Julie Tullos

It’s 10 pm. Baby Girl is fast asleep in her own bed, in her own room. I turn out my own light and start to drift – ok that’s a lie, my brain is going a mile a minute as always. Anyway. Somewhere around 10:30 I hear a sound. Wassat? O Shit please don’t be awake. A snuffle. A head next to my head whimpers “mommy?” I sigh. What do you need? “I need to go to the bathroom.” Ok let’s do it, I get up and escort her highness to the royal throne, turning the light on as we go so she won’t have to pee in the dark.

She’s still sniffling like she’s going to cry. She starts in with the “wahhhhh, wahhhhh, wahhhhh.” WHY are you crying? “Can I sleep with yoooouuuuu? Please Mommy!” And just like that everything is shot to hell. I know what’s coming, she knows what’s coming. But it doesn’t stop her. I brace for it and say NO.

And the screaming starts. Now I don’t mean screaming like a wild boar is chasing you, or a man with a bloody knife. What I am talking about is a crying-screaming, more like “WAHHH” less like “AIIIEEE.” Either way it’s hard to stomach at close to 11 pm. She immediately lays into her unique way of just driving me insane with her refusal to listen to anything I say. Her refusal to stop screaming long enough to hear me. I try to be calm and speak in low tones. God knows I try. I am the epitome of patient and loving. Not really, I almost immediately resort to pretty much screaming right back.

Because I’m tired of this shit. It happens all the time. I implore her to stop screaming. I tell her it’s unnecessary and ridiculous. Any time I open my mouth to speak she cries “I just need to tell you something! You won’t let me tell you something!” She knows I’m going to say no to sleeping in my bed so WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY Oh my GOD WHY does she do this to me?

She won’t stop scream-crying. She’s still on the toilet. Truly, I’m not making this shit up. I finally smack her bare leg because she won’t listen and won’t stop. Of course this just intensifies the hysterics. I’ve already offered her to sleep in my room on the floor but she will not consider it. After I smack her leg she screams “FINE I’LL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR.” She’s still on the toilet. I walk away. She calls out “Don’t I get a hug and a kiss?!”

I mean, really. Y’all. She’s five. She’s beyond exhausted and crying like there’s no tomorrow. And I do TRY to figure out what to do for her. I try to follow the advice of the various books I’ve read. One book says you must “spank the willfully disobedient child.” Another book says you must try to figure out the underlying cause of the disobedience and try to solve the problem not the symptom. My instinct says she is tired and doesn’t like to sleep alone. I’ve forced a situation on her she’s not comfortable with or happy about. And this is my payment.

But the sheer manipulation here undoes me. OF COURSE I want to hug and kiss her. But should I? In this moment? She does this all the time. It isn’t a new manipulation. Anytime I get upset with her this is what she resorts to. What is she telling me? What am I supposed to do?

As she lays down on the floor she implores me to lay down there with her – which I won’t. I’m right there! I say pointing to my bed. But she cries “I don’t want to be alone down here!” I’m like, Baby Girl, you sleep alone in your bed all night, every night until 5:30 when like a damn rooster you wake me up with your crowing that you need to go potty. What makes tonight different? Why, exactly, did you start this whole thing? One of the books says that you have to “be aware of when you are entering the Red Zone and try to keep from doing that.” Well Shit, Sherlock, her Red Zone starts at ground zero and I don’t have a hope in hell of “re-directing” her. My own Red Zone starts the instant she starts screaming. So you see we don’t really have a “yellow” or neutral zone. It’s zero to ninety in less than one scream.

Today her voice has been scratchy from all the scream-crying. I did finally get her to settle down and go to sleep. In my room on the floor. She slept til 5:50. I got twenty extra minutes.

We’re a mess y’all.

Send wine and positive thoughts.

Baby Girl is growing up. Faster than I’d like? Maybe not. Growing up in ways that make me proud, and secretly thrilled and maybe just a little bit nostalgic. It’s all the tiny little things that I notice every day. One day she stopped asking (demanding) me to wipe her cute little butt. The past week she’s been getting herself out of the bathtub and drying herself off. I no longer have to wrap her up and rub her down and carry her out of the bathroom (a blessing really!). She can brush her own teeth – thank the Lord. She can make her own lunch. Now there might be a few more kit-kat’s and a few less fruits in that lunch than would be otherwise acceptable… but she can do it. She understands the difference between healthy food and junk. School shoes and shoes that can get dirty. She may not like it, but she understands it.

And yet… today there was red marker stuff all over the playroom floor. She tried to eat her dinner with her hands instead of her spoon. I am still required to turn on the light in the bathroom before she’ll go in it. She had a full-blown meltdown when it was time for bed because she didn’t want to stop playing (and because she didn’t want Daddy in her room telling her to cut it out). And I think – THERE she is. That baby that still needs me. That tiny little girl with the huge emotions.

Kindergarten IS AWESOME she cries as she gets out of school. But just this morning the thunder and lightening woke her up and she comes streaking into my room and straight into my arms. I’m not going to school if it’s raining she says. Get her outside and she wants to jump in all the muddy puddles.

I have work to do she tells me as I pick her up from school. I have to do the laundry, and the soccer ball, and play with Tess and take her for a walk and do my schoolwork and …. I listen to her ramble but she is totally serious. It’s adorable and I love her enthusiasm. And then… “WAAAHHHHH, MOMMMMMMYYYYYY TESS WON’T LISTEN TO ME! BAD DOG! But I still love you my little puppy-wuppy but MOMMMMYYY SHE’S A BAD DOG!” I roll my eyes and come to the rescue. She probably just can’t get the snap on the lead because Tess is overexcited and jumping up and down. Passion and drama are not in short supply around here.

She carefully lays out her clothes for school the next morning, lining them up just right so that it looks like a person. I am not allowed to help. But when she gets really upset and is crying about something I scoop her up and rock her like I used to even though she doesn’t really fit in the rocker anymore. She lays her head on my chest and snuffles and cries and I absorb the moment. I smell her head. I sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Mommy? she asks. What Baby? I say. Can you smell I tooted? And I sigh and laugh and push her out of the chair as she giggles.

She makes me crazy all the time. We are so much alike and yet she is way more intense than I am. If I tell her she CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES have another snack she will yell FINE I’LL GET IT MYSELF. And I ask myself – how did I phrase that wrong? It sounds pretty clear-cut to me. Apparently all she hears is that I won’t get her one, not that she can’t have one. So we battle. A LOT. And she cries A LOT. And I cry (more than I’d admit to). And then I’ll notice one more thing that she’s doing without me. One more tiny little thing that I am no longer required for. She’s absolutely welcome to wipe her own tush – that one I don’t miss. It’s just that it kind of sneaks up on you. It’s only later that you realize “Hey, I haven’t done that for her in a while.” She’s getting out of the tub on her own and drying off and putting pj’s on and next thing you know she’s in college.

So I’ll notice. I’ll notice all the little things. And I’ll smile to myself and be proud of her. But I’ll still hold her and smell her head whenever she needs me to.

TEN MORE DAYS. Ten more days til FREEDOM!!! I’m the mom celebrating and cheering and roaring out of the school driveway. Y’all I have been waiting for this day for five years. Five long years.

Kindergarten! What a beautiful word. It’s the word of the month! We will have to leave the house at 7:30 AM to get to school drop off. And then I get to leave her there until 3:30! It’s like my birthday and Christmas and the Easter Bunny all at once! F R E E D O M.

I’m a little excited. Baby girl – not so much. She is not feeling it. Not wanting to leave her pre-school, not wanting to make new friends, not wanting to go learn new things. She’s been battling a wicked ear infection for the last three weeks due to granulomas in her ears, a complication of ear tubes. I just found that out today. It’s been seriously fun with the pus and blood and continuous drainage and pain and crying and motrin and antibiotics that never end. On the plus side she has now slept in her own bed the past five nights. Two of those five nights were blissful. Three of them were not. Still, I am determined to get her in her own bed before school officially starts. Why do I start something new in the middle of an ear infection? Because I’m a hard-headed, stubborn and ridiculously over optimistic person. Not really, but in this case yes. We’re trudging through, making progress and doing things the hard way as always.

But. Pretty soon the MOMMY! every five minutes will be a thing of the past (well at least during school hours). I’ll be able to concentrate on something for more than 3 minutes at a time. I have made myself a list of all the things I want to do while she’s in school. Maybe the overly optimistic part is a little more true than I care to admit. My list includes things like “cooking and recipes,” “ride more,” “clean the house.” Seriously have to put clean the house on the list! It’s pretty tragic. Baby Girl has ruled my entire waking (and mostly sleeping) life for the past five years. It’s time for me to get back to being me. I’ll get to go do things outside by myself! Instead of forlornly watching Tony mow the grass through the window with a screaming / crying / whining child in the background assaulting my ears and my psyche.

If baby girl is crying or whining at school I will be blissfully unaware. If she is not listening, or refusing to do what is asked of her, or moving slower than a fly stuck in molasses or arguing with someone that the sky is NOT BLUE, it’ll be someone else’s problem. Not mine! Of course, I am sure she will be a total angel while at school and will save up all her drama for me in the evenings.

I will not have to stop what I am doing to wipe her butt, or get her a snack, or a drink. I will not have to cover her highness with a blanket while she is watching TV, or listen to her whine at me to please please please let her play games on my phone. I won’t have to hear her scream at the dog, I won’t have to tell her nine times to put her play doh away or to quit torturing the dog or that she doesn’t need another FREAKING snack.

It’s gonna be a dream come true. I might even get to meet one of you for lunch. Alone. I might get to take a bath alone in the middle of the day with the door shut and no one banging on it or demanding to get in with me. Or just go to the bathroom without someone barging in. I might get to go enjoy my horses and take my time with them instead of trying to get all the shit done so I can move on to the next thing that Baby Girl needs from me. I could weedeat or mow the paddocks. I could eat lunch peacefully without having to get up every five seconds to fulfill some new request. I could finish this blog in peace without someone yelling that they want me to turn the movie on.

But mostly, silence. Just silence for awhile will fill me back up with everything I need to be a good mom. Silence during the days will make me appreciate Baby Girl’s over the top attitude and dramatic reaction to everything she’s going to throw at me at the end of the day. I swear, for five years, I have not had time to just BE. To be who I was before her. To be anyone but Mommy. There are plenty of moms who are going to be crying on the first day of kindergarten saying “my baby’s growing up too fast” with tears running down their faces. I will not be one of them. I will be rejoicing in my newfound freedom. I will be getting the space I need in order to be a better, more patient, more loving Mommy. I am not scared of her growing up. I embrace it. Because one day she will be an adult daughter, and if the relationship I have with my mom is anything to go by, those are the best kinds of daughters to have.

Lord have mercy on me as Kindergarten starts. Let me be patient when I drop her off and not push her out of the car door and speed away. I’m just kidding y’all. I wouldn’t do that. Well not on the first day, anyway.

Happy School Days here we come!!

My not-so-baby anymore Baby Girl is going to be five on Saturday. Five! Blows my mind that we’ve both survived this long. Just this morning (and afternoon and probably yet this evening) I wanted to A) wring my hands in despair, B) throw her out the window, C) cry in defeat D) scream right back at her tiny little face with the BIG MOUTH.

Five? Or fifteen? It’s hard to tell. I cringe to think what 10 will bring. And maybe by 15 she will NOT slam her door and/or scream at me that she IS doing whatever it was I told her to do. But if so, it’s only because by then Daddy will have removed her bedroom door permanently or sent her to a nunnery.

We went on a road trip today. To Tyler to see a pony for a client. I warned Baby Girl it would be a long drive. I gave her anti-nausea medicine. I supplied her with her own water bottle. I forgot snacks. I forgot/ignored any type of electronic entertainment. She had a stuffed puppy and two play horses to entertain herself with. Oh, and her 7 year old friend (my client’s daughter who is searching for pony). So was it too much to ask for an enjoyable, quiet, happy car ride?

You betcha.

When we picked up my client I asked Baby Girl if she needed to potty. She was insistent that no, she did not. So onwards we go, twenty minutes in we realize that client has forgotten child’s helmet. As we are turning around Baby Girl says….. I have to potty. Bad! Now! Nowwwwwwww!!!!!! I CAN’T WAIT MOMMY!” Insert major eye roll here. All the way back to client’s house she is whining that she “cannnnnn’ttttt wait Mommmmmmyyyyy!” With major drama and whining every single inch of the way. I finally pull in at a 7-Eleven and as we (now joyfully) enter the convenience store the inevitable “can I have a snack?” comes out of her happy little mouth. Nope I say. We are pottying and that’s it.

Back on the road after retrieving helment Baby Girl asks me for my phone, to play games on. She really means she wants to watch YouTube Kids. Other kids playing with toys. And some adults which I just think is weird. I say No and thus begins the every five second whine of “pleeeaaaasssee mommy? pleeeeaaaassssseee?” No I continue to say. If I ignore her she just increases her volume and intensity. By this time I am just super irritated and I would say no if she wanted a carrot or to read the dictionary out loud. But I have to stand my ground right? Isn’t that what I am supposed to do? She keeps asking and I keep saying no (or attempting to ignore her). Tears ensue. She’ll give in for a little while and then start up again. “Mommy?” she says sweetly after five minutes of silence. What Baby Girl? “Can I play games on your phone? Plllleeeeaaaassssseeee?” I want to scream or wring her neck. Or both. Why doesn’t McDonalds serve vodka at 10 am? THIS IS WHY. I am telling you, THIS IS WHY.

The whining and asking and crying and pleading continues in intermittent spurts all the way to Tyler. While we are looking at the pony I finally give in just to get her to SHUT UP. How many of you have ever done this? After four hours of saying no? I guess it depends on how persistent your kid is, how strong you are as a parent. I get weak, I admit. I get tired. I get pissed off and just SO DONE. And I need to concentrate on the pony and the kid that is trying it out. So I give in. I tell her she can play on the phone until we stop for lunch.

As we are leaving McDonalds, full and happy but sans any alcoholic beverages (yes I know I’m driving, and No, I would not really drink while driving or with my kid in tow – just go with the humor ok?) Baby Girl IMMEDIATELY starts asking for me to put the window down and when I say no she starts in on getting my phone again or having some music on. We haven’t even left the parking lot yet. I say no absolutely to getting my phone and no to the music for the moment and here it comes…. full on meltdown. Oh shit I think. What am I supposed to do now? I’ve got my client and her kid in here and my own kid is behaving like a freaking demon child. I tell her I’m going to pull back over and get her out of the car and give her a spanking if she doesn’t stop. NO! She screams at me. NO you’re NOT going to do that! Shit. Seriously?

What would you do? I pulled back into the parking lot. I get out while she is screaming at the top of her lungs. I go around to her side and she is screaming at me that I am NOT going to get her out of the seat and I am NOT going to give her a spanking. I’m telling you this kid does not know when to back down. Or is it just that she can’t? Her sense of fighting back is extremely strong. Her sense of survival seems to be questionable. I do manage to extract her from the car seat and get her out onto the pavement outside the car. Now what? I can’t/won’t beat her. I hate situations like this. I try holding her arms and talking sternly and she wrenches free and screams at me to let go – that I’m hurting her. Great, now someone is going to call the cops thinking that I’m abusing/kidnapping this kid. I ask her if she’s done. I tell her she doesn’t want to embarass herself in front of her friend does she? She simply can’t stop with the tears and the anger. So after five minutes or so I put her back in the car and I turn on the music and we finally go on. She’s quiet. I talk to my client, who thankfully completely understands.

At what point do you draw a hard line with this type of personality? Is it even possible? She is an emotional, spirited, sensitive and over the top type of kid. I never know what to do with her. As my client and I discussed, we are always just winging it. She says there are a few people out there who were just born to be moms and probably know exactly how to handle this situation/this type of child but they are very few and far between. I agree wholeheartedly. I appreciate 100% the support she gave me today, in an extremely difficult and embarrassing situation.

MOMS. Be there for each other. When a mom has to draw a hard line hold your hand up under that line with support. I’m telling you it means EVERYTHING to the mom that is just thisclose to giving up, giving in, hanging her head and just losing it. If McDonalds doesn’t serve alcohol on a road trip (and Thank God they don’t) then we need some other type of soother – another mom’s nonjudgemental and absolute support makes all the difference in the world.

 

 

 

Oftentimes I find myself thinking of all the things I’d like to write about. But they go out of my head sooner than I get to sit down and write – which frustrates me. I’ve been frustrated a LOT lately. The weather, the finances, the back pain, the foot pain, the headaches, the whining, the puppy leaping and biting, etc etc the list goes on and on as I’m sure it does for everyone.

This morning as I was trudging through our back forty lake to put some hay into a drenched and muddy lean-to for two ponies I asked God why he ignored my prayers last night for no more rain. I was annoyed.

And though it sounds trite and sanctimonious I took note of my surroundings and the frown on my face and decided to turn it upside down.

I am grateful, I thought. I AM GRATEFUL. That the land and thus the rain goes downhill. I am grateful for the one muddy lean-to we have managed to build in the last four years. I am grateful for my raincoat even though I can feel the rain coming through the back and getting my shirt wet. What the heck? It’s a raincoat! It’s old but seriously, WHY is the damn thing leaking?!

Wait. Oh yeah. I’m grateful. Um. For my barn which has lights and nice big stalls and 5 of 7 horses are comfy and dry. I’m grateful for my new, non puppy chewed, rain boots and the fact that I can wear pajamas outside to feed, and that I can take off my soaking wet and muddy pajama pants on my front door step and nobody will see. I’m grateful that I wouldn’t care if they DID see. I am grateful for my new blue washing machine that I was forced to buy after the old one tried to catch fire multiple times. I am grateful the dryer still works and that I have a mismatched set because honestly who needs matchy-matchy anyway?

I am grateful that Baby Girl finally went back to sleep this morning after trying to get me to get up 1500 times from 5:30 am until 6. I am grateful that I did actually go back to sleep and that I did not have to go to a horseshow in the rain at 5 am. I am grateful that I do actually still get to go. Later. Because who doesn’t love a horseshow in the mud? Builds character.

I am grateful that the oversized puppy chewing on my foot no longer seems to have leathal pointy baby teeth. I am grateful for big sisters who will take little sisters to birthday parties when Mom has to be at a horseshow, knowing that the big sister has plenty of other things she could be doing. I am grateful for tolerant, supportive and loyal clients who deal daily with the fact that I don’t have a covered arena and still seem to like me even though I’m cranky a lot.

I’m grateful that the rain means plenty of grass since we are running out of hay and at this point the hay people won’t get into their fields to cut until the middle of August. I’m grateful for Grandpas that love their little fu-fu’s to the point of agreeing to help finance a bounce house for her 5th birthday party in June. Grandpa who goes to Walmart when you’re sick to get your antibiotics and crackers you requested and instead of one Diet Coke buys a whole six-pack. Where we would be without Grandpa?

I am grateful for the peace and quiet I get at night to sit and read and relax after the sometimes 2 hour long battle it takes to get Baby Girl to go the EF to sleep. I am grateful she sleeps through the night 90% of the time now on the crib mattress I borrowed from my cousin five years ago and still have which is on the floor in my bedroom even though I returned the actual crib three years ago. I am grateful she does not sleep in my own bed although I will be even more grateful the day she decides to stay in her OWN bed the entire night. She’ll probably be 12 but I’ll still be grateful.

But most of all I am grateful for the time to sit down and write this blog.

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!