Indian Spices

My baby smelled like Indian Spices every evening I picked him up from daycare.  The smell was never as intense as it was the first time I visited to get a sense of the owner and facilities; I wafted around in a cloud of curry and cardamon for at least two hours after that initial visit.  I miss seeing Raj and her beautiful family.  I didn't know at the time that last Friday was the last day she would be Van's childcare provider.  She has a kind husband, two sweet and talented young boys, and an ethereal mother who walks with a cane, has blue-gray eyes, and a giddy smile.  Returning a bottle is my first excuse I have to drop by her home for a quick visit.

Sugar-Bugar

I get a Sugar fix every Saturday.  Sugar is the name of the horse I ride at my weekly lesson; this is an important commitment I've made to myself.  It is a time for me to be away from my kids and job, explore a personal interest I've had since I was a little girl, get some fresh air and exercise, and involve myself with a community of savvy, hardworking people.  It is meditative because it requires one hundred percent of my focus and it is therapeutic, physically and emotionally. I enjoy being in the role of a "student."  It is a break from being Mommy and Legal Assistant, both of which catapult me automatically into the status of Master of all associated responsibilities.  At my riding lessons I have help readily available, I get kudos for a job well done and I can ask my trainer an unlimited number of questions as I learn the nuances of horseback riding at my own pace.

I’m turning 34 years old in a couple of weeks, nevertheless I feel like a 4 year old when I initially tell people I take riding lessons.  Horses have been a curious obsession of mine since my 4^th birthday when I was given armfuls of horsey toys at that particular party.  I read every horse-related youth novel and series I could come across.  To this day, I still doodle horses in various poses, some with wings and a single horn.  By signing up for lessons,  I was consciously indulging my inner 4 year old child and “the foolish imaginings of (my) heart.”  Yet, as I’ve learned, the reality of horse handling is far from fanciful.

I started riding Sugar around the end of March 2013, and before I had even lifted the brush to groom her I had been introduced to an important concept: where there is a romanticized ideal there is also an irritating, potentially dangerous reality.  Sugar's owner, Maggie, told me that although she doesn’t ride her any more, Sugar maintains "a very special place in (her) heart."  As a teenager, Maggie rode Sugar in competitions until the ball joint above her left rear hoof inexplicably fractured.  The fracture healed and she has been semi-retired and is used for walk/trot lessons only.  In the picture Maggie painted for me, Sugar sounded as sweet as her name.  However, as I led Sugar from her stall into the arena for my first lesson with her my trainer said, "We call her Sugar-Bugar." The latter is a truer reflection of Sugar's personality and she was quick to demonstrate the validity of the not-so-diminutive nickname, Bugar; she snapped at the curry comb as I held it toward her nose for her to smell.


I imagine I might be bothered by a hairy brush being pushed towards my nose, too!  But the trainers are keen on incorporating safety awareness as students gain confidence in groundwork skills like grooming and tacking up the horses. Horses are big animals and while there is no guarantee that students won’t get stepped on or kicked, there are definitive actions students can take to minimize the level potential injury and pain.  For example, I’ve learned it is better to stay close to a horse’s tail as you walk behind them because if they do kick you, the kick will have less force than if the distance allowed for greater extension of their hind leg(s).  As soon as I completed my groundwork training and got in the saddle, I had to learn how to do an "emergency dismount."  I thought the instructor was joking - she wasn't  - and I learned step by step what my body has to do in order to leap off of a moving horse!

In a sense, horses are as romanticized by some as marriage is by many, and how I wish I'd been instructed to quickly remove myself from a partner at early signs he was steering our marriage toward disaster.  Where can one go to learn the groundwork - the safety tips - about relationships?  I recall taking 4 years of sex-ed in middle school and high school, but there was rare mention of the warning signs of rape or domestic violence, and nothing said of red flags, codependency and personality disorders.  Girls in are society are subject instead to princesses and fashion magazines; there is a socially condoned Cinderella-syndrome.  Even I - who frankly wasn't very good at being a girl thanks to frizzy hair, braces, glasses and an acutely introverted personality - took it to heart.  I fell head-over-heels-in-love with my guy and found immeasurable value in the opportunity to wear a white dress, walk down the aisle, and say "I do."

The truth is, I always will find value in that opportunity and I do not regret my marriage - only that I waited until its circumstances were becoming dangerous before I chose divorce - or any part of the present responsibility of parenting the young human beings in my care (but I still look forward to my Sugar-fix!).  The responsibility of caring for my own horse one day will be a walk in the park with all of the hands-on training I am getting as a single mom.  I also am grateful that I stopped denying a deeply rooted passion I've had for horses since I was a child, and my husband - even with all the red flags I can see more clearly in hindsight - supported me when I started leaning in that direction.  My kids once told me in some act of appeal, "You're a Mommy who buys us things!" I want them to see that I'm a lot more than that: I'm a Mommy who loves them, who employs humility and kindness to nurture a culture of family between their father's home and my own - with careful and educated navigation of our idiosyncrasies - and also, that I'm a resilient woman, well aware of certain realities of the society we live in.  Through their younger years, however, it will suffice for my kids to know I have a horseback riding lesson on Saturday.

 

Mommy Machine

Single mother circumstances can change more quickly than technology can advance, and I have found myself surveying the results (some might say wreckage) of the whirlwind of the last several months.  I walked into my apartment on Sunday evening, with only my oldest child by by side since my three youngest are now being cared for Monday through Friday by their Nana, and I looked at an evergreen towel laying on my living room floor.  "I can pick that up" was my overwhelming thought; my multi-child storm had ceased.
Nevertheless, I endured the next 24 hours with an antagonizing sense that part of myself had been painfully detached.  Perhaps this was based on instinct, a longing for my cluster of little ones to flock around my feet like they normally do.  Perhaps this was guilt, as the new childcare arrangements have lifted huge burdens and I - as a individual human being - welcomed the reprieve; the stress of morning and evening childcare, fulltime work, and a budget with a bottom line that was sinking lower and lower into the red due to extraordinary daycare costs was all taking a toll on me, mentally, physically and emotionally.  The financial aspect was the instigator of this vast change, however, and I miss the hugs, cuddles and activity of my three boys. 
With their absence, and the quiet stillness that now fills my home, I have caught myself operating on the old default towards my daughter.  Words escape my lips in questions that ask, "Do you need_____?" It's symptomatic of a fullhouse lifestyle; I have been amped up to take care of my four little people like a Mommy Machine.
I now have an opportunity to power down and re-adapt to the other responsibilities in front of me.  For example, I will be preparing for a move this Summer to be closer to Nana so my boys can sleep in their own beds every night.  I have boxes that have yet to be unpacked and sorted through from my move last year, when I emptied the 5 bedroom house that could have been the Home where my kids were raised.  I have a six year old daughter living with me who has been through as much transition and upheaval as I have who will benefit from stability, functionality and positive interaction with her Mother, me.  This is a huge change.  Rewiring has begun!