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.

Temporarily Out of My Mind

Hunka-Hunka is out of town. AGAIN. That is why posting has been and will be, at best, sporadic. I have forewarned Hunka-Hunka's boss that if another business trip is planned in the near-to-distant future, it will be on like Donkey-Kong. I know many, many wives and moms have husbands and fathers gone for far longer, and that there are many, many single moms who are doing it alone for the long haul. I respect and revere them.

But I also know that we each have our own unique set of circumstances that bring its own set of stressors. Mine involves an autistic little guy who loves his father beyond measure, inquires several times a day to said father's whereabouts, breaks out into tearful and mournful little "now I will never see my daddy again"s, and does not sleep well. At. All. And he has a cold which, for some reason, requires him to wake up at 3 am excoriating his sister for sleeping in the boys' room. There is also a little girl whose energy and vocal cords know no bounds and a baby who still wakes up at least two times during the night to nurse. Rare is the night that I get over five hours of sleep. When Hunka-Hunka is here he tries to give me as many naps as possible. So what I am saying is I may or may not be firing on all cylinders. Pity me, people! Or more likely, pity my children.

Now the logical thing to do would be to call in the reserves, but logic has never been my strong suit. Many people graciously offer help by saying "just call if you need anything." And I know that they sincerely mean it. But I have a strange irrationality that gets in the way of that call. It is almost physically impossible for me to ask for help. In my diseased imagination, if someone really wants to help they will say "don't call me, I'll call you", but in a good way. Or, if you look like you need help, then they will automatically be giving you a date and time that they will be there saying "what do you need right now?" and will not take the old "nothing. We're fine," for an answer. For them to say "call if you need anything" signals to me that I don't look stressed out enough. But here is my rule of thumb, if I am breathing, I need help. Simple, no.

But the fault is all my own, and the laundry piles up, the dishes pile up, the causes and/or cures of sixteen diseases continue to grow unfettered in my bathrooms, and my already tenuous grasp on reality slips farther afield. Rome burns, and it refuses to use a lifeline.

But should someone break through the nonsense and set up a date and time to come to my house, I will be sent into a mad panic of cleaning. By the time they arrive the house will be spotless and fresh baked cookies will be ready on the counter for our tea and tete-a-tete. They will leave wondering why they though I needed help, and I will have prolonged a visit from Hoarders and the DSS for yet another day. Then in a few short minutes, the delicate balance will be tipped and all the junk that I have stuffed into various closets and hidey holes will be disgorged back onto the floors. I will be back where I started. But at least there will be fresh cookies.

There is, however, a glimmer of hope. Day follows night until Friday arrives bring in Hunka-Hunka on the Red Eye. Life is good.

So this week, I will rock the baby and treat the kids. These years will not last forever. This is a good thing and bad one. Life is good.

That's How We Role

This has been a doozy of a week. We have had multitudinous meltdowns, people. Bodies have flailed. Voices have wailed. And pitying glances have been cast in my general direction. Calls have been placed to Daddy with queries of "what do I do now? what are these people on?" Time Outs have been taken by mommy. Chocolate and caffeine have been consumed it large quantities.

But there have also been some real sweet times. We have a reward system set up for the kids so that when we catch them loving their neighbor, they get to climb up Big Hill. Getting to the top of Big Hill results in a treat. Boo made it to the top one morning. This distressed Snoo who views all such things as a competition. Boo comforted her by saying "Don't worry, Snoo. I will wait for you." Later when he had a treat for something else, he wanted to share it with Snoo so she wouldn't be upset. It melts a mommy's heart. And, tonight, all three kiddos were rolling on the floor together playing with fractions.

We have also had some decent school days. Part of my homeschooling strategy involves making school not seem like school. I believe this is so much easier with the younger grades. Though I have to admit, there is a part of me that desires to just sit down and force the Boo through workbook page after workbook page because that is measurable and gives me something to point to and say "yes, we did school and accomplished something".

Now I could write a whole post about how I could home school with just the iTouch, but let it suffice to say that technology has come up with some good stuff. As we drive every day to pick up Snoo from K-5, Boo does math cleverly disguised as pizza. He practices building sentences and answering questions with some awesome autism apps that I have found.

Then, today, I found a 3-d magnetic fraction set. Boo set out following the instructions on the box "1/2 + 1/4 +2/8 = 1 whole". He did that twice and then held up the shapes and declared "now I have two wholes". And his siblings are there as well, taking it all in. Oh, I am such a sneaky mommy.

So that's how it goes. There are ups and downs, and we role with it. Highly caffeinated, of course.

Pulling in the Welcome Mat

You know how when you go to Moe's and open the door everyone yells, "Welcome to Moe's!". Well, I have the feeling that the next time we go, they are going to yell "Not You Again!"

The kids and I were set to have a loverly lunch with Miss Meggie, a.k.a. The Tickle Monster. Well, Boo (my oldest) was already out of sorts having been made to give up The Precious (my iTouch) so his sister (Snoo) could have a turn. Bams (the baby) is in that stage where whenever I get out of eyesight, he turns into a snotty mess, but it is the cutest snotty mess you have ever seen.

This can't end well, right?

We start to eat. Both Boo and Snoo are inhaling their quesadillas so they can call dibs on The Precious. Bams is still recovering from the trauma of me leaving to purchase our victuals. In the midst of all the confusion, Boo knocks over his drink. Now the Boo has high functioning autism. Part of his special little cocktail of autism is various sensory issues. He is already wearing jeans the texture of which he detests, and wet jeans are just going to knock him over the proverbial edge.

We are trying to sop up some of the wetness and come up with a new seating plan that meets Boo's rigid standard of what is acceptable. While going to collect more napkins, Boo slips on a piece of ice from his spilled drink and wipes out on the floor. Major meltdown occurs. Ah, the joys of autism. I can understand any kid being upset, but we are talking weeping and wailing of apocalyptic proportions coming from what appears to be a neurotypical eight year old.

Now having a kid with autism has brought me to a place where I could care less of what people think of me and my parenting skills, because they can never understand the challenges of autism, and I could never explain it to them. But I do want to help bring Boo to a place where he can know the satisfaction of controlling his emotions and being able to function in society.

By the time we sooth the Boo and restore order to the scene, I am about ready to throw in the taco and call it a day. But Miss Meggie takes the baby and everyone calms down so Momma can finish her lunch.

Just thinking about it right now exhausts me. I do love me some Moe's. However, I don't know if Moe's or I can handle another lunch like that anytime soon.