The F Word

The F Word. The F Bomb. What the F?!

On a normal day, the F word you're more than likely thinking of- wouldn't phase me. I wouldn't bat an eye or even perk my ears up. But this F word, wasn't that F word.

Foreclosure. A word you hear and your heart sinks...your breath escapes your body and life begins moving in slow motion. The 'why, how, when and what the f's flood your brain...or mine at least.

I first heard WF (the barn where I board my horse) was foreclosing from a few sources, prior to hearing it straight...from the horse's mouth. (WF - add one letter in the middle & you'll get my reaction to the news!)

The story I got "straight from the horse" should've soothed me, it should've calmed me down- and it did temporarily...but in the end, it left me with more questions than answers- and quite frankly, it just didn't make any sense. I was told not to worry- I was told 'by Monday' they'd hopefully have some answers about saving part of the farm. Monday turned into Friday, then the next Monday...and no one had any more answers than they had the day I first heard the F bomb.

On that day, my sister-from-another-mister, Danielle, who broke her back working at the farm this summer, also learned of the news. While my mind raced with thoughts of what I would do and where my horse would go...I felt sick to my stomach for her. Not only was she told her horses would have to find a new place to live- but she would have to now find a new job...ironically, right as she was about to return to work at the farm. (Talk about getting kicked in the broken-back when you're down, dude!)

I couldn't focus- the worry consumed me- worry for everyone. It was really like losing a relative- I went through all the emotions you go through when you lose something close to you. Shock, numbness, disbelief, anger, fear, grief...yep, all of it. I felt it all on repeat- which is why it's taken me almost a month to write about it. I didn't want to write anything & have it be swayed by the way I was feeling at that moment...because my emotions? They were all-over-the-place. I would tear up thinking about how amazing the farm was- and how spoiled I'd become. I would get depressed when I'd think of all the fun times Little Miss & I had with Danielle & her girls on the horses...and the reality that our horses probably wouldn't find a place together. (Why, WHY didn't they give her a heads up!? She worked there! What the foreclosure?!) I would become angry at the owner's for putting us all in this position. I would then feel guilty- for getting so angry at them- obviously, they're going through it too. I wondered and worried where everyone would go. Our area is far from "horse country" and spots at a farm are very limited.

In a barn with 20+ boarders, I knew it would end up being every man (and horse) for himself. I knew it would get ugly. I could see it all happening long before it actually did...and of course, it did. I mean, it's a barn full of women...can you imagine? The claws were being sharpened with every drop of any F bomb. Everyone who knew of the foreclosure was being hushed- because some employees hadn't been told yet. While this hurt my heart beyond belief- because these particular employees were the ones who had been hands-on with my horse...I bit my tongue. No one could be trusted- as far as many were concerned.

I started making calls immediately to find something for my horse. (And had my first ever panic attack.) I knew I couldn't stay there any longer than I had to- I know myself & while I don't play games, others do...and my general response to game players is to take their dice, and calmly place them down their throat. (Calmly, like a skinny Tony Soprano kicking the teeth out of Coco.)

Thankfully, my amazing friend offered a spot at her barn for my man to bunk in. I'd planned to move my horse the week after I got my wisdom teeth out...since I'd already paid board up through that week. However, the day I helped Danielle move her guys- I got a strange feeling in my gut. It wasn't the same warm-fuzzy-welcoming place I'd come to love. WF has never been a place I've worried about my horse...I always knew he would be cared for- but on this day, I drove out of the driveway and felt sick. Maybe I was worrying for nothing- but I knew I wouldn't sleep until my relocation was done.

I cried as I loaded my big, white man into the trailer to head for his new home the following day...not because I was leaving- but because one of the employees who didn't know of any F bomb, teared up he told my horse good-bye.

"Goodbye, Mr. Tristan...you are good horse. Be good boy," he said. (He often spoke in Spanish to the horses- and they loved it.)
"Thank you for all your hard work, friend," I said to him, before I forced myself to walk away. (I wanted to say "Can you work a camera? You're hired!" It broke my heart.)

Moving my horse has ended up working out more perfect than I could've imagined. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful friend who would open her barn up to us. (Love you, Case!) I get to see my horse every day- we've already bonded more in just a few weeks than we did in an entire month at WF. He gets along great with his 'roommate' & one of the best parts? No More Drama...it's not just a Mary J. Blige song, ya'll.

Stubborn Streak

I get my stubborn streak from my daddy. My mom is stubborn too...in her own way. But our stubborn-ness is pure Spencer.

A few years ago, my dad had a minor surgery to remove an abscess on his spine. The doctor explained he could experience minor arthritis for a year following the surgery- which I thought was odd, but what can you do? The doctor has to know what he's talking about right?

When my daddy woke up from the surgery, he could hardly walk. While it wasn't constant, the pain in his hip was so sharp and severe- I saw my once very active daddy, start being less and less mobile. Driving hurt, walking hurt, sitting hurt.

After living with the pain for a year, he finally agreed to have x-rays done. His family doctor simply said, "You've got it" referring to his arthritis. No suggestion for pain management...no referral to a surgeon...no real explaination at all. You've got it.

Months later, I talked him into going back to the doctor...a different doctor- in hopes of getting a referral to a surgeon b/c I knew it was possible to get my 'old' daddy back. That mission was accomplished...and we began jumping through whatever hoops we had to jump through in order to get his hip replaced. (I mentioned the stubborn streak, right? Spencer vs Spencer/Braunstein...I.will.win.this.)

Blood tests. Dental exams. You name it, he's been checked and tested for it in preparation for his new hip. Something else we've run across during this wild goose chase? No other doctors have any idea why on Earth a surgeon would suggest he would have arthritis for a year...it doesn't go away- it's not a cold. Bizarre. But not the point...which I have to keep reminding my dad of.

I was suprised when we were told he'd had to have his teeth checked. What does that have to do with a hip!? Apparently, an abscessed tooth can cause quite the complication when having surgery. (The infection from the abscess can hop right down to the incision spot & bam...big troubles. Makes perfect sense now, huh?) Daddy only has a few teeth that are his- the rest are a bridge that he's had since college. Dentists orders? Pull them all. OUCH!

Today, Daddy had his teeth pulled- and for the first time in quite sometime, has all, newly purchased, top and bottom chompers!! Once his mouth isn't sore from the de-teething, I'm buying him a steak...and a snickers bar! ;-)



*Please keep my daddy in your prayers. His hip surgery is scheduled for February...and then we have a big date scheduled to test out his new mobility at Busch Gardens this spring!!*

One Percent

2013 started off with a ba-bayum.

Since I will probably be late to my own funeral, it's only natural that I would be behind getting my car inspected & tags renewed, right? I woke up on this cloudy New Year's Day with a "I'm getting this ish done" attitude- setup an appointment with the local mechanic shop & called my dad to meet me there.

This particular local mechanic shop was recently bought out by another, larger, company & I noticed upon entering the establishment, many of the long-time employees were nowhere to be found. I don't frequent this spot, necessarily- but it's near our home & it's where I get my truck inspected every year.

I asked to have my oil changed, tires rotated & a normal inspection.

"The truck is under Spencer?" the man behind the counter asked me, puzzled because I'd told him my last name was Braunstein.
"Yes, my dad has brought it here before...Don Spencer," I said.
"Oh, I know you're dad!" he told me.

I felt better...even though I didn't know him- or anyone there for that matter. In our small town, it means something to know who is working on your truck, making you coffee or serving your dinner. Is it all who you know? Sometimes. Sometimes it just helps to see a friendly face...or be the friendly face.

I jumped in my dad's truck and ran some errands. Over an hour had passed and I thought I'd call to check on my truck- so I wouldn't have to come back out.

"Oh, yea...I was about to call you. Your truck failed the inspection- but everything else is complete," the man behind the counter told me over the phone.
"What?! Why?"
"The tint is 1% darker than the legal limit, ma'am," he told me.
"But you've inspected it every year & it's passed...what changed?!"
"I guess you got new tint!" he said.
"Um, no...it's the same as last year...and the year before..."

Now, I know they have rules they have to follow- and they have to draw the line somewhere...but seriously? 1%!? My blood pressure instantly skyrocketed as my dad and I drove back to Trea---- the local shop.

We walked in & sat down. The man behind the counter pretended he didn't know my dad was my dad, even though he told me he knew him. Then he proceeded to tell us that he couldn't just pass the truck because he knew who we were.

"It's not all who you know!" he said.

Yea, I bet your mattress still has that tag on it that says 'do not remove' too, Sparky.

"The guy behind our shop can take the tint off...we'll inspect it & then he can replace it for you- simple as that," he explained.

I got mad. I saw red. I was a second away from taking off my earrings. 1 freaking percent. ONE. And you've inspected it every.freaking.year.

"What a racket..."

I told him I was done arguing, I just wanted to pay my bill and be done. While I went over my bill, I explained to the man behind the counter that good customer service- means letting your client know when something comes up with their vehicle. I felt that I should've been notified prior to my oil change & tire rotation...but that's just good customer service- which clearly this shop does not have.

After telling the man behind the counter this- he got his back up...which royally pissed me off.

"You can take your truck somewhere else. But you're flagged in the system...the DMV will come to your house," he said, with a fake tough-guy attitude.
"Oh! Scary! Bring it on- they can inspect my truck, my house, look through my dirty laundry & meet my 3 dobermans and angry chihuahua...but they won't. Because you're bluffing. Liar," I said...and I may have stuck my tongue out after I said liar and made the farting noise...possibly.

My dad interjected with obscenities that are not blog friendly...if we were onstage and I was a rapper, he would've totally rocked it as a hype man.

The two mechanics standing behind him half cheered me on and half wouldn't make eye contact with me b/c they didn't want to anger the crazywhitegirl anymore than their bossman had already.

I stomped out. Slamming the door and huffed all the way to my 1%-too-tinted truck and realized...I forgot my damn coffee mug- my favorite zebra print coffee mug. I stomped back in like an angry stallion with its ears pinned. I glared at the man behind the counter as I snatched my coffee mug off the counter. (I might have said "HMPH!"...possibly.)

I complained about said 'local shop' all day. (ONE PERCENT TOO DARK! ONE FREAKING PERCENT!!)



Today, I went to a real mechanic. My inspection passed with flying colors. Turns out- it isn't who you know, its just knowing when you know assholes. ;-)

Ho Ho Holidays

The Christmas season is so busy that it seems like- by the time the stockings are filled and the turkey is in the oven...I realize a gazillion tradition I would've liked to have done with my little family. But didn't.

One new tradition we started- we welcomed an Elf on the Shelf to our family this year. Her name is Ruby. The day she arrived from the North Pole- Little Miss saw a tiny white feather beside her. She decided Aunt Ruby (who has real wings b/c she's an angel now) must've had a hand in the elf finding us. (I cried.) While many elves seemed very energetic at night, according to their human's facebook pages, ours tended to just hop from place to place. I had a heck of a time remembering to "leave the window open" for the Elf...so she could fly in & out. (aheeem) 

On Christmas Eve, in between deep-cleaning the house b/c apparently, I thought Santa was coming to stay-a-while, Little Miss, Mr.B and I baked and decorated cookies. They were delicious...Santa shared.

The morning of the big day- I woke up at 6am. I had butterflies in my belly just like I did when I was a little one. I tip-toed out into the living room and saw what the jolly-ole-elf left for us. I fixed my coffee, put the breakfast casserole into the oven- and snuggled back down in bed. Two hours (TWO HOURS) later, Little Miss woke up...and stumbled into our bedroom. The three of us walked into the living room together & Little Miss was overjoyed with the American Girl accessories Santa left for her & her doll. A few minutes later, my parents arrived with homemade biscuits...and my Christmas was complete. (They were cheese biscuits...mmmm my heart skips a beat just thinking about the little dollops of dough filled with cheese.)

Little Miss shredded through present after present- Barbie, clothes...hmmm- a small box that doesn't rattle? This is probably a boring...IPAD!!?!?? Then she peed a little.

At that point, neither of us cared about any other presents- we just wanted to play with our new toys. We got my parents a Kindle Fire...and my dad (the truck driving, mechanic, who's far from a tech-savvy fella) hasn't put it down yet. He asked me yesterday about Twitter...he wants to sign up. I love it.

Once the presents were opened and it was time to play with our gifts...shockingly, no one wanted a photo. No problem- that's why I have pets...because they're loyal and there for you when you need them. Hmph.

Thanks, Kitties.

I was able to sneak a few of Little Miss...after lying and saying "Noooo I'm not shooting you...I'm shooting this piece of wrapping paper in the floor." (Bedhead documented...sweet!)

And yes...half the lights on our Christmas/Hanukkah tree don't work. It was already decorated...I figured from outside- you can only see half the tree anyway, so I justified my laziness.

Who needs lunch when someone gives you a GIANT chocolate kiss? Yea...eat it, girlfriend.

Later that afternoon, we moseyed over to my parents home to have an early dinner. Santa left a surprise for Little Miss there too!! A kitchen for her "apartment" at Bub & Gran'Dads!!

Christmas spent with family...what more can you ask?

Bedtime Conversations

Our evening routine is one of my favorite parts of the day. Little Miss and I snuggle up together with the iPad and read to each other. Sometimes she reads an entire book, sometimes I do...and sometimes we read together. It's one of the few times throughout the day that there are no 'life' interruptions. We are each other's captive audience.

After reading, we talk about the rose/thorn of our days...which sometimes carries over to random chatter. Recently, Little Miss has attempted to prolong the actual 'sleep' part of our nightly routine, by spouting out bits of information- just as I think she's fallen asleep.

Tiny heart attacks occur with each story...because I think she's asleep until all of a sudden, her head pops up and I hear...

"Keena is older than me. Everyone in my dance class is...except the ones who aren't," she says.
"Oh...okay, well let's go to sleep now."

Minutes pass by. The dog is snoring under my feet.

"Snakes can eat otters...and rats...did you know that-"
I interupt.
"Thats amazing...but it's time for sleep. Thank you for all the information though!"
"Right...love you, Mama!" she says with a kiss, then closes her eyes again.

More time passes. The dog snores louder...one of the animals fart and in the midst of me gasping for air, I hear a whisper.

"The person who plays Avery on 'Dog with a Blog' was on 'Good Luck, Charlie' first...did you know that, Mama?"
"I didn't. But I do know that you are supposed to be sleeping!"

Less than one minute later.

"I can spell olive....................... I just did it in my head."

At this point, I'm trying to fight back the giggles. Quite honestly, Little Miss sounds like she's having a half drunk conversation with herself.

I tell her once again, it's time to stop talking and go to sleep. For the love of worms and dirt, child...aren't you the least bit tired?! More time passes...she's snuggled on my arm and feels like a wet noodle. I'm quite certain she's asleep.

"Do you know what happens after art? ...I don't either."

My eyeballs fall out of my head.

Seconds later, she's snoring.