Apparently trying to be a responsible "adult" blog writer isn't working for me. Between work, yard care, house cleaning, food buying and cooking and consuming and cleaning, dog care, stepping up to help more with the administrative side of the rescue, kid entertaining and care and loving, and oh yeah showering every day (not a feat I always manage, although the coffee gets prepped every single night) I start a long, meaningful, deep searching blog post...and half finish it. And leave it. For WEEKS. Until it's no longer really relevant, or I've reread it so much to edit it and realized that maybe that kinda shoulda NOT go out in the world. So I think I'll just start throwing what I have out there, because polish can come later, just to get in the habit of doing it on a regular basis and not, say, like one of my favorite bloggers. *cough Becky Bean cough hack wheeze WHY don't we have the REST of the 2013! clinic write up?????*
This
past weekend has remind me in a pretty spectacular way how amazingly
awesome, wonderful, sweet and truly easygoing my kid is. We were
horribly busy, helping my parents get ready for the party, doing yard
work, grocery shopping, house cleaning, grandparents visiting,
laundry, dog sitting and walking….and not one tantrum. Not one
“NO!” out of him the entire weekend. Not even a pause or an
almost fit. Even though his nap and mealtimes were totally screwed
up, there were so many people to deal with, and so little time to
visit the park or even just watch a movie, he trooped happily,
sunnily all through the weekend.
He stayed up at my parent’s house
until midnight on Friday, narrating Finding Nemo, a movie that used
to put him to sleep, and guarding the giant Costco death by chocolate
cake. He popped right up, bright and early and helped clean and shop
and pick up the yard and watch Lady and the Tramp before finally
falling asleep on me at past noon on Saturday. He didn’t complain
or throw a fit when I sorta kinda woke him up to change him into cute
party clothes and transport him back to my parent’s now clean and
fantastically good smelling full house.
Naturally, he provided a ton
of entertainment to all the guests…in the form of refusing to wake
all the way up and so sleeping under a purple blanket on my parent’s
bed, still in his rain coat and shoes, so much like a log that Butter
slept right on top of him. He didn’t wake up until some people had
already finished desert and headed home. But his nearly five hour
siesta did mean he was in extra good spirits once he woke up and
devoured a huge plate of food, chocolate cake, and fruit salad,
switching between various laps to do so.
He
was charming while most people trickled out, then he commandeered his
visiting grandparents into sitting on the office floor with him,
being amazed by all his toys (this
kid has so many toys. So many.) He mostly willingly went to bed that night, despite the allure of grandparents in his house. He chilled out with me completely the next day, helped me with the tiny bit of housework I made myself do, and gamely helped me hit two grocery stores before getting ready for school, bright and early on a stupid Monday morning (all Mondays are unnecessary).
I
know I just went on what was mostly a vacation, and I should be
writing about how wonderful and relaxing it was, all the rides I fit
in, the amazing place I was able to stay, and just generally reveling
in kid free, work free time (did
you know how easy it is to shop without stopping a small blonde one
from killing himself/maiming stuff/entertaining said child? Who
knew?).
And I am. I keep remembering the climb up the hill on the back of a
good mustang, the soft fresh sheets that I didn't have to clean,
the drama of a new addicting show (House
of Cards, watch it!),
running them over in my brain like the beads of a rosary while I
stuff envelopes or crunch Excel data.
Yet
another fantastic endurance rider and her veterinarian husband opened
their horses, their saddles, and their ears and let me ride with them
twice in as many days. As an unfortunate side effect of my job, I
tend to talk any friendly person’s ears off when I’m not at work
and that scares people away. I was also able to squeeze in a lesson
with a dressage trainer who understood I was mainly looking for tips
on “How not to be a potato sack on other people’s horses”,
since catch riding is my present and future for years to come. I had
less than an hour in the saddle with her, but she was amazed at how
quickly I corrected and caught on to what she was saying. Her two
main take away points for me are: I move my upper body too much, and
to get the weight of my body on my inside leg instead of my outside
ankle. And I desperately want to take more lessons on a regular
basis. On my second ride with Stacy up Evans Creek (right after said
lesson left me feeling weirdly wonderful despite being unable to hold
two point in the correct position for more than 10 seconds) I tried
switching my weight, and it as like a miracle. My ankles didn’t
hurt even after some serious posting work! I was able to drive a
stick shift home for six hours without any Advil or Excedrin! And
walk like a normal person the next day!
Riding
three times in two days was the highlight of the weekend. Keeping a
small blonde child happy and entertained for the six hour drive home,
stopping for potty breaks at every single rest stop, interacting with
Tristan, and worrying about my son were the downsides. Also was
coming home to a messy house, laundry in baskets, garden stuff shoved
in the dining nook, no meals cooked and no meat defrosted. Oh, and
Tristan’s parents visiting this weekend.
I love my kid. I am not sure I say this enough, or have enough patience to remember to say it when I really need to. But tonight my kid proved, yet again, how flexible and willing he is. He stayed inside or in the backyard while I weed whacked the side and front yards, following my slow, painful, cursing, sneezing and hacking (of course I forgot to take the Zertec!) progress through the various windows. He provided hopeful, encouraging commentary from my personal peanut gallery, along the lines of, "Go mommy!" and "Almost done Mommy! We can have when you are done ice cream! Ice cream when the yard, when you are done!"
And you know what? Despite being covered in the remains of the slaughtered, helpless grass and weeds and my sweat and blood that it took to get the job done, it was worth it. My rental company won't yell at me now, my grass won't have to be cut for another week or so, and when I was done putting the tools away...we curled up in the hammock with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Life goes on, a bit warmer now in the little red house.
