Julie Tullos

Everybody wakes up early around here. Usually about 6:00 am Baby Girl starts to get restless. “Mommyyyyy” she whines. “I wanna get uuuuppp.” I am an extremely light sleeper. I hear everything that goes on the entire night. I could be in a deep sleep and when Baby Girl starts to stir I always hear her and I always bury my head deeper and try to ignore her. I wonder what would happen if I jumped out of bed before she whines and said “GREAT! Time to rise and shine!” Would she jump up also? Or would she ignore me and go back to sleep? It’s a toss-up because she definitely likes to get up early. But she also likes to contradict me at every opportunity so maybe, just maybe she’d whine about going back to sleep instead.

Yesterday, all the way to school, she argued with me about needing gas for the car. Yes, my four-year old absolutely insisted we needed gas for my car. It’s pretty astounding how frustrated and annoyed you can get trying to tell a four year old you DO NOT NEED GAS for the car. Finally I told her to be quiet, that we were done with this conversation. She gets real quiet for a minute and then says “Never mind, we don’t need gas.”

Roll your eyes to Heaven, y’all. You know I did.

In the mornings Puppy (Tess) is crazy. Insane. She’s been cooped up in her crate all night and she is ready to PLAY. However, Baby Girl is very whiny in the mornings and definitely NOT ready to play. So I get to act as referee from the moment I wake up until approximately two hours later when Puppy finally calms down. These are not my finest moments. I cuss (inwardly – usually). I sigh. I roll my eyes. I grab Puppy and tell her NO, no biting. I tell Baby Girl to quit whining and move where Tess can’t get at her. As I stumble over the puppy trying to get to the front door before she pees all over the place, Baby Girl is crying to be picked up and carried so Tess won’t bite her. At this point Tess isn’t even trying to play or bite, she just needs to pee dammit. And if I don’t get that door open fast enough she’ll pee right there on the front door mat. I’ve gotten slightly better prepared by having some shoes and a jacket ready so I don’t freeze to death in my bare feet.

God Bless Me, y’all, cuz the mornings are just HELL. It’s all I can do to keep everyone alive and separate. Puppy has also started trying to chase the cats. Both cats hiss and swipe at her, Pineapple even growls ferociously, but puppy seems oblivious to their warning signs. She wants to play and dammit she’s going to find something to play with! I try to distract her with her own toys, but that lasts about a minute. Then I have to try to get her to go outside often enough to not poop in the house. I think I have been successful maybe one time. I’m always too early or too late and then I get to clean puppy poop up which is so fun when you’ve got your four-year old having a heart attack over the smell.

In the afternoons and evening when Tess is tired – that’s when Baby Girl loves her puppy. and will play with her and kiss and cuddle and run and have a great time. Otherwise she is clearly MY puppy, and I get to be entirely responsible for her.

We were successful getting to exchange paccy for puppy but that was not an easy few weeks. Baby Girl wanted that paccy sooooo bad. I felt terrible for her but I actually stuck to my guns. Especially as now EVERYONE – the entire family – is sleeping in my bedroom. Kid is on mattress on the floor. Cats are on my bed. Puppy is in crate at the end of the mattress that’s on the floor. There’s barely room for my husband. I should see if Sissy wants to sleep in there, too, so we’d ALL be together. Wouldn’t that be fun?

I still have hope that someday – maybe – Tess and Baby Girl will sleep together in her room, in her bed and that I will be blissfully alone again. Except for the cats. And my husband. I severely underestimated how hyper a puppy can be. But we are on week three and we are making it work. I am adjusting because I have no choice. And Baby Girl is learning that puppies are very hard work. I still have no doubt that this is the right puppy for us, she will grow into the perfect dog for us. She is absolutely adorable when she’s asleep or sitting calmly looking at you with those precious baby eyes. She’s sweet laying in my lap or under my feet while I work. Just like a newborn everyone told me.

They were almost right. Babies poop in diapers, not on my floor.

 

Two more sleeps til we pick up Tess Cupcake. Two more sleeps til life as I know it is gone forever. I’ve never been a dog owner. Never had the desire at all. Not really a “dog” person. I mean, I like dogs, but only if they’re small and well behaved and belong to someone else. Dogs get in your personal space like nothing else can. Except small children. And I’ve certainly had enough of that lately.

But we are taking the plunge, we have purchased the puppy. Saw her the day she was born and have been watching videos and looking at pictures and seeing her grow day by day. Baby Girl is ridiculously excited. She has wanted a puppy since the day she was born. She has volunteered to give up her paccy to the paccy fairy the first night that puppy is home. Daddy and I are certainly not going to let her forget that deal. I think we are more excited about that than anything else.

We have purchased a crate, a collar, a bed, two hopefully indestructible toys, a tag that says Tess Cupcake and some tooth cleaning paste. When that puppy licks my face at least her breath will be minty fresh. I’ve got horse shampoo I can use to bathe her with. I’ve got a special brush just for her long fur. I’ve been told I won’t need a flea comb as long as I keep her groomed.

And still. I’m worried. I am not ready for this. My best friend told me that this is possibly the worst timing for me to have a puppy. But she still went with us to see her at four weeks old. She’s adorable. At four weeks old she was the size I was expecting at eight weeks old. I have no sense of how big she will be. I am told up to 40 pounds and 20″ tall. 20″ is more than 18″ crossrails and less than 2′ verticals. That’s all I can figure. 40 pounds is less than a bag of grain. But certainly more wiggly and awkward to carry.

Many friends have told me about chewy.com. Holy moly dog food is expensive! I wasn’t prepared for that. How much will she eat? I read a book that I bought especially for this purpose and I have subsequently forgotten everything it said. She will chew on things, Baby Girl will have to keep her toys picked up. And I’ll have to actually put all my shoes in the closet. Egads! I wonder how much flea medicine and heart worm medicine and shots and grooming will cost. It’s like a new small pony. Except she’ll be in the house. Sleeping in Baby Girl’s bed (we hope). Getting fur and puppy drool everywhere. I am so not ready for this.

She’s not a cat. I’ll have to crate her when we aren’t home and be prepared to take her places. I’ll need a traveling crate so she can go to horseshows with me. My car is going to get dog fur and muddy paws all over it. Sooooo not ready.

I have to GET UP to take her potty outside. In the dark! Another friend told me about teaching the dog to ring a bell attached to the doorknob when she has to go out. A great idea for sure. I will probably never see either of my cats again. One of them for sure will stay under Sissy’s bed for at least a month. The other one will be so pissed at me he will probably start throwing up on every piece of carpet he can find. He will artfully dodge any surface that can be wiped up easily.

We are not getting a rescue because I would be even less prepared for that. The baggage! The instant ownership and overwhelming needs the dog would probably have. I needed to buy a puppy – I needed to. For the express purpose of getting eight weeks of watching her grow and waiting til she was big enough to bring home. Like a newborn, I need to bond with this puppy. I am already committed to her – as unprepared as I am – she is still ours. And it was good for Baby Girl to wait. To understand that not everything in life is instantaneous. You have to work for things, you have to prepare by reading about dogs and psych yourself up. Oh wait, that’s just me.

Well I am not ready for this, but Baby Girl is. She has been waiting a long time. And if we’re very lucky, Tess Cupcake will do exactly what we anticipate – she’ll be Baby Girl’s best friend, and sleep in her bed with her, thereby keeping Baby Girl out of my room and in her own bed. All night long. A gamble to be sure but one we are certainly committed to now.

And, as with all things that I am not ready for, I will just wing it. That’s what I have been doing since Baby Girl was born after all. How hard can one little puppy be?

As moms, as parents, we don’t always know what we are doing. We don’t always know what’s best. I find myself at a loss often. I wing it. I make shit up as I go along.

Today I failed miserably. And I caught myself at failing. And somehow, somehow, I managed to fix it.

Baby Girl has been very sick all week. Since Monday night she’s been feverish, coughing like she has croup, and not eating. Tuesday and Wednesday she threw up. She slept til 3 pm and was asleep again at 7. I think I got one pedialyte popsicle, one half of a frozen baked pretzel and a bunch of water in her. She cried. She moaned in her sleep. She slept in my bed and my husband took Sissy’s bed. I took her temperature 1,882 times. It got up to 101.8 Wednesday night. That doesn’t seem too terribly bad right? But even at 100 she was bright red and burning up all over. Even her feet were hot. She missed school all week long and this was the weekend she had her class mascot, Maggie the Monkey. Maggie is still with us. Maggie is probably wishing she had stayed at school.

Thursday Baby Girl got up and actually played for an hour. Still fever, still coughing, but playing! Yay. On her way to recovery. Spent some time on the ipad (you can judge me if you want to – I don’t care), watched a lot of Mouse and Vampirina and Paw Patrol. Ate very little still, napped a couple hours but not all day. But this morning the fever was gone! Hallelujah!

And she ate breakfast. And then…. she had meltdown after fit after meltdown after fit. All. Day. Long.

My husband and I were both frustrated with her all day. A couple of spankings did not improve her attitude. Eating powdered sugar donuts did not improve her attitude. Sugesting a nap did not improve her attitude. She was a PILL.

So after a very long day I was tired and cranky and I was putting her to bed in HER bed for the first time this week. She did not agree that she should sleep in her own bed. She wanted to sleep on the floor in my room. I said no. She screamed. It became an ordeal. She kept pushing and I kept saying no. She would scream and kick and I would tell her I was going to leave the room if she didn’t stop screaming at me. So she would cry louder and say NO I WANT YOU. At one point I yelled WHO IS THE BOSS HERE?! And she yelled YOU ARE! And I said RIGHT! And she kicked the sheets in frustration, tears pouring.

And I looked at her tiny red and white angry and sad face with the tears sparkling on her cheeks and I just stopped. And I said “come here.” She looked at me, surprised, not sure. I said “come here” again. And she did. I hugged her. Held her to me and put my mouth on her neck and whispered “it’s ok Baby. Everything is alright.” And she stopped. The fit stopped immediately. I said “I love you baby and everything is ok.” And she shakily said “I love you also.”

She laid back in her bed and I laid down and I held her hand and I talked to her. We talked about nothing very important. And after awhile she went to sleep. In her own bed.

I had tears at that moment. The moment I realized that she, for whatever reason, was having a very bad, very off day and she just needed me. To be there for her. Why am I yelling at you, my own tiny person? You are the very last person I want to be angry at. You are so little, only four years old.

Don’t forget that, Mommy, don’t forget that sometimes I just need to be loved.

Every night about 9:30 pm I think “if I go to sleep now maybe I will get some decent rest tonight.” Every night I am dead wrong. Here’s how it goes:

6:30 pm – Bath time. Met with glee – leaves a trail of clothes and toys as she rushes to jump in. 15 minutes of bliss for me as I pick up the house (sort of), pour a glass of wine (almost always) and get her room ready for bed which includes finding her snuggies (2), paccy (1 – yes I know, don’t get me started), blankie, light off but nightlight on, pj’s out and ready, and my cell phone for listening to “Alan and Jackson” so she can go to sleep.

6:45 pm – MOMMEEEEE come play with me!!! Ugh. Why does she always want me to come play in the bath with her? Once I go in there I always make her let the water out and we play until the bath tub is empty. OK Baby Girl time to get out. “I’m a puppy! Ruff ruff ruff!” She wags her butt at me and is on all fours in the tub. Seriously kid please stand up and get out. *Spins in a circle, slips and bangs her chin.* “WAAAAHHHHHH!” Serious tears for something she could have prevented. By getting out. When I asked her to.

6:55 pm – Extracted from the tub and wrapped in a towel – “mommy carry me!” No baby, it hurts my back. “PLEEEEAAAASE.” Sigh. At this point I either give in or really make her cry by saying no.

7:00 pm – In her room panic ensues. “Where’s paccy?! WAAAHHH!” It’s on the bed like always Baby Girl. Lets get your pj’s on so we can get your teeth brushed. She proceeds to stick one leg out while hopping up and down on the other leg or getting on all fours to be a puppy or trying to stick her arms in the pants or her legs in the shirt. All highly entertaining of course. PJ mission finally accomplished I tell her to go back into the bathroom to brush her teeth. “I don’t want to brush my teeth!!!! NOOOOOOO! Tomorrow! We can do it tomorrow!” I get her, kicking and screaming, into the bathroom, still crying, still refusing, paccy firmly stuck in between her lips like a damn cigarette. I pry her mouth open and she finally gives in graciously. HA HA HA. I think I’m on my third glass of wine.

7:10 pm – finally in her bed, she starts whining that she wants to sleep in Daddy’s spot since Daddy is at work. Or she wants to sleep on the floor in my room. Or she needs water. Or she can’t sleep. Criminy kid you are so tired that if you would just QUIT MOVING you would fall asleep in a minute! And I’m right. Alan Jackson playing on my phone and she passes out.

7:25 pm – THANK THE LORD. Even though I’ve told myself that I am going to do this, that and the other once she’s asleep, I acknowledge that none of that is happening and I run a bath for myself. I crawl into my bed and read my book and absorb the silence.

Somewhere between 8:30 and 10:30 – I’m either still reading and relaxing (closer to 8:30) or I’ve JUST fallen asleep (closer to 10:30) – Baby Girl can be heard whining and fussing in her room. It’s just a matter of seconds before she arrives, sobbing, in my room. “Why did you let me go to sleep?! I told you I didn’t want to go to sleep! And I need to go potty! I need your help to go potty!” Sobbing and being mad at me the whole time, I help her go to the potty then lay down on the floor next to my bed. I cover her with a blanket. She passes out again. I give up if I was reading and I turn the light off. If I was already asleep I lay in the dark for about three hours before falling asleep again.

1:30 am. Ish. I am awakened by whimpering. Baby Girl cries out in her sleep. Bad dream maybe. Continues to whimper. I ignore her for awhile and then realize the whimpering won’t stop on it’s own. She’s cold. She’s done this since she was tiny. She’s definitely not awake but I AM AWAKE. So I lean over and cover her with the blanket. The whimpering immediately stops.

Somewhere around 3:30 am I am dreaming. Hard. My arm is totally asleep and numb. I hear something…. mommy. mommy. mommy. SHIT. WHAT?! “I had an accident.”

“WHAT?! What do you mean?! You went potty!” She is crying, loudly, even though she knows I’m not really mad. Daddy’s home and asleep but this doesn’t deter her from crying loudly because she’s wet. She won’t go in her bedroom to change because it’s dark in there and she’s scared. Fine. I get up. We get her changed (she is crying the entire time), and I towel up the mess on the floor then get her settled again. She goes back to sleep pretty easily. Sometimes I do as well, but more often than not the pain has set in making finding a comfortable position impossible.

5:30 – 6:00 am – I have dozed off. So tired. Cozy and warm. And then I hear it…. mommy. mommy. mommy I want to wake up. BABY GIRL GO BACK TO SLEEP. “Noooooo!!!! I want to get up!”

I give up. This is why I drink Dr. Pepper first thing in the morning. She is awake, therefore I am also awake. Last night I told myself I’d do this, that and the other early in the morning since I knew I’d be up early. Instead I find myself dozing on the couch until she comes up and sticks her face in mine and says “MOMMY!”

Mommy. The most overused word in toddler and little kid communications. I am so over it. I think I will tell her to start calling me DRAGON LADY. Has a nice ring, don’t ya think?

 

When I was a small child I never dreamed of horses. I did not have horse posters on my walls or stare out the car window searching for horses. I did not beg for a pony or Breyer horses. I didn’t know you could jump horses.

We moved back to Texas when I was nine years old. The ten year old girl across the street from us took riding lessons from an old, weather beaten soul (with a heart of gold) called Tuke. At Tubo Ranch in Belton, Texas. About a year ago I finally had the inspiration that Tubo stood for “Tuke” and “Bob” – her husband.

Anyway, I went out to the barn one day with Jenny and saw this adorable little black Shetland pony. His name was Smokey Joe. I was instantly enthralled. Could I ride him? We will sign you up for lessons my Mom said.

So on the day we went for my first lesson, I was super excited. And absolutely outraged when I discovered I’d be riding SCAR FACE, a horse, not the little black pony I wanted to ride. But, as we all know, beginners don’t get to choose who they ride and so I started my riding career on a giant called SCAR FACE. He was probably a large pony but to me he was massive. And his name did not impress me one little bit. In spite of this, I fell in love with riding and thus a life and career were born.

At Tubo Ranch, once you were past the beginner stage, i.e. off the lunge line – if you could catch it, you could ride it. There were a very motley crew of all types of horses and ponies there, all living on the rocky, hilly, tree and cactus filled land that makes up Central Texas. I don’t have any idea how many acres she had, but to a kid it was a lot. My friends and I would go out on foot with a halter in hand and literally track the horses. If we found them, we would halter one and clambor up and ride back to the “house” where we would tack them up properly. Tuke had an old ramshakle tin barn and I think I went in this barn a maximum of five times. We tacked our ponies up in the front yard of the old house, and if memory doesn’t decieve me, we were tying them up to a chain link fence to do it. I don’t recall any set lesson times, though there must have been. It seemed to be a just get on and ride and if Tuke was there she’d teach you type of situation.

I have so many stories of this place it would probably take at least five or six blog posts to go through the important ones. The point of this blog, though, is the fact that I started out loving to RIDE, not loving horses. I very quickly learned to appreciate, and then absolutely love the horse. But it started out with the sport – the thrill of riding on horseback. For maybe 10% – 15% of the kids I have taught over the years, this is the reason they have started riding – they’ve seen the sport on TV and thought it looked “cool.” I can remember one particular student who was teeny tiny, but tough as nails, asking me after about her fourth lesson when she would get to go to a “meet.” She wanted to compete, and to win, so badly it ended up creating endless problems and issues with her riding. It was a shame, too, because she was a REALLY GOOD rider. But at horse shows, she would try so hard that she would inevitably screw up every course. There were outside influences for her, as well, with a dad that expected her to win if he was going to pay for this sport. She no longer rides at all. A damn shame, like I said.

90% of the kids that start out loving the sport also quickly learn to love the horse. But some do not. Some only want the thrill of riding, and of competing, and of winning. They do not appreciate the hard work that goes into making yourself and the horse great. They have zero interest in horsemanship. If it isn’t easy, they aren’t interested. I silently seethe when dealing with these ones. As long as the parent is willing to pay, the kid continues to ride and show, sometimes owning a horse that gets ignored when not preparing for a show. They don’t wash their tails, clean the gunk out of their eyes, or pull their manes. They consider the horse “good enough” for showing and don’t take the time to make it shine. Or they expect someone else to do it.

To say I struggle with these kids is an understatement. It seems the 10% has been increasing over the years, with kids that are underachievers when it comes to hard work and horsemanship. How can you be your best self if you put less than your best self forward? How can these kids be allowed to be so, well, lazy? How can you and your horse acheive greatness if you don’t expect greatness in yourself?

My best self has faltered the past few years, with impatience and annoyance with the “entitled” generation. I’ve got several awesome students now who are willing to put in the work and learn the horsemanship. I’ll take it, I’ll take them and their enthusiasm and put them to work. I can’t let things be “good enough.” I want greatness. I expect greatness. Not perfection, but greatness. And greatness simply means to be your best self when it comes to taking care of, and riding, your horse.

Loves horses, loves to ride. Which are you? Be both!

 

 

In all the years I’ve been teaching riding, I’ve come across two main types of kids. Those who love horses, and those who love to ride. Sometimes the two things do cross right from the beginning but more often than not the passion starts as either one or the other. I’ve seen that passion grow to encompass both – the sport and the animal. And I’ve seen it falter as well.

This year, 2018, has been a life altering year for me. No major milestones – my child is already born, no more on the way, I’m married, I’ve bought my house. But, my business that I’ve worked all my life for has been crippled and is limping it’s way back to where I want it to be. And it’s not just outside influences like students going, horses heartbreakingly being horses, ponies testing and kids not interested in horseshowing or being as dedicated as I would like. It’s also been extremely internal.

This year has been achingly real. Students I’ve loved for years have decided that riding isn’t for them, or that they want to move barns, or they’ve grown up and moved on. It was so difficult for me that I’ve really considered shutting down and finding something else to do. Riding instructors do not talk about this. They do not let the world know that they’re hurting. They close the door to any discussion. They move on. They have to. There’s no room in riding and horses for a soft hearted, sensitive instructor with the passion to teach when no one wants to learn. They close the door and look forward, looking for the next rider, the next horse, the next chapter.

Chronic pain has played a major factor in the way I feel about, well, everything. I’m not sure there are many things more difficult than getting out in that arena, or going to that horseshow and standing and walking all day long when you are in so much pain you can barely focus on the students and parents and horses that are counting on you to be your best self. It’s damn near impossible to think outside the box, to be creative, to be happy and laughing and fun when you are absolutely miserable from pain. And students want happy and laughing and fun. Some students want serious and focus and instruction with criticism, but not many of them. Most want a release from the stress of school, home, friends, family, whatever. They want to spend time with their favorite animal and far be it for me to deny them this.

I have really reflected on this lately. A lot of these are the kids that loved horses first. They loved horses and so chose to ride. Begged for lessons. Begged for a pony. Begged to be at the barn. Little did they realize how much work it entails. It can’t be just surface love. It has to be all-encompassing. Or it really is just infatuation. I thought about this last night as Baby Girl and I were out in the rain and thunder and lightening feeding the horses. We got absolutely soaked. We laughed. I had rain dripping from my nose and hair. Baby Girl jumped in all the muddy puddles. She was “scared” of the thunder but wouldn’t stay in the barn. Had to be out in the rain with me. (So clearly not that scared!). She sang and danced and jumped her way down to the paddocks. She rode on the mower with me to deliver the hay. When we finished she giggled and screeched when I had trouble getting her soaking wet pants off so she could get in the bath. She may not be doing the hard work, but she’s learning that she won’t melt. That horses require dedication no matter the weather. No matter the time of day, or the other things I (or she) would like to do instead.

Kids who start out loving horses first sometimes miss the memo that a horse is an actual heart-beating, breathing animal that needs care. That has a brain of its own and processes things differently than we do. They fail to understand why a horse will spook at nothing, they get frustrated when the horse misbehaves. Sometimes they become afraid and quit riding. I honestly don’t regret when that happens. Because I understand that these kids, and sometimes adults, don’t really understand horses. They want to love them from afar and pet them and dream of them. A kid who becomes afraid to ride shouldn’t ride. Simple as that. I don’t believe for a minute that any horse is absolutely bomb proof. Crazy shit happens. Of course I don’t wish for a child to be scared of horses, but afraid of riding is a different battle entirely. I can’t fight that battle. I can try for a little while, I can try to teach techniques and skills so that the rider can cope. And sometimes I’m successful and sometimes I am not. In the end the child has to decide for herself. And part of being your best self is letting the child choose to quit and not be angry or dismissive about it. Or helping a child choose to just ride and not show. Or helping a child understand that it’s ok to grieve a lost horse, or a bad show, or a fall that devestated you. The child who truly loves horses will bounce back. Maybe she’ll continue to ride and show and go on to do amazing things. Or maybe she’ll just enjoy her time at the barn. Or maybe she’ll choose to help others through Equine related therapy. The point is, it’s all okay.

After this extremely difficult year I understand now that being MY best self means letting students be THEIR best selves as well. They will not all be competitive, driven, and focused on the end result. And I shouldn’t be either. I’ve got a whole new crop of young riders and I’m excited about them. I’m excited to teach what they want to learn, slowly or quickly depending on their abilities and mindset. I’m excited to step back in the ring or horseshow arena with less pain, to be able to focus entirely on my job. To help them become their BEST selves, whatever that means for them. Especially for these kids that started out loving horses first.

 

Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday.

I did not grow up in the South. My mom did, and my dad did, but my brother and I grew up as Army brats and spent a significant portion of our early years in Europe. Even though my parents grew up in the South they, oddly, did not call their mom’s Mama. And neither did we. When I was 8 years old and living in Ft. Leavenworth, KS, I heard some friend of mine call her mom Mama. I considered it in my head. Hmmm. I tried it out loud. Sounds a little kooky to me. I tried it on my Mom. “Mama?” I say. She turns her head and looks at me weird. It sounds weird. I abandon it immediately. Not for me I decide. Mom it is, and Mom it always will be. As a teenager another friend of mine, living in Texas at this point, called her mom Mommy. Consistently. Not just when she wanted something. I hadn’t called my mom Mommy since I was about four. I’m guessing, because honestly I don’t recall ever calling her Mommy.

Another thing I learned when I was 8 years old is that most people do not “warsh” themselves or their dishes. They wash them. I did decide right then and there that from that point on I was a “washer” not a “warsher” type person. Sorry Mom but apparently I had to make my own way with that one.

My mom is the original possessor of the Witch Face. The Look. The You Better Stop Right Now or You’re Going to Get it expression. I learned from the best, although my own Witch Face is generally reserved for when I am exceptionally annoyed by something, not necessarily a ‘you’re going to get it” look. My mom “clicks” her tongue when she’s annoyed. Apparently she’s not the only mom to do this, as evidenced once by a young checkout boy at the grocery store who looked terrified when my Mom inadvertently did this while waiting to pay for her groceries. “I’m so sorry for your wait ma’am, I’ll get this stuff bagged up right away.” Poor kid. I feel his pain. I have caught myself many times unconsciously mimicing my mom’s “click.” It really works. But you have to be a master at it. You have to mean it without even realizing you are doing it. The click is not something to be taken lightly. You hear it, you better snap to attention because the Witch Face or the Look is coming up next. It’s mom’s ever so gentle way of saying “you are really pissing me off right now.”

Memories of my mom in the past hit me every day. My favorites include the Click for sure – but also this:

Coming in the kitchen from work, from running errands, etc – Mom grabs the ancient plastic yellow pitcher and slams some Lipton Iced Tea powder into it (who needs measurements?!) and then running the tap at full force she fills up the pitcher and slams the whole thing back onto the counter, grabs a glass, fills it with ice and pours the tea and gulps it down. I used to watch her do this whole ritual with a sense of awe and appreciation that my head wasn’t that yellow pitcher. I still miss that yellow pitcher. Now you can buy ready made tea in jugs. Just isn’t the same.

My mom used to keep her keys in her pocket whenever we were out shopping. She would jingle them continuously and I would follow that noise. Never worried about getting lost because I could just stop and listen and I would find her. There was a brown leather strap on that key chain. Something that jingled. I don’t remember what it was but it sure was a comfort in my younger years.

My mom had a blue cotton sweater that she kept in the Copperas Cove Library for when she was working. I’d go and stay at the library til it closed at 9 pm on Thursdays. That was the only night she worked late. She’d pick me up at school and take me back there. I learned the dewey decimel system by the time I was 12. Occasionally I’d get to go behind the counters and help out. There was a hole in the pocket of that blue sweater. M&M’s would sneak their way out and I’d pick them up and pop them into my mouth. I would get to go in the kitchen of the library to eat my dinner. I felt tremendously special. Those were some of the best times – that library.

From my Mom I learned the power of books, and words. The ability to drift away in a story. The sheer admiration of others who could write. The Pulitzer Prize. The Caldecott Award. My mom and I both prefer true stories – she always loved adventure stories and blood and guts – like the Jon Benet Ramsey story, or Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. I love biographies. People who did amazing things with their lives. Historical accounts of wars and civil liberties and strong personalities that never gave up. Both of us have always preferred books to movies, to conversation, to just about anything. She used to spend her time at the kitchen table reading until late after I’d gone to bed. I can still picture her there.

My mom is an amazing, wonderful person. I am so grateful that I was able to give her, after all these years, her amazing and wonderful granddaughter. One of my greatest joys in life is watching their eyes light up when they see each other. They were absolutely meant to be Granny and GrandBaby. I was meant to be the intermediary between them.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you more than I could ever say.

Baby Girl is having a day. Once again, she is in tears and screaming because she isn’t getting her way. Multiple times a day we face the same road block. I would like her to do as I say and she would like to do what she wants. We are not polite about this. She screams, I shut my eyes and count. I try to speak. She screams some more. She cries big elephant tears and tries to negotiate. I try to wait her out. This is stupid – I have never been able to wait her out. She has more persistance than the squirrel from Ice Age. She has a neverending supply of tears and snot and air in her lungs. How is she as little as she is?

I give her The Look. She sees it and cries louder and longer. She covers her backside if she thinks a swat is coming. Daddy steps in and she screams louder. I try every way possible to tell her if she would just STOP screaming we would be able to get somewhere. Daddy wouldn’t step in, she wouldn’t get a swat. She wouldn’t get sent to her room (where she will cry “I don’t want to stay in my room FOREVER mommy!!!”) which is hilarious as well as heartbreaking.

She already yells “FINE” and stomps off if she’s angry. Fine I think. Go to your room, give me a damn break. I can see in my mind’s eye a 13, 15, 16 year old yelling FINE at her Daddy and I get more determined to stop this behaviour while she’s young while at the same time being almost positive that it’s impossible.

I am also certain that a lack of sleep is the root cause of her meltdowns and tantrums. I had her allergy tested a few months ago. We sat through twenty minutes of pure Hell after they stuck her back with needles and she screamed and cried and wasn’t allowed to scratch. I had to hold her arms, facing me, so the stuff wouldn’t be rubbed off prematurely. I wondered why they don’t provide alcohol to the parents holding the child. It turns out…. she isn’t allergic to anything at all. I was astounded. And a little bit pissed off. What do you mean she’s not allergic to anything?! She’s been getting allergy medicine since she was six months old! Well, the allergist explains, people don’t actually start showing allergies to things until they’ve been exposed to them for about three years. Um. WHAT? Shouldn’t her pediatrician have known this for Pete’s sake? Why exactly have I been giving her medicine she clearly doesn’t need?

We had to go get ice cream after that. Both of us were totally traumatized.

Next step – a new pediatrician. We’ve been seeing a lovely NP for about two years, ever since I decided her old pediatrician just wasn’t getting the job done. And she’s great. But she couldn’t do the four year well visit or whatever it’s called. So she recommended someone and we went. Baby Girl warmed right up and was happy and talkative. I explained all about her tonsillectomy and her adenoids and her ear tubes and how she still doesn’t sleep. I explained about the allergy testing. I said the allergist recommended blood work. He raised his eyebrows. He kindly said don’t be ridiculous. And the whole time we’re sitting there Baby Girl is trying to lift my shirt up. The poor doc was trying so hard to avert his eyes while I was trying to push her off my lap and keep my shirt down at the same time. He probably claimed hazard pay for that visit.

So he checked her out and told me she’s fine. We discussed her sleeping schedules and he agreed she isn’t sleeping enough. He recommended a clock that lights up a different color when it’s time to get up in the morning. I went home and ordered it right away. It’s still sitting on my desk, un-figured out as of yet. Because I had to get up at 6 am this morning when my Pet decided she was awake. Because I’m too damn tired to read the fine print and figure the thing out. Because I just handed it to Daddy and said would you please do this for me.

Then the nurse asked her to lay on the table which she quite readily agreed to. Then the nurse tricked her into counting something while she jabbed the first needle in. Baby Girl was so shocked – you should’ve seen her face. All happy and giggly and counting and then her eyes go wide and her mouth opens and she screams like she’s being attacked by a grizzly  bear. She tries to push the nurse’s hand away. Which makes me sort of laugh because I try to do the same thing to the chiropractor because it hurts. Well at any rate, we survived the checkout process after the shots and went screaming to the car. She did get some pretty nifty pink camo bandaids out of it. Once we got home I let her go swimming and she told me I had to carry her because she couldn’t walk because her leg hurt. So for the rest of that day, whenever she remembered that her leg was supposed to be hurting, I had to carry her around.

It’s almost sleepy time. I am downing wine and bracing myself. This will go well I chant in my head. It will be fine. She’ll go happily to her bedroom and put her pajamas on and she’ll cheerfully brush her teeth and climb into bed and shut her eyes and promptly go to sleep.

And then I laugh and laugh. Better than crying.

Today it rained in Heaven

God surely shed some tears

When he took you there to live with him

He couldn’t leave you here.

Your pain too great

My heart ripped deep

It really wasn’t fair.

You were absolutely beautiful

Everyone agrees

One of the most gorgeous horses

I have ever seen.

The kindness in your eyes

Your shining chestnut coat

I won’t ever forget these things

I can promise you I won’t.

And tomorrow I’ll be strong again

Even though you’re gone

Tomorrow I’ll walk around like

There is nothing wrong.

Tomorrow I will ride again

It won’t be the same I know

But sometime after tomorrow

I’ll have to let you go.

Tomorrow you will fly again

In heaven’s green and gold

With angel wings you’ll soar

Like all the brave and bold.

And tomorrow I won’t stand bawling

With a fistful of your hair

But tomorrow is another day

It’s today I cannot bear.

I should write more often. I know I should. I want to, I think about it all the time. But when it comes time to actually sit down and write – something stops me. Exhaustion I guess. Brain Fog. An unwillingness to make my thoughts concrete. Too many thoughts – too many feelings – the niggling idea that other people simply won’t care what I have to say. The mountainous list of tasks waiting to be done. The desire to crawl into bed and stay there. For days.

There is a saying that you can’t take it with you when you go. The intended idea being that you should not accumulate or have strong feelings for material things. What are material things, after all? Just stuff. Stuff that surrounds you and doesn’t change. When you have anxiety or a fear of change, that “stuff” that surrounds you can be mighty comforting. Your blankets and pillows and favorite pj’s. Pictures with quotes on the wall or images of your fun memories and favorite people. Books that you’ve carried with you since college. Stuffed animals that have sat on your bed or in your closet since elementary school – or longer. Pull that ratty giraffe out when you are feeling low and he is sure to lift your spirits. A reminder of easier times. Of the love you have for the person who gave you the ratty giraffe. And the love they have for you.

I can touch this you think to yourself. Ratty giraffe is real and tangible. He isn’t going anywhere. He is constant. Those books on my shelf, those nic knacks, that carved cat I got in Jamaica – they’re still the same. Everything around me might be changing but these things I love are not. High schoolers are shooting up their schools and kids are ruining other kids on social media and I’m desperately afraid for this country but here in my house? All is well.

Maybe I just got fired from a job, or had an argument with a loved one or a friend all of a sudden isn’t a friend anymore. You are so stressed that you can’t swallow. You literally can’t eat anything. Or else you are shoving last night’s macaroni and cheese down at midnight and eating all the sweets in the house for breakfast. You break down in tears for no reason. Or for every reason in the world. You couldn’t care less about the Royal Wedding or the Kentucky Derby or whatever but you watch it just the same. Because everyone there is happy. Well, unless you are the trainer of the horse that finishes second.

But if you can’t even leave your house because you are afraid of the world, rest assured my friend that everything in your house is not going to change unless you change it. All those things will bring you comfort if  you let them. Look out your window. That view and that tree and those fences will stay the same when the rest of your world is falling apart. The mess on your husband’s desk? Comforting. Annoying, but comforting all the same.

Most people have been there – that lonely and terrified place where you cannot be touched. I’ve been there. So reach out. Reach out to those things that you can touch without anyone else’s help. Take a note from my Baby Girl who will go find her snuggie and her paccy for comfort before she melts in my arms. Even she knows. These are her things, her things that will not change. She can always count on them and they will never let her down. Don’t be affronted by material things. Breathe them in, let them be part of you.

And stock up on gummy bears. They go great with wine.