The Relay

If a little competition is good for the soul, the souls of my children should be exceptionally well off by now. They fight over everything, from who brushes their teeth first to who gets in the bathtub first. Apparently bathtub seating position is vital, as the one who sits closest to the faucet wins. I'm not really sure what the rules are, or what the advantage is, but I do know how you win. That must be worth something.
Last night, my children were blindsided by the cruel blow of an empty toothpaste tube when they got upstairs. Squeeze it from the top means nothing to these people. Their dad asked one of them to come downstairs and get a new tube. After much bumping, banging, and jostling for position, (think Randy and Ralphie in "A Christmas Story") they made it downstairs. The child who arrived first was smiling, the loser I mean the child who finished second (switching to sarcastic font: because we're all winners) was crying. The instant that tube of toothpaste touched my child's hand the whining started.
Child 1: I'm carrying it upstairs.
Child 2: (Wailing) NO FAIR! I NEVER GET TO DO ANYTHING!
Child 1: Okay, well, then you're going to carry it halfway up and then give it to me!
Me: (Silently) What is this? The freaking Olympic torch relay? It's a tube of toothpaste! Can this get any more ridiculous?
Child 2: No, I'm not giving it to you! I'm carrying it all the way up the stairs. Dad said!
Dad: (Channeling his fantastic, always patient mother) Wait, wait. I'll fix this. You come get a roll of toilet paper and you can carry that upstairs.
Problem solved. Perhaps there is something wrong with me, because my first impulse was to look at the wailing child and say, "Get over it. You can do it next time." But no, Superman finds a way to save the day. And that's why they love him! Okay, fine. It's why I love him, too. He's a fixer. I am more of a "suck it up, Buttercup" kind of girl. I suppose we compliment each other.

The Riding Lesson

It gives me great pleasure to inform everyone that I am still using my treadmill at least five days a week. I'm telling you this not because you care, but again because it makes me accountable to someone. I don't know that I've lost a pound, but my thighs are definitely a little smaller and my butt is firmer. You're just going to have to take my word for it on that one. I'm not about to go around saying, "Feel my butt!" like one of the surgical residents I met in vet school. He was from Spain, and apparently they take that whole "Latin lover" thing way too seriously over there. He was just sure that all of us ladies were dying of love for him, meanwhile he was sleeping with another exercise-crazed resident like himself. He told us all about her how amazing her butt was, too. Add to that the fact that he called me "Blondie" for an entire six week surgical rotation and I'm pretty sure he broke about every rule in the handbook regarding sexual harassment. I did learn a lot about self control, however. Every time he called me Blondie, I had to suppress the urge to call him Unibrow. That probably wouldn't have been good for my average in surgery. As it was, I refused to buy into an Internet pyramid scheme and he was pretty well done with me. He did stick it to me on my grade, however. Such a charming person to have come across. I hope his butt gets a pimple on it.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to teach two delightful little girls a riding lesson. (And no, I'm not talking about my kids!) One was here visiting from Texas. Her mom grew up here. The irony of a Texas kid taking horseback riding lessons in Mississippi tickles me every time. I guess those of us who don't live there automatically assume that if you live in Texas you are a cowboy. Hey, you Texans put that image out there. If it makes you feel any better, lots of people I know, including myself, secretly wish we lived there, too!

My girls were perfectly content playing the computer, so I let them know I was going to teach a lesson and headed to the arena. Naturally, before my students had made a lap in the arena, my kids decided they wanted to come, too. Not wishing to cause myself unnecessary grief, I had told them these kids were coming, but I left out one vitally important bit of information: the fact that the students were going to ride their ponies.
As soon as the Ranger topped the hill, one of them became indignant.
Child 2: "They're riding our ponies?"
Dad: "Well, yeah. What did you think they were going to ride?"
Child 2: "Well, I don't know, but if that girl kills my pony, I'm never going to let her ride him again!"
Pondering what she had just said for a moment, she finished with, "Well, I guess if she did that, he'd be dead. Hmmpf."
Child 1: "It's okay if they ride our ponies. They live in town. They don't have ponies of their own to ride at home."
Dad: "And, their mom is helping pay your entry fees for the next barrel race, so put a lid on it!"
Ah, yes, life lessons at the age of six. Maybe the little suckers DO realize how lucky they are. But I doubt it.
Just remember, if you loan out your pony and someone kills it, don't ever let them ride it again. :)

She pooped!

I have mentioned before that I stumbled into motherhood with no idea that so many bodily functions (wait, make that other people's) bodily functions were involved in the job. There's just no such thing as TMI when you are a mom. Kids show up at all hours of the day and night with vomit, snot, and poop spewing from both ends and mom has to clean it up. Oh, and pretend that she doesn't mind. Personally I am a sympathetic puker, and I make no bones about the fact that cleaning up vomit disgusts me. It's not the visual aspect of the job, it's the fact that I don't do well with smells. The worst part of my veterinary school education? Necropsy! I spent a month with Vick's salve under my nose trying not to lose my lunch on some animal carcass. I didn't find pathology nearly as exciting as my instructor, who (thanks to my husband who had to share a locker room with him) I now know was going "commando" under those white coveralls. Yep, nothing between him and us ladies but some thin white cotton. I kinda wish I had stood further away. We did have an incredibly eager resident who seemed to take great joy in anything dead. Once he leaned over my shoulder and exclaimed, "Check out this intestinal ballooning!" The pathology professor walked over, looked briefly at the area in question, and without cracking a smile replied, "Yes, doctor. We call that a fart." Dr. Reid didn't find that nearly as funny as the rest of us did.
Oddly enough, the most difficult part of adjusting to school has involved the digestive tract of my children. At the end of last year, we actually took the smaller of the twins to her pediatrician because she was pale, tired, and just didn't seem to be thriving. After copious amounts of drama, bloodwork, and x-rays, we received the monumental diagnosis of: constipation. Yep, turns out she was full of poop and it was making her sick. Apparently my child was so terrified of being left alone in the restroom, she rushed to the point that she didn't take time to take care of business. A few doses of Miralax and the problem took care of itself to the point that for awhile we were dealing with the other extreme. Sometimes you just can't win.
Last night my firstborn reported that she had a bellyache. A further conversation revealed that she hadn't pooped since school started. On Tuesday. After a valiant effort before bed, she still hadn't gotten any relief by this morning. She sat on the toilet in my bathroom for four forevers, and then it was time to make a decision. Only a mother gets this one: Do you send a "sick" kid to school, knowing there is a very good possibility that they are going to call you in 20 minutes to come get her? At our house this morning, the answer was "yes." So I went ahead with getting her ready for school, all the while thinking "if they call me, I'm so telling them to send her to the bathroom and then waiting an hour before I go get her!"
Fortunately for her (and me) she took care of her little issue at school. I know this because during a conversation with her teacher today she told me the following story. After the second time my child complained that her belly hurt, Ms. Purvis sent her to the restroom. Because she had been gone for quite awhile, her sister was dispatched to check on her. After a few minutes, my child runs back to her classroom, throws open the door, and announces with great drama and several hand gestures, "Don't worry, Ms. Purvis! It's okay! She got a little bit of it out!" "She did? Oh, well thank you for letting me know." Ms. Purvis admitted that it took everything she had to keep it under control.
Awesome. Poor baby, I thought. She's going to be mortified that her sister told the class she pooped. Wrong! About that time, the sick child shows up, throws the door open again, and yells, "Ms. Purivs, it's okay! I DID IT! I feel better now." Yep. Nothing like sharing your good news with the class.
Her dad was relieved to hear that everything was back to normal, as he and I had already decided that if she didn't go at school we were spiking her drink with Miralax. Hey, becoming a parent leads to all sorts of conversations you never envisioned yourself having with that guy you married.
For those of you who aren't parents yet, just keep this story in mind. One day you, too, may be lucky enough to have the opportunity to send the love of your life a text that says, "SHE POOPED!" and get one back that says, "Hooray!" What can I say? It's a glamourous life we lead.

I could FEEL the fun!

My twin girls hit a a major milestone this week, and I don't just mean starting the first grade. They loped the barrel pattern! For those of my non-horsey friends, this means that they went faster than a trot (jog) but not quite a full gallop (run.) Their dad and I sometimes lose sight of how little they really are, and I try to remind myself that when I was their age, I had thrown a leg over exactly one horse in my life. In my bathing suit, with two other people. My cousin had a horse, and the week I spent in the "country" every summer was the thing I looked forward to like nothing else. My kids live the life I always wanted, and most of the time I'm pretty sure they have no idea how lucky they are.
After my daughter finished her first "run," her dad congratulated her and then said, "Was that fun?" "Oh, yes! Daddy, I could feel the fun!" I hope that she always feels that way about something in her life. Hearing her say that also made me think of something else.
I have mentioned my love for the Olympic Games. I will watch an American participate in underwater basket weaving if they decide to make that an Olympic sport. The athletes inspire me like no one else. But I wonder: how long has it been since they could "feel the fun?" I would love to know how many of them are there competing because they fell in love with a sport as a very young child and still love that sport as an "adult." I put the world adult in quotes because let's face it, the gymnasts and some swimmers are definitely NOT adults. The amount of pressure these kids are under is absolutely unbelievable.
In a pre-Olympics interview, Gabby Douglas' sister shared a story about the time Gabby decided to quit gymnastics. Her sister basically jerked a knot in her and reminded her of the sacrifices her entire family had made in order for her to pursue "her" dream of winning a gold medal. Her mother shared her shock and disappointment at hearing the news that her daughter wanted to quit after all she (the mother) had been through. How many athletes are in a similar situation, with not only their own expectations to live up to, but the expectations of  their family, their community, and their entire country as well?
Gabby came under fire for her inability to deliver individual event medals after winning the team and all-around gold medals. As if that weren't enough, the media also decided to criticize everything from her hair to her mother's bankruptcy. I don't think the average person can begin to imagine working toward something for your entire (albeit short) life, putting your heart and soul into a goal, and actually achieving that goal. Most of us will never experience that kind of high, and we definitely can't understand the crash that is sure to follow.
Gabby got her gold medal. She had the adoration of the world for a brief, shining moment. She was one of the lucky ones. Far outnumbering the Gabbys were the athletes who worked just as hard, made just as many sacrifices, and were unable to deliver the performance of a lifetime when it mattered most. There were underdogs who came up just short, runners who hurt themselves leaving the blocks, and even worse, favorites who didn't deliver. I daresay that more people remember the American gymnast who was favored to win the vaulting competition because she landed her final vault on her rear end than remember that she delivered a spectacular vault to help her team win a gold medal.
Can you imagine working so hard for something and blowing your one and only opportunity at 16? Or even worse, being remembered for something that went horribly wrong at the Olympics for the rest of your life? What must it be like to have all that hope and expectation turn into a lifetime of disappointment? I can't begin to imagine.
All of us have those monumental moments in our lives, even if they aren't necessarily athletic events. Either we deliver the goods or we land on our butts. What separates us from one another is what we do next. We can get up, dust ourselves off, and move on to the next phase of our lives, or we can sit around and wallow in our disappointment and grief. I've tried it both ways, and I have to say that growing up in the horse industry has taught me that when you fall off, you get back on. You may be scared to death, but if you don't try again, you will spend the rest of your life wondering if you could have.
Yesterday marked another milestone. My daughter fell off her pony for the first time. She "cowgirled" just a little too much when she asked him to lope off and lost her stirrup. She got overbalanced and I guess she thought she was a bareback rider. For some reason, she reached out and grabbed the fence. Her pony headed in the opposite direction and quickly separated her from her saddle! Seeing her flying through the air, my heart was in my throat. I managed to keep my emotions under control, because I have learned that if I panic the kids will, too. Before I got to her, she stood up, dusted herself off, and without a single tear took off toward her pony. He was parked next to her sister, who was sitting on his buddy. After I made sure she was okay, I couldn't have been more proud of her. My hope is that when she gets bucked off in her life, literally and figuratively, she will always get back on.
I hope the Olympians who experienced more heartbreak than joy this week will do the same. The people who love and support you still love and support you. The people who were proud of you before are still proud of you now. Whether you are going home with a gold medal around your neck or a suitcase full of shattered dreams, I hope that you found joy in the journey and will continue to be proud of who you are and what you have accomplished. Just remember that the people who are criticizing you are doing it from their couch. Congratulations on a dream fulfilled just by becoming an Olympic athlete!     

I'm still here! Today was my twins' first day of first grade. To say that this week has been busy is an understatement! More to come ASAP!

A Mistake of Olympic Proportions

Since I was a very small child, I have been completely enamored with the Olympic Games. They are proof positive that I will watch athletes from the USA compete in any sport. That's right...anything! Over the years I've cheered for gymnasts, swimmers, skiers, skeet shooters, ice skaters, equestrians, curlers, table tennis players and everything in between. I vividly remember Mary Lou Retton's gold medal smile, Greg Louganis hitting his head on the diving board, and Flo Jo's fingernails. I remember Janet Evans, Picabo Street, and Nancy Kerrigan. I was thrilled when I heard that rodeo would be included, even if it was a demonstration sport in Calgary. Since I've obviously chosen to pursue something they don't often give Olympic medals for, I think winning a gold medal barrel racing would have to be the highlight of someone's life.
So as is my custom, I have watched every moment of the London games that I possibly could. I heard something really disturbing this morning. A seventeen year old girl from China brought honor and glory to her country by winning a gold medal in the diving competition. After her medal-winning performance, her father informed her (and the rest of the world) that her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. And oh, by the way, both of her grandparents had died over a year ago. He deliberately kept these bits of life-altering news from his daughter so as not to interfere with her training for the Olympics. My question for him is this: is that gold medal going to offer her comfort when she tries to deal with the loss of her mother in the future? Is it going to be there for her when she is angry and bitter over the loss of her grandparents? Will it in any way help her deal with the regret she will have over not spending a year of life with her sick mother? All I can say is that I hope they have some excellent mental health professionals in China, because this woman's going to need one!
For as long as there have been writers, people have been advising them to "write about what you know." So here goes. I'm going to write about what I know on this subject, in the hope that someone reads this and it makes a difference in their life. I know about pain, anger, bitterness, and regret. I know what it's like to have someone fill you in on the details of the most pivotal moment in your own life. I understand how easy it is to let a season of mourning become a lifetime of mourning.
Allow me to explain. My mother lost her battle with cancer when I was a freshman in college. I wasn't at her bedside when she died, and it is my life's biggest regret. It wasn't that I didn't wish to be there. Someone made the choice to keep me away by not letting me know the time had come. Was it my mother? My father? My parents together? I'll never know for sure. But the fact is that I was two hours away, blissfully unaware that the most important person in my life, the foundation of my heart and soul, was leaving this life and moving into the next. By the time I got to my parents' home, my mother's body and even her hospital bed were gone. Did my mother think she was sparing me the agony of watching a parent die? Perhaps. As a parent myself now, I am intimately acquainted with a mother's desire to protect her children, to shield them from the horrible things in this world whenever you can.
At the time I had no idea what an enormous impact the events of that day were going to have on my life.
It's been said millions of times that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Personally, I feel like I should be the Incredible Hulk by now. I allowed myself to be sidetracked by grief, anger, and bitterness for so many years. Not being there to say what I needed to say to my mom is the biggest regret of my life. What were her last moments like? What were her last thoughts about? I don't know. I let the feeling of having unfinished business eat me alive for a very, very long time. As a veteran of the experience, I can tell you that angry at the world is no way to go through this life. Bitterness and regret can suck all the joy out of a person, and I allowed that to happen to me for far too long.
I hope that an Olympic gold medal is worth the repercussions that are coming to this Chinese father and daughter. My heart truly goes out to her. To not have a say in such major events in your own life is an overwhelming experience. Pastor Joel Osteen says that we have to be careful not to let a season of mourning turn into a lifetime of mourning. I hope she figures that one out more quickly than I did.
Parents, the fact is this: life isn't fair. It's full of horrible, painful experiences and disappointments. Nothing's "fair"; not everyone gets to play. Everyone doesn't deserve a trophy. The other team doesn't always follow the rules, and the officials don't always make the right call. They give ONE gold medal in an event. There are no do-overs. Pain and disappointment are inevitable. Our choices make the difference, so long as they are our choices. Heartfelt prayers for that young woman and her family. 

Road Trip

Anyone who has known me for any period of time knows how much I put into my horses. They've gotten pushed down the priority list a bit since I became a mom, but in case you were wondering if I've crossed the line, I have proof. I spent the majority of my day last Thursday driving. Not for work, not for a barrel race, not to visit a long lost friend. Nope, I spent all day driving, a six plus hour round trip, to buy...wait for it...horse feed! For those of my non-horsey friends, yes, there are places closer to my house that sell feed. Just not the kind I want.
I have said before that I am committed to my barrel racing, and maybe after this I should be committed. I have a horse with a weight problem. He definitely looks more like a team roping horse than a barrel horse. OK, fine. He looks like he ate a team roping horse on the way to the barrel race. Not surprisingly, he doesn't have a whole lot of killer instinct when it comes time to run. If he could talk, I'm sure he'd say something like, "Look, they give money and prizes for placing in the 4D, too. Can't we just lope through the pattern and be done? I'd much rather do that. Then I won't have to get all sweaty and I won't be sore the next day. It's a win-win for everyone." He reminds me of the big, burly high school football player that everyone on the other team is scared of until they figure out that he doesn't have any heart.
My husband and I argue constantly over my horses' body condition. He wants them to be pleasantly plump, to which my response is, "Have you ever seen a fat sprinter? This is a race. He's supposed to look like a racehorse!" Right now he looks like a racehorse with a beer gut. We've cut his feed. We've moved him to smaller area with less grass and ridden him harder. He hasn't lost an ounce. So we decided to try a brand of horse feed we'd heard about that is supposed to change the way he digests his food, pull weight off of his belly, and add muscle to his topline.
Sounds great, right? Costs about the same as what we are feeding now. Everybody wins! Except for the fact that you can't get it where we live. There isn't a single dealer in the whole state of Mississippi that carries this feed. Oh well, never mind, right? Wrong! Giving up just isn't our style. We have now become the only Total Equine dealer in the state of MS! However, since I didn't wish to purchase and unload four pallets of horse feed, I decided that a few bags to start us off might be a good idea. So I had to drive to the feed mill to get it...in Demopolis, Alabama.
I have to confess that a small part of me enjoyed six hours in the car alone. I got to listen to any radio station I wanted, I kept the temperature where I wanted it, and even got to have a few adult phone conversations without someone yelling, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Who is that? Why are you talking to her?" But it was a long way over there and back. Fortunately, there were a few highlights along the way. I saw an older gentleman who just couldn't wait the approximately 50 yards to the nearest gas station to relieve himself. Yep, didn't even walk over to the edge of the forest, just pulled over, stepped in front of his Lincoln and let 'er go. Nice.
By far the most interesting thing I saw on my trip was a guy in Livingston, Alabama. He was working the front door of the Burger King I stopped at. I have to say that he gets the prize for the strangest hitchhiker I've ever seen. This dude was dressed in a full monk's habit, complete with a rosary and a Bible. Oh, and a NASCAR cap. I'm fairly certain he saw me trip over the curb while I was taking all this in. I mean, I'm no religious scholar, but I'm pretty freaking sure those two things don't go together. He obviously hadn't taken a vow of silence, since he asked me for a ride. Is it rude to look at someone in a monk's habit and say, "You have serial killer written all over you, Buddy?" I guess it probably is, but I wasn't taking any chances. I was more than a little happy that he was gone when I came out of the bathroom.
Just to top off my trip with a bit of irony, I listened to the Dave Ramsey radio show while I was driving. I wonder what he'd say about a six hour round trip to buy horse feed? Probably nothing nice. Anyway, hopefully Chubby will slim down on his new cushy diet. If it works for him, I'm gonna start eating it, too.