Wyoming. 14 hour drive. 3 little boys. 1 car. 1 large box of snacks. 5 suitcases. 1 very large bag of motorcycle gear. 6 helmets for skateboarding and motorcycling. 28 pairs of underwear (which is never enough). 2 many diapers to count. Very full trunck which after repacking after the hotel had plenty of room to spare making me think we forgot something major that I have not missed yet, possibly Nate's 5 pairs of shoes.
Before we left along with the pile of laundry that was threatening to swallow my bed I had to tackle the car. I have offered my 2 boys the only money job available which is to clean the car. 1 dollar a week each, one boy vacuums, one boy wipes down the inside. They did it once and of course it was a huge job because it had not been done for months, (I honestly can't remember it could have never before been done) as it is the one job that hovers between my responsibility and Nates, the up in the air job that I refuse to add to my ever growing list. So it gets made into a money job, I thought it was a stroke of genious as the boys are always requesting money jobs. Nate said I don't pay well enough and that is why the boys are not interested. I am just happy to be able to have something to throw back at them when they want money to buy more lego..."you know you could have made 10 dollars by now", to which Ethan replies, "well 9 really because of tithing". Maybe he would clean the car for 1.10 per week.
So I get up at 6am the day we are to leave and think that maybe Nate is right the job may be worth more. The worst thing I found was half of a 2 week old hot dog thankfully still in its foil wrapper left in the seat compartment. I contemplated taking a picture of it but couldn't bring myself to open the wrapper, little sister-you know who you are, I am sorry for ever asking you to take out the garbage because I think I now understand your revulsion, I don't think there was anything anyone could have offered me to make me open up that hot dog wrapper- though it was a hot dog so it probably looked, smelled and tasted exactly the same as when I bought it.
I made it through the pile of laundry and came out on the other side with 4 packed bags and a cleared bedroom floor.
On the Road to Wyoming Pictures forthcoming:
Friday, September 10, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Ode to Summer my only favorite arabian mare
I saddled up yesterday and took an old white arabian mare for a beautiful ride up the mountain with my father and mother in law to enjoy the view and the stillness and the world from where I stood at the moment.
I could not help but be reminded of my very, very first western ride more than ten years ago up a trail in Utah. Now I had spent years and years at an english equestrian barn learning all about how to take care of hunter jumper horses and the time spent grooming, exercising, wrapping, cold hosing, to finally get to ride yet here I was throwing an old white arabian mare tacked up in an old dusty saddle into the big stock trailer with my father in law's horse and off we drive up to a sandy dirt road to unload the horses and ride up the mountain. Now to many this would seem normal but to me it was anything but. I was used to riding in a flat riding ring where a 10 percent grade meant that someone needed to bring out the tractor and drag the ring. Yet here we were heading up this sand bank on switch backs that were about 170 degrees, I remember well my father in laws only warning, if the horse is going down jump off to the UP hill side. I was pretty sure this was going to happen to me as we marched up and up and my old mare started puffing like a dragon and her sides were heaving in and out so there was more motion there than forward, she was dripping in sweat and foaming and I was sure, sure, sure that if I let her stop for one second she would either never start again or die right on the spot and I would have to jump off UP hill. Looking down off of basicly a cliff on which one is riding, feeling like you are on stilts that could at any moment colapse is not a beautiful and calming sight, yet for some reason my father in law kept showing me the view and pointing out places somewhere down somewhere in some canyon that I was more than sure I would see face to face rolling down a blur of white and leather and me. Of course we made it to the top I was genuinly surprised my horse made it there I was sure it was going to die. I made sure to get off right when it stoped just in case it could not stand without it's forward momentum. I loosened it's girth and let it walk and rest and eat.
Then for the way down, if I thought going up was crazy- down was a real life wild mouse ride, this is what it feels like heading down, first your saddle slides as far forward as possible till you are sure you are riding on your horses neck then at the switch backs as you are facing and looking down-down-down this looooong way down your horse's nose, head, neck shoulders are heading straight down the mountain and your old white mare has this far away look in her eye and after the ordeal getting up I can totaly relate if she is just going to step right over the trail and throw herself headlong down into the rocks and spiky trees making a giant avalance in her wake yet when I am sure she will go over this time, just like the wild mouse ride at the fair no mater how many times I ride it I am sure that this time it will go to far and fall it always turns and so does my mare, she always turns and never stumbles and continues on like it is a walk in the park which I suppose to her it was, in a way, as she has probably never had a walk in the park. When we get down we stick the panting horses back in the trailer, drive home, untack, and stick them out in the field. That is it, no cold hosing, wrapping, brushing, tack cleaning, stall mucking. I was pretty sure that the next morning the horse I rode would not be able to move or be dead but there she was walking around, eating alfalfa and as happy as a horse could be.
I have gone on quite a few more rides since this one and each more enjoyable than the next as I learn to enjoy the view, to ride in a different way and though less thrilling it is breathtaking in it's own beautiful way.
I could not help but be reminded of my very, very first western ride more than ten years ago up a trail in Utah. Now I had spent years and years at an english equestrian barn learning all about how to take care of hunter jumper horses and the time spent grooming, exercising, wrapping, cold hosing, to finally get to ride yet here I was throwing an old white arabian mare tacked up in an old dusty saddle into the big stock trailer with my father in law's horse and off we drive up to a sandy dirt road to unload the horses and ride up the mountain. Now to many this would seem normal but to me it was anything but. I was used to riding in a flat riding ring where a 10 percent grade meant that someone needed to bring out the tractor and drag the ring. Yet here we were heading up this sand bank on switch backs that were about 170 degrees, I remember well my father in laws only warning, if the horse is going down jump off to the UP hill side. I was pretty sure this was going to happen to me as we marched up and up and my old mare started puffing like a dragon and her sides were heaving in and out so there was more motion there than forward, she was dripping in sweat and foaming and I was sure, sure, sure that if I let her stop for one second she would either never start again or die right on the spot and I would have to jump off UP hill. Looking down off of basicly a cliff on which one is riding, feeling like you are on stilts that could at any moment colapse is not a beautiful and calming sight, yet for some reason my father in law kept showing me the view and pointing out places somewhere down somewhere in some canyon that I was more than sure I would see face to face rolling down a blur of white and leather and me. Of course we made it to the top I was genuinly surprised my horse made it there I was sure it was going to die. I made sure to get off right when it stoped just in case it could not stand without it's forward momentum. I loosened it's girth and let it walk and rest and eat.
Then for the way down, if I thought going up was crazy- down was a real life wild mouse ride, this is what it feels like heading down, first your saddle slides as far forward as possible till you are sure you are riding on your horses neck then at the switch backs as you are facing and looking down-down-down this looooong way down your horse's nose, head, neck shoulders are heading straight down the mountain and your old white mare has this far away look in her eye and after the ordeal getting up I can totaly relate if she is just going to step right over the trail and throw herself headlong down into the rocks and spiky trees making a giant avalance in her wake yet when I am sure she will go over this time, just like the wild mouse ride at the fair no mater how many times I ride it I am sure that this time it will go to far and fall it always turns and so does my mare, she always turns and never stumbles and continues on like it is a walk in the park which I suppose to her it was, in a way, as she has probably never had a walk in the park. When we get down we stick the panting horses back in the trailer, drive home, untack, and stick them out in the field. That is it, no cold hosing, wrapping, brushing, tack cleaning, stall mucking. I was pretty sure that the next morning the horse I rode would not be able to move or be dead but there she was walking around, eating alfalfa and as happy as a horse could be.
I have gone on quite a few more rides since this one and each more enjoyable than the next as I learn to enjoy the view, to ride in a different way and though less thrilling it is breathtaking in it's own beautiful way.
Circumference of a Thought on Becoming a Daughter
This past week I have become a daughter once again. Becoming a daughter is a soul searching endeavor and never happens calmly, when one becomes a daughter one is thrown from where one stands to where one will stand forever more in relation to your own Mother. I know without a doubt in my mind that my Mother is the Best-Mother-Ever-In-The-Whole-World and I say this with not a hint of sarcasm. I love, respect, adore and strive to be more like my Mother. Yet I am me and my own life steers me in a different way than her life did, and this is life, and it is good, though sometimes I wish I just had her blueprint so I could just copy what she did and not have to make or think about hard decisions of my own.
I became a daughter this last week once again, my Mother had to go to the hospital and I, living 8 hours away, could not go visit or help her but she called wanting me to be there with her to help her and give her strength. This is a way of being a daughter I never thought about. My Mother is strength defined. But here in this moment she wanted me to be the strength, it made me sad to not be able to be there for her, I could be there on the phone but that is worlds away when you want someone there. When I was in labor with my third my Mother could not come because my Sisters baby was due at the same time and we both agreed that my mom needed to be there for her first, but that did not help me from feeling so alone A Mother is something all daughters need when they are in labor. So I could relate in a way to her need for me to be there there yet knowing that I could not be there and by the time I would have gotten there the real need would have passed and she would be home.
It made me think of Becoming a daughter in this way, of caring for your mother as time passes and in a sense you become Mother to your Mother who will always be your Mother. It makes me feel old but in a good way, a way that says in no words that she could that as my blueprint and hers cross and unfold we sketch in new lines, throw away old models and yet we see the beauty in each others lives and love and appreciate one anothers choices. So at times I need my Mother and at times she will need me.
I became a daughter this last week once again, my Mother had to go to the hospital and I, living 8 hours away, could not go visit or help her but she called wanting me to be there with her to help her and give her strength. This is a way of being a daughter I never thought about. My Mother is strength defined. But here in this moment she wanted me to be the strength, it made me sad to not be able to be there for her, I could be there on the phone but that is worlds away when you want someone there. When I was in labor with my third my Mother could not come because my Sisters baby was due at the same time and we both agreed that my mom needed to be there for her first, but that did not help me from feeling so alone A Mother is something all daughters need when they are in labor. So I could relate in a way to her need for me to be there there yet knowing that I could not be there and by the time I would have gotten there the real need would have passed and she would be home.
It made me think of Becoming a daughter in this way, of caring for your mother as time passes and in a sense you become Mother to your Mother who will always be your Mother. It makes me feel old but in a good way, a way that says in no words that she could that as my blueprint and hers cross and unfold we sketch in new lines, throw away old models and yet we see the beauty in each others lives and love and appreciate one anothers choices. So at times I need my Mother and at times she will need me.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Complaining Carma
Just this week I had a good mothering moment, these happen but like most of life are minimalized by the bad, so to give myself a much needed pat on the back I will focus on the positive.
We had a long, busy weekend with family, friends and late nights, the very next day Monday to be precise I was waiting in Town for Nathan to finish work. I had 3 hours to fill so we went to a park and Matthias was the owner of Magical Moos, Magical Milkshakes and served me, well many people who looked just like "me" handfuls of sticks.
Then we went to the store you should never, ever go to when your 3 boys are remotely tired or hungry. In fact I now know why they have a bowl of assorted candy at the door on your way in though one little candy that is packaged like a strawberry is not in a million years going to get you through Ikea even when you use all the short cuts to go to the childrens aria, then straight to the As-Is section. By the time we got there Benjamin was hungry and demanding, "cake" which he has decided is what he would like to replace his Na-na demands with so to the hotdog stand we go with Benjamin saying with desperation "dog, dog" all the way there, I guess in his mind he was that hungry even if dog is all I was going to offer.
We sit down, all 4 of us at a one chair table, I put Benjamin on the chair with his dog and start the duty of politely asking for chairs that everyone seems to think I must do as punishment for having so many children, they are sitting there watching and not seeing their arm or foot casually resting on spare chairs. Matthias is complaining about needing ketchup so I get some, then relish so I open some, then he is thirsty- all within about 10 seconds, that is how good I am while also finding 3 more chairs and keeping Benjamin eating without dropping his dog which is plain and covered in ketchup with no bun, I tell Matthias to stop complaining and have some water which he takes and... drops all over himself! A very large cup of very cold icy water with very big ice cubes floating around in it and I laughed, it was simply funny, I guess I am very past the point of being serious (if I was ever there to start with) so yes I laughed at my own son while Ethan brought me loads of napkins and Matthias cries about being very cold. We survied with little to no damage, the boys left with full bellies and a bag of chips, though Matthias was complaining about wanting juice. Needless to say bedtime was a blessed relief on Monday night which was about 2 hours early and about 4 hours too late. An observation may be that the self proclamed "good mothering moment" is not acurate due to the fact that I laughed at my own son in public when he was in distress. My argument is that that hands down it is better than yelling.
We had a long, busy weekend with family, friends and late nights, the very next day Monday to be precise I was waiting in Town for Nathan to finish work. I had 3 hours to fill so we went to a park and Matthias was the owner of Magical Moos, Magical Milkshakes and served me, well many people who looked just like "me" handfuls of sticks.
Then we went to the store you should never, ever go to when your 3 boys are remotely tired or hungry. In fact I now know why they have a bowl of assorted candy at the door on your way in though one little candy that is packaged like a strawberry is not in a million years going to get you through Ikea even when you use all the short cuts to go to the childrens aria, then straight to the As-Is section. By the time we got there Benjamin was hungry and demanding, "cake" which he has decided is what he would like to replace his Na-na demands with so to the hotdog stand we go with Benjamin saying with desperation "dog, dog" all the way there, I guess in his mind he was that hungry even if dog is all I was going to offer.
We sit down, all 4 of us at a one chair table, I put Benjamin on the chair with his dog and start the duty of politely asking for chairs that everyone seems to think I must do as punishment for having so many children, they are sitting there watching and not seeing their arm or foot casually resting on spare chairs. Matthias is complaining about needing ketchup so I get some, then relish so I open some, then he is thirsty- all within about 10 seconds, that is how good I am while also finding 3 more chairs and keeping Benjamin eating without dropping his dog which is plain and covered in ketchup with no bun, I tell Matthias to stop complaining and have some water which he takes and... drops all over himself! A very large cup of very cold icy water with very big ice cubes floating around in it and I laughed, it was simply funny, I guess I am very past the point of being serious (if I was ever there to start with) so yes I laughed at my own son while Ethan brought me loads of napkins and Matthias cries about being very cold. We survied with little to no damage, the boys left with full bellies and a bag of chips, though Matthias was complaining about wanting juice. Needless to say bedtime was a blessed relief on Monday night which was about 2 hours early and about 4 hours too late. An observation may be that the self proclamed "good mothering moment" is not acurate due to the fact that I laughed at my own son in public when he was in distress. My argument is that that hands down it is better than yelling.
A Start
How does one start a blog? What to write, Who will read, What to say, Who about? The questions go round and round and so the title of this blog is created, out of uncertinty comes simple truth. A meaning, circumference, continuing round and round ever changing but wholy the same. Such is my life, time goes by meanings, oppionions, self, all change and I hope for the better.
A Circumference of thought on various topics or in otherwords my opinion which I hope will always be flexible yet whole.
Also a photo gallery and place to save the forgetfull things in life that should never be forgotton.
A Circumference of thought on various topics or in otherwords my opinion which I hope will always be flexible yet whole.
Also a photo gallery and place to save the forgetfull things in life that should never be forgotton.
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