There is something about the outside of a horse that's good for my inner thigh muscles.
OK, that may warrant some unsavory types finding my blog through nasty google searches but what I mean is, wow, did I need that ride.
I finally - finally! - got a ride in. It's my first ride in months and months. After many false starts, I managed a riding lesson this week. A real, live, work until your legs feel like jelly ride. The sad part is, I lasted through maybe half of hour of exercises before the jelly set in and I was useless.
But, if I may pat myself on the back, my balance was really quite good, my hands were quiet, my seat, not bad. In short, while I may be weak as a kitten, the basics are all still there just waiting to work again.
Did I mention I rode English? Insert guffaws here, but I assure you I didn't wear skin tight breeches or a pink jacket. But I did ride with my pinkies up.
Showing posts with label Ponies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ponies. Show all posts
Friday, November 6, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
On measuring up and vomiting
That's right, I said vomiting.
Chou was sent home early today from daycare with her very first stomach bug. Poor thing was asleep in the high chair when I got there. I scooped her up, brought her home, she was sick again, I changed her and put her down for a nap. Two hours of sleep later and she was up, managed to miss herself and her cuskie but messed up her entire crib and blanket. I brought her and the laundry down, she had a big nurse and we snuggled and watched backyardigans. Within a bit, she decided she was better and dressed herself to go outside (well, I helped, but she really is getting quite good - she gets her socks and boots on and her tuque. Jacket and mitts are mum's job). Two minutes outside and she was yakking breastmilk all over the deck. Back in we went and it was another episode of backyardigans, then Maisy, then some Sesame street, more yakking, and then -poof- at 330, my darling daughter was back and very hungry. I wish we could all get over a bug like that.
On to measuring up (aren't you glad I'm done talking about yakking?).
I realized today as I tidied my kitchen, put a near-perfect carrot cake in the oven, wiped the counter and flicked on the dishwasher, that a) I'm quite domestic b) I'm getting much better at keeping house and c) I really am OK with measuring my success by my own yard stick and not ever feeling like I have to have the same things as everyone, or the same new kitchen or the same new car.
Wait. This is seemingly non-news to y'all who know me. Ms. Wumpus is synonymous with practicality, ask anyone. Really, truly there are times when I thought that all these years of frugality were temporary, that when we had more money we'd spend it more liberally, travel more, buy more, do more. Yes, there are places in the world I want to see. Yes, there are some new pieces of furniture I'd like, but really, truly having more disposable income hasn't meant buying more. Instead, we're investing more, weighing our options carefully, over-thinking home renovations and trying to make our money stretch the furthest.
Other people go on yearly (even more!) vacations, or buy huge houses or new leather furniture or the EVEN BIGGER television. Some just blow it all on clothes and wine. All these things are OK, they're just not for me. I get more joy out of spending an extra hundred bucks on groceries so I can make my man real, quality sashimi at home. I'm going to splurge and book some riding lessons (yay!). And yes, I'll finally get new underwear. But the wanting what others want? Don't want it. And that makes me happy.
And so concludes the two most randomly paired topics in the history of the blogosphere.
You're welcome.
Chou was sent home early today from daycare with her very first stomach bug. Poor thing was asleep in the high chair when I got there. I scooped her up, brought her home, she was sick again, I changed her and put her down for a nap. Two hours of sleep later and she was up, managed to miss herself and her cuskie but messed up her entire crib and blanket. I brought her and the laundry down, she had a big nurse and we snuggled and watched backyardigans. Within a bit, she decided she was better and dressed herself to go outside (well, I helped, but she really is getting quite good - she gets her socks and boots on and her tuque. Jacket and mitts are mum's job). Two minutes outside and she was yakking breastmilk all over the deck. Back in we went and it was another episode of backyardigans, then Maisy, then some Sesame street, more yakking, and then -poof- at 330, my darling daughter was back and very hungry. I wish we could all get over a bug like that.
On to measuring up (aren't you glad I'm done talking about yakking?).
I realized today as I tidied my kitchen, put a near-perfect carrot cake in the oven, wiped the counter and flicked on the dishwasher, that a) I'm quite domestic b) I'm getting much better at keeping house and c) I really am OK with measuring my success by my own yard stick and not ever feeling like I have to have the same things as everyone, or the same new kitchen or the same new car.
Wait. This is seemingly non-news to y'all who know me. Ms. Wumpus is synonymous with practicality, ask anyone. Really, truly there are times when I thought that all these years of frugality were temporary, that when we had more money we'd spend it more liberally, travel more, buy more, do more. Yes, there are places in the world I want to see. Yes, there are some new pieces of furniture I'd like, but really, truly having more disposable income hasn't meant buying more. Instead, we're investing more, weighing our options carefully, over-thinking home renovations and trying to make our money stretch the furthest.
Other people go on yearly (even more!) vacations, or buy huge houses or new leather furniture or the EVEN BIGGER television. Some just blow it all on clothes and wine. All these things are OK, they're just not for me. I get more joy out of spending an extra hundred bucks on groceries so I can make my man real, quality sashimi at home. I'm going to splurge and book some riding lessons (yay!). And yes, I'll finally get new underwear. But the wanting what others want? Don't want it. And that makes me happy.
And so concludes the two most randomly paired topics in the history of the blogosphere.
You're welcome.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
That's better
It's been a long time. Too long.
Today, I rolled out of bed sometime before 6:30 am, nursed my baby, layered myself in warm, mismatched clothing, grabbed a coffee mug and did something I haven't done in a long time: went to work with ponies.
I also left my baby for nearly 6 hours. SIX hours. She slept for nearly an hour after I got home so it was like being gone for seven. And we both survived. True story.
The barn is big - somewhere around 80 horses on the property most of which spend some portion of their day in a stall. There are sweet yearlings, trained race ponies, pregnant mamas and waiting stallions. I did the morning feeding rounds with another girl who works there. It took us over an hour. Seriously. But we hit it off and chatted the entire time, she filling me in on the much needed info of what to do, and me telling her all about my pony past and why I was there.
Why was I there, you ask? Therapy. Much-needed me time. Exercise. Fresh air. A change of scenery. Non-baby time. Take your pick, they all apply.
I came home (in a rush, of course), and once I saw that Chou was just fine and nuzzled in her crib, I was elated. Months of tension had melted away. I was in one of the best moods I've been since moving here. I was tired and smelly and full of joy at the perfectness of my day.
The plan for now is to make this a Saturday ritual - Chou gets daddy time, mummy gets me time, and the barn gets cleaned. Everybody wins.
The barn is, of course, not the same as back home. I miss Neena and crazy Flo. I miss J-9 and the rabble of misfits that would come and go every Saturday. I miss knowing all the ponies' names, where they go and where everything is. I miss the confidence I had in what was expected of me and what I could do. But it's also because of my experience at Flo and Neena's that I even felt qualified to call this woman and tell her I wanted to come work for her. For that, I'm forever grateful.
Now if I could just muck stalls everyday, with Chou strapped to my back, for enough cash to live on, the world would be perfect. Ah, I'll take what I can get. Me time is enough for now.
Today, I rolled out of bed sometime before 6:30 am, nursed my baby, layered myself in warm, mismatched clothing, grabbed a coffee mug and did something I haven't done in a long time: went to work with ponies.
I also left my baby for nearly 6 hours. SIX hours. She slept for nearly an hour after I got home so it was like being gone for seven. And we both survived. True story.
The barn is big - somewhere around 80 horses on the property most of which spend some portion of their day in a stall. There are sweet yearlings, trained race ponies, pregnant mamas and waiting stallions. I did the morning feeding rounds with another girl who works there. It took us over an hour. Seriously. But we hit it off and chatted the entire time, she filling me in on the much needed info of what to do, and me telling her all about my pony past and why I was there.
Why was I there, you ask? Therapy. Much-needed me time. Exercise. Fresh air. A change of scenery. Non-baby time. Take your pick, they all apply.
I came home (in a rush, of course), and once I saw that Chou was just fine and nuzzled in her crib, I was elated. Months of tension had melted away. I was in one of the best moods I've been since moving here. I was tired and smelly and full of joy at the perfectness of my day.
The plan for now is to make this a Saturday ritual - Chou gets daddy time, mummy gets me time, and the barn gets cleaned. Everybody wins.
The barn is, of course, not the same as back home. I miss Neena and crazy Flo. I miss J-9 and the rabble of misfits that would come and go every Saturday. I miss knowing all the ponies' names, where they go and where everything is. I miss the confidence I had in what was expected of me and what I could do. But it's also because of my experience at Flo and Neena's that I even felt qualified to call this woman and tell her I wanted to come work for her. For that, I'm forever grateful.
Now if I could just muck stalls everyday, with Chou strapped to my back, for enough cash to live on, the world would be perfect. Ah, I'll take what I can get. Me time is enough for now.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Breakthrough
The Chou has been working hard at a few things these past few weeks: standing and walking and cutting her very first tooth. Her mum has been working very hard too; at not going stir crazy and trying to find a place to get her pony fix. We've both had breakthroughs, both figurative and literal, this week.
First off, after three days of one cranky, crying, screaming, gnawing infant, we finally have a tiny speck of tooth poking through the gum. It's her front right for those of you following along at home, and her first ever at 9 months and a few weeks. Right on time for what I did, apparently. But seeing as she started teething at month 4/5, I feel like it's been a long road.
And then there's the standing and walking. It's been exactly two weeks since she first balanced on her own. Now? She can stand a solid 10 or more seconds on her own, holding and chewing a toy, she can turn, sit down, stand back up with only one hand and balance again. And then? Then she'll take one and sometimes two balanced steps before either grabbing something, sitting down or, unfortunately for me, starting a face plant. Needless to say, I've been on my toes these few weeks. No, she's not walking, but she's going to put it all together soon and be off like a rocket. Crap.
My breakthrough is a little less momentous in some ways, depending on if you've ever had kids or not. I packed up wee Chou in the car this Tuesday and headed off to a racehorse breeding and training facility on the other side of the city. I walked in, got the tour and told this woman I wanted to come work for her. Just weekends to start (I DO have a baby after all), but who knows where that might lead. She seemed keen and we'll talk today about whether or not she figures it'll work for her. I'm nervous - half because I miss ponies so much and just want to go and muck stalls, walk babies and throw hay, and half because it'll mean leaving Chou for 5 hours at a shot, something I've never done.
That's my biggest hang up, and one I know I have to work on. Chou is 9 months old. She's on to solids three times a day in real volume, she plays, she ignores me, she naps well. There's no reason why her daddy can't look after her for more than an hour. Except for my own ridiculousness. And that daddy told me point-blank on Tuesday that he's not only willing to take care of her Saturday mornings, he WANTS to if it means a happier Ms. Wumpus. I feel for him, I do.
Perhaps the one most surprised by my chickenshitedness about leaving her is me. Every day I'm floored by just how unwilling I am to let her out of my sight for even an hour while I go run (which I have now done with someone other than her dad, yay me!). And part of me is totally ok with this - she is my baby, I am her mother and I want to be her primary caregiver - but part of me can't believe just how anxious and stressed the very thought of leaving her makes me. I think about the mums who have to go back to work at 6 weeks, 8 weeks, 6 months, and I think, "You're being a spoiled brat," but this is my reality and so leaving her at all at 9 months is hard for me. Full stop.
We'll see how this Saturday goes, if I go. Who knows, maybe the smell of alfalfa mix square bales, wood shavings and fluffy equines will over ride my extreme need to be next to my infant.
I can hope.
Chou would like to add: A very happy birthday to cousin Matthew who turns eight today. Eat cake for us, please!
First off, after three days of one cranky, crying, screaming, gnawing infant, we finally have a tiny speck of tooth poking through the gum. It's her front right for those of you following along at home, and her first ever at 9 months and a few weeks. Right on time for what I did, apparently. But seeing as she started teething at month 4/5, I feel like it's been a long road.
And then there's the standing and walking. It's been exactly two weeks since she first balanced on her own. Now? She can stand a solid 10 or more seconds on her own, holding and chewing a toy, she can turn, sit down, stand back up with only one hand and balance again. And then? Then she'll take one and sometimes two balanced steps before either grabbing something, sitting down or, unfortunately for me, starting a face plant. Needless to say, I've been on my toes these few weeks. No, she's not walking, but she's going to put it all together soon and be off like a rocket. Crap.
My breakthrough is a little less momentous in some ways, depending on if you've ever had kids or not. I packed up wee Chou in the car this Tuesday and headed off to a racehorse breeding and training facility on the other side of the city. I walked in, got the tour and told this woman I wanted to come work for her. Just weekends to start (I DO have a baby after all), but who knows where that might lead. She seemed keen and we'll talk today about whether or not she figures it'll work for her. I'm nervous - half because I miss ponies so much and just want to go and muck stalls, walk babies and throw hay, and half because it'll mean leaving Chou for 5 hours at a shot, something I've never done.
That's my biggest hang up, and one I know I have to work on. Chou is 9 months old. She's on to solids three times a day in real volume, she plays, she ignores me, she naps well. There's no reason why her daddy can't look after her for more than an hour. Except for my own ridiculousness. And that daddy told me point-blank on Tuesday that he's not only willing to take care of her Saturday mornings, he WANTS to if it means a happier Ms. Wumpus. I feel for him, I do.
Perhaps the one most surprised by my chickenshitedness about leaving her is me. Every day I'm floored by just how unwilling I am to let her out of my sight for even an hour while I go run (which I have now done with someone other than her dad, yay me!). And part of me is totally ok with this - she is my baby, I am her mother and I want to be her primary caregiver - but part of me can't believe just how anxious and stressed the very thought of leaving her makes me. I think about the mums who have to go back to work at 6 weeks, 8 weeks, 6 months, and I think, "You're being a spoiled brat," but this is my reality and so leaving her at all at 9 months is hard for me. Full stop.
We'll see how this Saturday goes, if I go. Who knows, maybe the smell of alfalfa mix square bales, wood shavings and fluffy equines will over ride my extreme need to be next to my infant.
I can hope.
Chou would like to add: A very happy birthday to cousin Matthew who turns eight today. Eat cake for us, please!
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