The Fine Print

One of the hopes and dreams that parents have for their children is that their kids will be good readers and will love the written word. At this house, we surround the kids with books (We go so far as to risk them being lost in the maze of their father's theology books (ahem), but that is another topic for another time.). We read aloud, we buy books on cd and mp3 because Mommy's voice give out too quickly, and they see us reading. Even as I type, Bams is rolling around in a big pile of board books. He picks them up, turns them over, pats them, turns the pages and studies them intently. He also chews on them, trying to fully digest their content, but he will learn and board books are chocked full of fiber.

The only problem with books is that they contain IDEAS which are pass on to susceptible little minds. And IDEAS have CONSEQUENCES, like stopped up toilet. But I am getting ahead of myself. My children have a flair for the dramatic. Where they got that from, I have no idea, but it is there in large quantities. They read something, then they must draw it, then they must. act. it. out. We have had numerous productions of Frog and Toad, Little Bear and the like. Richard Scarry is a favorite, but it has only gotten to the "draw teeny-tiny picture and have Mommy cut them out for magnets" stage.

Help, Mommy's hand has a cramp.

Keeping Boo interested in a book that does not involve trains can be a bit tricky. So we have turned to comic books much to the chagrin of my Charlotte Mason loving soul. I am pretty sure Calvin and Hobbes is not on the Ambleside 3rd grade reading list, but high interest it is. When the books came in the mail, immediately all activity stopped and the books were poured over. Giggles were heard, snatches were read aloud with great expression and questions were asked. Days later I heard a great commotion coming from downstairs. Boo was standing outside the bathroom door, pounding on it and yelling out threatenings to Snoo inside who, in turn, was giving it right back to him. When asked what was going on, they explained that they were playing "Revenged of the Babysat" where Rosalynn, the babysitter, is trying to get her study notes back from Calvin who is locked in the bathroom threatening to flush them down the toilet. You see where this is going, right? It seems hilarious and entertaining, but I just recently had to unclogged a toilet. So now it is ex nay on the Calvin and Hobbes productions.

Now some Garfield books are on the way. To the best of my recollection, there are no toilets involved in these books, just lasagna, sleep (maybe it will give them ideas) and spider splatting (which would be very helpful seeing as I hate spiders). Win-win-win. Oh, but there is the drop kicking of Odie. Foiled again. I wonder which one is going to be Odie.

To Everything, Turn, Turn

Mark today down in the history books, peoples, because today I took a spinning class. The instructor was a kind friend who was giving a free class to any takers. And I said, "yes, please." It is time to get rid of some of the baby padding.

Now in case you are not in the know, spinning is the equivalent of biking up the Matterhorn minus the scenery. Lance Armstrong, I am not. He does not have to worry about a challenge from me. The class is an hour long. You heard that right, an hour. I am expected to perch my adult size tookus on a toddler size bicycle seat for 60 minutes. My tookus will never be the same. Mercifully, the room is dark so the eyes of the person behind me do not suffer permanent damage and neither does my ego.

Our instructor is loverly and fit in spandex. I am not in raggedy yoga pants and a hot pink tee. But again, the darkened room comes in handy. We were told to listen to our bodies and not overdo it. Actually, my body was telling me to run far, far away, but I put a gag in its mouth and climbed up on that bike.

You pedal and pedal and pedal and think that you are almost done, when a voice informs you that you are now halfway through the class. Come again? Someone needs to get their watch fixed. At one point when we were standing and pedaling (which is a challenge for me because my knees don't work right), I had to sit down or fall off the bike. I was asked if I was okay. I nodded my head "yes" and replied that I was coasting. There has to be a little bit of downhill. Wheeeeeeeeee! There was a time when I though I wanted to quit, but I persevere and realized that in a situation like this my body has a point where, if I push through, it just gives in and finds that it cannot stop even if it wanted to. I have come this far, I can't. stop. now.

Hydration is a must. I had a bottle of water, but it wasn't quite big enough, so by the end of the class I had run out a few miles back, halfway down the mountain. It was a good thing that I was riding in front of the fan or I would have been cooking in my own sweat. I think I need to hire someone to wipe my brow and hand off drinks and snacks.

So that was my first spin class. I am now sitting comfy at home, and I hurt so good. This was one of the most difficult activities I have ever done. And I am going to do it again. And pay money for it. Crazy, no.

Renaming

Hunka-Hunka has been back for almost a week and yet this blog is still neglected. I guess I have just run out of funny for now .

I was going to say that I have been busy blowing up balloons for the kids and, therefore, have run out of hot air. But that excuse ain't going to fly. Get it. Hot air. Fly. Never mind.

Maybe I have just been using other things to avoid blogging. I call it renaming, and it's not just for the new math any more. I am very good at renaming things (a.k.a. excuses) to get away from the cold hard truth. It's not being behind on the laundry, the laundry is couch insulation. It's not being behind on cleaning the bathroom, it's a home school science project. It's not lack of meal planning, it's teaching survival techniques or the poor man's Chopped. Open the fridge. You have 20 minutes to fix a meal from...1) moldy cheese, 2) limp lettuce, 3) unidentifiable meat, 4) hoisen sauce. Go! (Oh, I love me some Chopped. Just don't ask me to eat anything that they fix. Throwdown with Bobby Flay on the other hand? Bring it on!)

Notice that I have excellent couch insulation.

I also use this technique to console myself on food that gets push to the back of the fridge (The Island of Misfit Food) and forgotten about. When I find said food I think to myself, "It's not meat or milk that I don't know if it is safe to eat, it's cat food." Or, "It's not vegetables that are wilted and moldy, it's compost." See, now it isn't food and money that has been wasted, it's premium cat food and green living that have been found.

So, I have been too busy with other things to write on my blog. I hope to get some stuff written soon or show some of the projects I am working on (more avoidance techniques). But I want to assure you that right now, at this very moment, I am not avoiding the bathrooms, the laundry, the meals or the dust, I am blogging.

And Great Was the Fall of It

Have you ever wondered what it felt like to do something crazy or scary? For instance, at the university I attended, we had chapel four days a week. It was held in a large auditorium that held 6,000 (I think). I would be sitting there wondering what it would feel like to stand up in the middle of chapel and start screaming, singing or just talking. Then I would start thinking “I could just stand up right now and there is nothing to stop me.” Then I would be afraid that I was actually going to do it, so I would sit there and grip the armrest tightly to prevent myself from standing up and making a fool out of myself.

Anywhoo, I always wondered what it felt like to fall off of a horse. I accomplished that task (though it was not on my Bucket List), and I am alive to relate that experience to you. But first a little background information for you as to our life with horses and why I am thinking about them today.

I always take news of an impending business trip with calm, grace and fortitude, but when I realize that this means I have to take care of the horse, to put it mildly, I get upset. Now I like the horse. But I just don't like to take care of it. I am not the pioneering type. For starters the barn is located up Mount Everest behind our house, and I am loath to climb up to it with a zillion cats swarming around my ankles. Let me draw you a diagram.

Invariably, I forget about the horse until about midnight, and then I have to trek out to the barn in the pitch black dead of night with every scary scene of every episode of Criminal Minds that I have ever watched racing through my mind.

I have to admit that I drove the van up there one day this week for a feeding. But alas, it has rained, and that steep a grade mixed with rain and my van do not a good thing make.

We did have two horses, a mother and daughter, named Babe and Penny. Though they were always referred to as a single unit, "BaveandPenny”, by Boo. Babe was a huge horse. Hunka-Hunka is 6'5" so he looked normal on Babe. The rest of us looked like we were atop an elephant. We acquired the horses, and indeed the farm, because of Boo and his autism. We wanted him to be someplace where he could be outside and run, jump and wander. We had read about using horses with autistic children and decided to try it with the Boo.

Now I said “did have two horses”. We are, unfortunately, down to one. About a year ago we lost Babe. Boo referred to her last week by saying, “When the dark brown horse rises from the dead, he will be alive again.” He is fuzzy on the resurrection bit. Babe was also a girl so he is also fuzzy on the gender bit. But Babe was a wonderful horse. The few times I rode her, she was so easy to direct. When she galloped, she slipped smoothly into her stride, and it was easy to match it.

Before Bams was a glint in Hunka-Hunka's eye, he had a dream of us riding together, the wind whipping through our hair with strains of "A Man from Snowy River" playing in the background. Okay, maybe not, but he did want us to ride together. at night. out on the road. We had no cleared, flat place to ride on our property (refer to diagram a). Now this was quite safe because there are very few cars on our road and at night it's easier to see them coming.

The opportunity finally arose during the months my parents were staying with us when they moved down and were looking for a house. Hunka-Hunka got the horses ready and met me at the house. I rode Babe because she was the calmer, steadier of the two even though she was so big. We rode off into the dark. It was quite exhilarating. The air was cool. You could see all the stars and hear all the night sounds. We galloped a bit, and on a horse like Babe, it was easy. We rode to the top of a hill and looked down over the houses in the small valley. As we turned to go, Hunka-Hunka asked me whether I wanted to go further or head home. All I heard was 'head home" and, being a good little wifey, I did just that. Well, he didn't have time to warn me that when Babe heads home, she means business, so you have to keep a tight rein on her. As I turned her head toward home, Babe was off. I was not worried at first. But as we came to the first turn, I became concerned about what would happen should a car be approaching.

What happened next was one of those happenstances that happened too fast. I pulled on the reins to slow Babe down. As she changed strides, my foot slipped out of the stirrup and I was bounced sideways. Providentially, I let go of the reins which at that time were not wrapped around my hands, my other foot did not get tangled in the stirrup and I was bounced away from Babe and not under her feet. The fall was surreal and, I like to think, graceful. It actually seemed like it was happening in slow motion. My only thought was “I'm falling off of a horse. I always wondered what that would be like.” It never crossed my mind that this was going to hurt. And then I hit the road. Yes, the road, not the soft, springy grass at the side of the road.

Babe stopped for a bit, but when Hunka-Hunka caught up to us she took off again. At first Hunka-Hunka, who had no clue what was going on, saw me lying in the road and thought I was a dog from one of the nearby houses. Ummm, thanks, Hon. But in his defense it was dark, and he did not say “I thought it was a massive, ugly, rabid mutt”. Small mercies.



He implored me to arise and walk because he did not want me to be squished like a bug by any oncoming cars. I, on the other hand, had the breath knocked out of me so hard that I thought I would never draw breath again. All I could manage was a very quiet “aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”. Then I remember looking up at the sky and wondering at all the bright stars. Like I said, surreal.

I finally was able to take a blessed gulp of air and slowly get to my feet. When I was up Hunka-Hunka took off for home. He needed to get to Babe before she ran into a car, and he needed to get the van to come get me because there was no way on this earth that I was crawling back on another horse even if I was physically able (which we were unsure of at the time). I started to walk toward home thankful that it only hurt when I breathed, thankful that I was alive, thankful that the night sky was so pretty and wondering what in the world was taking Hunka-Hunka so long.

It really didn't take him long to arrive in the van. We went home, told my parents and then went to the emergency room. No broken bones, no bruises, just unable to move for about a week. That's when I decided that since I was a mother with small children, I needed not to do such things again.

So to sum it all up, falling off a horse is easy and painless. It's hitting the asphalt that hurts. You're welcome.

Edited to Add: Like I said in the comments, I look back on the experience fondly because, for a whole week after, I got to sit in a chair the whole time and be waited on hand and foot. It was like a mini vacation. That didn't even happen after my last c-section. Win-win.