Wisdom-Toothless Wisdom?

There are four wisdom teeth less of me!

I'm sick of foods you can't chew and television, but the hot summer has taken over.. Our farm looks like the desert. Hopefully, by the time I'm well, the drought will be over, and we can get back to riding and enjoying the summer!

Instead of teaching this week, my chipmunked self has been watching trashy reality shows like Dance Moms and Cheer Perfection. (And less trashy, amazing shows like Nadia G's Bitchin' Kitchen and Arrested Development. I've got some taste!)

While the parenting on the show is highly questionable, it did get me thinking about all the mom and daughter duos I've seen through riding. In America, this duo is a staple at horse shows and barns.

And what makes a successful one?

The most successful mom and daughters that I've seen in riding all share a similar trait. Sacrifice. Time, money, other sports.. Many times marriages, but I wouldn't count that on the successful side. However, the fact of the matter is that to succeed in horses or anything, you make sacrifices.

And for a sport that almost demands you begin at an early age to do anything more than 'recreational' riding, it requires parental sacrifice too. The mom who gets their kid to the barn, supports them in lessons and language, is the mom whose kid stands a shot.

This doesn't mean living through your kid. It means you recognize what they love and you help them to succeed. It also doesn't mean you don't push. You have to push your kids a little, as does the trainer. The trainer and parent who don't push and still expect more from their kid put too much pressure on the child.

That sounds silly. Let me explain. Children must be taught to look at the big picture; they will not always want to ride. Basketball players do not always want to play basketball. Swimmers do not always want to swim. If you don't teach your children to fight through this, they will not be successful. It's human nature to want to quit when things get hard or when you don't feel like it, but pushing through that is the difference between mediocrity and greatness. And it starts with you, the parent. A child will not and cannot learn this lesson on his or her own.

Now, how does that put more pressure on the child? I'm a living example of this. My mother constantly reminded me that she would not push me. I did not have trainers that pushed me, save for one in my middle teens that I took from sporadically due to distance and money (Sacrifices that were well worth it). When all the 'pushing to succeed' has to come from a young person, all the pressure of failing falls on their shoulders too.

That's a lot of pressure.

Some children take this and turn it into something great. Most don't.

Most, like me, end up looking back and feeling ashamed of the things they did not accomplish through their sport. And it all falls to me; I am what I am in my sport because of me. And now, after years of being allowed to stop when the going gets tough, it's an even harder cycle to break. That's a lot of pressure, built up over many years. It's caused discourse between my mother and I; it's caused personal struggles spilling beyond my riding.

This is not blaming my mother or my trainers. This is a observation I've seen through my time as a trainer and a rider. It is not a phenomenon unique to me.

Push your children, not for yourself but for them. Make some sacrifices; get excited about their riding. Be proud of them. If they are happy about a goal, you should be 100x happier for them.

Don't be the parent that never sees their child ride, the parent who doesn't understand why cantering is a big deal, the parent who gives up on her kid's show dreams because of one off-day.

Please, please, please be more supportive than a stick-on bra.

Love,
Girl

P.S. Thank you to my mom and my trainers. They were very supportive, if not pushy. And my parents for sacrificing a lot. I'm sorry I didn't do more.

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Survivor Week

Whoaaa.

You said you would post every Monday, all summer?!

Um, well, boys and girls.. Just trying to do my civil duty and teach you that everything takes longer than you expect. Now you're prepared for the revenue office!

Just kidding, no one's prepared for the revenue office, so I don't go. Whoops.

Anywho.

This past couple of weeks have been killer for me, and I can't seem to get my feet underneath me. I spent the night in the barn which was as tragic as i'd imagined it. Then it was off to lifeguard at a pool party, sleep like I was dead, and launch into a housesitting job.

Which wouldn't be shabby, but my parents left for their anniversary on Tuesday.
I'm exhausted.

Today involved a carbon monoxide alarm, a trip to the horse vet's (everything was fine), a flat tire, a missing cat, a now neutered dog, and my now raging allergies.

Yay. Whine!

More when I get the chance.

- girl

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I Don't Have ADD, I was Just Thinking About My Outside Rein

I like that.....
My Littles doodle dressage rings on the back of their spelling tests.
My horses are patient but not perfect.
The chickens' barn time has been severely limited.
Feeling I get when a Little trots a diagonal to me for the first time.
I have less fear of my abilities as a rider now.
I don't live in a camper.
I have long hair, don't care.
We're going to shows now!
4 hours at the barn feels like 40 minutes.
The Littles are all almost independent. So, I can chillax inbetween lessons.
My life has the people and ponies it has in it now.

I dislike that..
I ran out of melatonin and clean breeches today.

Not cool.

Ride on, boys and girls.

--girl

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Of Ponies and People (and Long Walks Home)

It was a dark and stormy night...

Okay. No.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the sun was out. It was one of those days that seemed to ooze perfection; the sun dripping energy into every cell and the wind breathing them to life. I had just made the hour and a half drive home, slept for twelve glorious hours, and was geared up to ride more ponies.
Because, you know, working students don't have enough to do.

I caught old faithful Chunky, an appendix who we bought after a trip to Tractor Supply. (Talk about impulse buy..) He's not much to look at, and he looks better than he rides. But Chunk's got something going for him: You could tie a peacock to him, take him to a screamo concert, and let Charlie Sheen rope rabid reindeer off him, and he'd still look somewhat drowsy and unimpressed.

In other words, he's a saint.
But every saint was once a sinner.
And Saint Chunk was bad, bad pony.

We tore off into that day, galloping through fields and up hills and around hay bales. Now, when I say we tore off, you must understand that Chunk doesn't 'tear off' anywhere faster than a 1950's tractor. But that's okay because he makes me feel invincible.

...... Wait.
I'm already teenaged.
And invincible, right?
So, he makes me feel like I'm invincible, times 10000000.
......
You see where this is headed?

He pushed through the grass, snaking his nose out to grab some as I plucked the furry tips off the ready-to-be-cut grass. The fur on his neck was already stiff with fresh sweat, The back of my tee shirt clung to my skin. And it felt like heaven. My feet dangled from the stirrups, and my reins looped as we meandered through some hay field, a pair of lost but nontragic Steinbeck characters. (But as all Steinbeck tales, tragedy would strike. No worries though; no ponies were harmed in the making of this story.
Just my ego.)

He snorted, which I interpreted as an indication of his relaxation. (In hindsight, he probably had something up his nose.) I took this relaxation as a sign we should head to the creek.

Younger, more irresponsible Me spent tons of time wading through said creek. Splashing friends, swimming. So, responsible Me would have NO trouble.

Right?!?

And of course, I didn't. Because as previously stated, Chunk is a saint and I grew up in them there backwaters. (.. Yes, people talk like that where I'm from. I seen it with my own eyes!)

I crossed the creek and hopped off my horse, who stood still as a statue while I stripped off my tall boots and crash through the water like a labrador retriever. He calmly munched the grass on the bank as I played and complied when I hopped back up to ride him down the creek. When we returned, damp and dosed up on summer, he closed his eyes while I dried my toes and tugged on my socks and shoes.

I stood up from the bank and wrapped my fingers loosely around his rein.

You would have guessed I was an electric eel.

He sprung to life, splashing across the creek. The water soaked me again; he hit the surface like a 400 pound man belly-flopping. (Approximately.) I stood dumbfounded, watching my ride peel across ground at a speed I thought only NASCAR drivers could accomplish.

When he hit the other side of the bank and the first thundering stride struck the ground, my senses returned to me.

I was stranded.
On the wrong side of the creek.
A half hour from home.
With no cell phone.
Watching my horse gallop away from me.
Toward an open gate.
And a somewhat busy road.

I yelled after him, knowing it was no good. My yells turned to curses as I watched his fat bay butt disappear beyond the tree line. I could still hear his gallop minutes later, and I swear I could feel it in my bones for much longer.

Swallowing my pride, I removed my boots once more and sloshed across creek. My tall boots cried when I stuffed my soaked feet back into them. (I heard them.) It wasn't an option though. Crossing into the hay field, I realized it was up to my waist, and it still was a struggle not to be taken on barefoot.

He was gone. The only trace of him was a path cut haphazardly across the field that I followed with the diligence of the old trackers.

I don't know how long it took me, but by the time I emerged from that god-forsaken hay pasture, climbed the hills we'd galloped, and panted against the hay bales we'd dodged (Oh, Southern summers), I was covered in burrs and stickers, sweat and disgust.

I learned later that my pony had arrived home long before me. He had galloped his way home without a single detour or spook and had let himself into a stall, where we found him eating hay with a non-plussed expression.

And me?
I smelled like the creature from the black lagoon for a week.
Nothing new, I guess.

--Girl

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