already got it handled, boo...already got it handled.

Creatures of Habit

Feeding time. 6:30am every day.

This morning…one very short day into Daylight Savings Time, I yawn my way downstairs to feed the ponies.

“Good morning, babies! It’s breakfast time!” I say, at a dull but chipper roar. (You’re welcome, neighbors. This is also your alarm. Good morning.)

I hear a scuttling sound next to the barn and peek around the corner to see both horses stretching and yawning.

Tristan gives me the loving, side-eye we are both known for. 

The sun isn’t even awake yet, Ma…

“I don’t have time to watch the sunrise with you two…get in the barn so I can get your blankets off,” I say.

And so it begins. The snorting, stomping, and running of the trusty(?) steeds.

Nope…it’s an hour too early for breakfast. Something is wrong. Maybe the vet is coming? Farrier? Something is definitely up. She’s never down here this early. THE SUN ISN’T EVEN AWAKE.

“Get. In. The. BARN.”

She’s tricking us! It’s too early…maybe that isn’t even our mom!?! She’s never early. *makes large noise sounding like velociraptor* Spooks himself, other horse, and two goats. Now we have a running parade of animals, which prompts the dogs to start barking and my vocabulary to become more colorful.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection as the sun rises…with my beanie half way on, jacket thrown over my pajamas, and muck boots on…I’m really a vision. Coworker drives by…honks…parade of prancing idiots continues as I stomp off to grab a halter.

I catch Tristan, throw his halter on & take his blanket off as he stands perfectly still, like the gentleman he is.

“Alright…come on. Let's go eat breakfast,” I say, tugging on his halter.

No ma’am. We have 30 more minutes before the buffet opens for breakfast. I’ll wait. Stomps hoof, gentlemanly.

Hooves firmly planted. Not moving a whisker. I move over to Roscoe…who is certain the world is ending because that is apparently what Tristan has told him.

Nope! Simulation Mom…she’s an imposter!!! RUN EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!

The parade begins again.

“FINE. YOU CAN SWEAT AND STARVE UNTIL I GET HOME FOR LUNCH WHEN WE TRY THIS F*$%ING SH%*SHOW AGAIN. YOU’RE BOTH JACKASSES.”

Both horses stop, look at me…then prance off in the opposite direction. (At this point, both sure I’m an imposter because I never yell at them. Okay…it’s rare.)

“But…I love you. MAKE BETTER CHOICES! And don’t forget to drink water.”

Happy Monday, everyone. No, riding a horse to work won’t be cheaper or easier than paying the rising gas prices- but it will be more entertaining.

All I Want for Christmas is a New ACL

Sometimes it's good for me to do a little life-dump blogpost, just for me. It is a reminder of ups and downs, ebbs and flows, or perhaps themes of each year. For example, 2021- the year I got a new pony, tore my ACL, and got Covid…all within a few weeks of each other. But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself…let's back up.

I began looking for a new pony-pal for Tristan in the summer. I use the term pony as an endearing term for a horse, as actual ponies are little demonic creatures that spend their lives trying to burden others. (But they do build character in children. Seriously, part of why I am funny is from the many satanic ponies I loved during my childhood.) 

In my search, I found the horse market was much like the housing market and horse prices were stupid high. 

• 2 year old, green-broke gelding - $10,000 

• 10 year old, one eyed, lame, appaloosa - $15,000

Not only was the price making me feel like Fred Sanford calling for Elizabeth, but none of the available horses were what I was looking for.

I exhausted all my resources looking for parameters I wasn’t even sure of myself. Then after a good night of chatting with God and Daddy, the ad for Roscoe popped up. A unicorn of sorts- a 10 year old buckskin gelding with a price that didn’t send me into cardiac arrest and a name already suited for Wanchese living. 

“Memphis, TN…hmm that’s a 14 hour drive. Not far at all!” I whispered to myself as I facetimed the owner, who in short, must be a long-lost relative because we hit it off immediately.

A facetime-ride and a hundred panicked facebook messages later, Roscoe was on his way to his island home. A shipper pal offered to deliver him at a discounted price so her kiddos could see the ocean for the first time, which saved me from that 2 day road trip I was planning. A trainer pal offered to host him for a crash course in collecting and de-boogering. (One of the things that ironically sold me on Roscoe was the fact that his owner said he ‘sometimes boogers at his own shadow’...me too, pal, me too.) All the stars aligned for this stunning buckskin to join our family. 

“You know your daddy loved a buckskin,” Mama said, as Roscoe breathed in his first few breaths of salty air.

“I do. He had his hands in this,” I replied, as we both smiled.

Days passed quickly as Roscoe learned about treats and snuggles. (‘New ma likes to put her face in mine…kinda weird.’) His trust grew and the first time I climbed on his back in real life, not via facetime, he was wonderful. I questioned even sending him to my trainer-pal…right up until I asked him to trot and he turned into a snorkeling seahorse, with his nose up to the sky as I giggled. Fixable issue, no worries.

After a few weeks at the trainer’s and glowing reviews of his progress, Little Miss and I made the two hour drive to visit and go for a little trail ride. I had ridden him a few times during his schooling and he was always a perfect gentleman. I brought Little Miss’s saddle since on this particular day, she was going to ride him for the first time. Before she climbed on, I decided I would take him for a quick spin first…

As I put my foot in the stirrup and began to pull myself on, something in the distance, maybe states away, spooked the bejesus out of Roscoe. As he leapt to the side, out from under my body, my knee twisted as I attempted to stick the ride. (Because instinctually, that is what cowgirls do…we turn into spider monkeys with thigh death grips.) At some point, my foot slid out of the stirrup and my leg, together with the rest of my body, ended up face down in the arena.

I heard whispers of oh my God, are you okay, as I made damn sure I could move my toes. (Bionic back, PTSD.) Once my toes moved, I knew I was fine…until I tried to stand up and returned quickly to the dirt. (Pain notwithstanding, badumchi!) My trainer pal and Little Miss carried on with Roscoe, who at this point was back to his normal, gentlemanly self, as I dragged myself over to a mounting block to get my wits together. (Really, I was just trying to figure out how I was going to mount from the right, since my left leg was useless. Logical thinking, you know.)

“I think I can ride. I can get on Bandit (one eyed horse, appropriately named) from the right side and be fine for a short ride. I’ll probably be grounded for riding after I go to a doctor so we better get a good one in,” I said.

No one argued. We had a great ride. (In my defense, what were the odds that something else could injury me on the same day? Plus, it wasn’t Roscoe’s fault. It’s never the horse’s fault. Also in my defense, cowgirls are admittedly insane people. Tested, proven, and proud of it.) 

Days or weeks, it honestly all runs together, went by with X-Rays, a knee brace, crutches, an MRI and multiple doctors visits…until it was reported that I had completely torn my ACL, sprained my MCL, and bruised damn near everything in their path. The most athletic thing I’ve done in my entire life and it is an injury of NFL proportions. I hope I get a phenomenal halftime show out of this.

Surgery scheduled? Check. Anxiety skyrocketing? Check, check. (Remember when I had the endoscopy & was sure I wouldn’t wake up? We are back there.) I had all the things planned that I could possibly need to get done before surgery, including a good barn clean out so I could watch the horses from our barn cams post-surgery without worrying about Charlotte with all her friends hanging around. 

Post-barn cleanout, I thought I had a sinus infection after inhaling dust and spider corpses but carried on about daily life since I had no fever or other Rona-like symptoms. Then it occurred to me that my head was hurting a little worse than normal…shit.

“Maybe I’ll take one of those home tests…just to see,” I mentioned.

And I’ll be flipping darned if it didn’t immediately pop up positive. No fever. No chills. No nothing out of a normal sinus infection type of pains…posi-freaking-tive for covid.

“Oh no…we will have to postpone your surgery for at least six weeks,” the nurse told me over the phone.

Now, in the grand scheme of things I completely understand that this is a first-world, cowgirl problem. But I felt like I’d been tossed off Roscoe all over again. An extra six weeks of not riding? What kind of groundhog blasphemy is this?

“Forget it. I’m just not having the surgery. I can walk decently enough and it doesn’t hurt all the time now. I’ll just f*#%&%* cancel the whole thing,” I said to my husband.

I was overruled. *eyeroll* 

So here we are…winding down 2021 and a week away from surgery, finally. (Lord willing.) Roscoe has settled in nicely and Tristan is still wondering when the new guy is getting sent back for breaking his mom. Both horses are enjoying what they think is retirement, loads of extra snacks, and a few ground-activated tricks. My saddles are collecting dust, thanks to the observant nature of my friends and family- which to be honest, I wish you guys loved me a little less so I could have ridden for the last several months with my leg brace like I wanted to. Only kidding! 

Other things happened throughout 2021, but the last several months of this year have been truly humbling. We have been so fortunate to have some of the best people in our life to be there for us, visit us, drop off food, offer to feed kids and pets…and mostly, pray for us. Hold onto the friends who pray for you, they’re pure gold and I thank God for mine every day.

Thanks for the thoughts & prayers, friends. Merry Christmas!

#alliwantforchristmasisanewACL #97daysuntilicanride