There's Always Some Horse

My way to survive motherhood is popcorn, nutella, diet coke, knitting, and farm animals. That's pretty much my day right there.

On Monday I borrowed my neighbor and we took his trailer and drove out to Santa Barbara to pick up this free horse. I have been looking for an old horse we can name Waffles, who will keep my kids safe as they ride alongside me on the trail, and I think this horse has possibility. Otherwise I would never volunteer to be in the car with someone, anyone, for the 6 hours it takes to get from here to SB and back. I'm good at one on one, but I'm also really bad at one on one, and something about being in the car and HAVING to be one on one with no backyard or bathroom to escape to, that's really hard.

Anyway, my neighbor told me some pretty good stories and I knitted and we got up there and we loaded the horse in. I always think everyone is lying to me so I assume everything she tells me about the horse is a lie, even though on her Facebook there's a whole bunch about church and stuff, so I'm not sure you can lie and go to church full on, which seems to be her version of nutella and popcorn. And her horse was a little bossy, but I load him up and Miguel and I head back home. Half done.

I ask my neighbor what he usually does on his day off. "Clean a little. Feed my donkey."

In the car I don't know why wherever I am becomes the ONLY reality I have. He's telling me Barry and I should run our own business, and I tell him how do you just BUY a business, and then I remember he works 6 days a week, and even though their business is thriving, their kids are failing, wild, and difficult. So Barry and I are broke, and have no business, but the effort we're making in the kid section of our life is giving us strong, smart, healthy kids. That part is not broke.

Anyway, the horse came back, and he's a fat sturdy popcorn color, and he lines all his poops up in the back by the wall, very organized, and last night he was eating his hay by his water and taking each bite of hay, dunking it in the water and then eating it. Every single bite. I think he used to be a cop, he's a dunker by nature.

It has rained for two days since he got here, so I've only gotten on him once, at night, the first night he got here, and he seems fine, but there's still much to show him - mainly, the street, the trail - all the things he will be expected to do while keeping riders safe on his back. But I believe in him. Or we will make many horseburgers. It's a win win.

I just want my kids, before they run off to college, to know why I like the trail, to see the nature and the river, and have them find peace there, here, in the city. In our weird little pocket of the L.A. citycountry.

I'm writing this novel all about wanting to leave the city and be in the country, and then when I drove so far the other day to get the horse, and we were way out in these rolling green fields, the sky so big it looked zippered in there, just vast - all the open land. And even though that really speaks to my heart, all that open space, I saw this treehouse on one of the hills, with a tire swing and just NO kids, anywhere in sight, for like MILES, and I thought, wow, what would this be like? Kids homeschooled because there's no neighbors for like an HOUR. Kids with no culture. I'm sure they'd be fine, they'd be muddy and fresh faced from the outdoors, a good thing, but there's not much CHALLENGE to the country. It's beautiful, but raising kids, maybe it's good that we have traffic and museums, and Subway. Then they won't want to run off to New York just because. Being in the city gives them choices. Choosing a quiet life, and still loving the burning busy-ness of the city. Maybe not chucking everything here, but finding balance is in order.

Maybe a mom's gut instinct isn't too far off, and when you step back and look at your life, you can see the holes, where you can do better, but sometimes it is good to see some of the places where you didn't know you were doing right.