I think I popped out of my funk sometime last night.

I’ve been riding a lot the last couple of night, and that always makes me feel better, even if it’s the riding I’m sick of. I had things click for me both Monday night and last night, so I feel less like a stupid-head.

I’ve been getting frustrated with myself. I’ve ridden for most of my life, on and off, and I really feel that I should be better at it. True, I haven’t been immersed in it every day like Cowboy has, but there are times when I feel like a real blockhead. I don’t have the world’s best sense of balance, and I’m kind of slow to really catch on to physical things. Which is why I’m not into sports—archery, I can see the point to, and will work at, but I just don’t get expending the effort to figure out softball. But here’s something that I really want to get better at, and it was confounding me.

I was improving last summer, but then I took the winter off, and seemed to forget everything I’d learned. It’s slowly come back to me, and I think I’m finally ahead of where I was this time last year. Cowboy’s been very patient with me, although there are times when he just assumes that I know things that I don’t. I was tying a knot dangerously wrong for months, and he just noticed the other day. He had started to get irritated with me for it, as if I were doing it to be lazy, but I saw him check himself when I asked him to please show me to do it right. He did, and that sort of jarred him out of assuming that I’m at his level, and he’s started to explain the “why” of things again.

Rowdy, my usual boring horse of choice, has been out to pasture for a week or two, so it’s forcing me to try new horses. Normally, he’d be the only one I’m secure enough to chase steers on, but I’m getting really comfortable with Jack. Now, Jack’s still hardheaded (he ran off with Dennis the other night), but I think he’s taking care of me like some of the horses will baby-sit a kid. He’s much more pliable for me, but that may just be that I don’t ask as much of him. I was riding him for a while, videotaping the guys last night, and I’d intended to make some runs on him. But Cowboy needed him, so I ended up with Dually, the five-year old. I was feeling pretty good on him too, so I did end up chasing on him for the first time.

And something clicked on that. Dually’s kind of rough-gaited, but all at once, I got it. I think I could come out of the box now, instead of off the sidelines. Now, if I could only swing a rope, but that’s for next year.

•••••

In other news, work’s been busy. I prefer it that way, but it’s just a little hard to deal with all the smoke in the air from the wildfires triggering my asthma all the time. If I can’t see either mountain range in the morning, I know I’m in trouble. I’ve got a new project to work on, fortunately at my own pace, so I can come hide out in the office when it gets really bad.

And I got my truck back. The flames from my credit card surely didn’t help the Valley smog situation. The repair has a warranty, but with the miles I drive, that’ll be good for a half a year at most. The check engine light did go off, and the truck looks weird without it. I’ve been driving around with it on for the better part of two years. And getting back into my truck after two weeks of the two-wheel drive makes me feel all light-headed and tall.

I didn’t see the check engine light come on when I started the truck though, and I was worried that the dealership had pulled a fast one on me by disabling it. So I stopped by my mechanic (the one who doesn’t hate me) and had him put his computer on it yesterday. He was all prepared to get pissed off for me, but the computer said the truck was fault-code free, and then, of course, the light acted just like it was supposed to when HE started it. So I look like a raving moron. What else is new?

•••••

Someone asked this morning how my weekend was, and all I could think of to describe it was “long and full of dirt.”

Doesn’t sound too good, on reflection, and it really was all right. We spent the whole weekend roping, but it was local, so we got to go home at night. I think that the long summer is getting to me though, when I don’t think of a weekend of roping as great fun. Cowboy’s rodeo schedule combined with my lack of vacation time is wearing on me. We’re both getting worn out and burnt out. Probably with each other as well as with life too.

Next year will be better, I keep telling myself. Next year, he won’t be rodeoing every weekend, and we can do some things for us. We’d both like to take another trip packing in the mountains this year, but if we do, it’s going to have to be a quick one. Next year, maybe we can pack in for a week. This year, it’ll be tight to squeeze in a weekend during deer season. By then, he’ll be working flat-out again, and I’ll have burned the vacation time that I’m saving for that class.

And he’s talking about going to Vegas for that one roping during NFR, and maybe or maybe not actually going to the NFR. That makes me sad; that’s the one fun trip we have each year, and that he’ll put roping ahead of it is depressing. I’m going to have to talk to him about that one.

It’s just been a long stretch of nothing but rodeos and roping. I can’t believe I’m to a place where what I thought was so fun is bugging me now. I’m ready for winter.

•••••

But Cowboy did come home Friday night, and that was nice. That new horse looks so much like Jack that it’s really tricky to tell them apart if they’re not standing next to each other. Jack’s a little redder, and the new one’s a little frostier. Sadly, that may perpetuate the name “Frosty,” and I don’t like it. We were joking about just calling him “Jack” too, and making them interchangeable. But I started calling him “Junior” (as in, roan horse the younger,) and I think that one may stick. One good thing about Cowboy, he lets me name the horses.

•••••

And that’s all I got. I’m thinking everyone else is as tired of the roping as I am, and doesn’t want to hear that Cowboy placed in a few pots, or that Chris did too. It was a good weekend in that sense; our whole family (and some of our friends too) won more than they paid to rope.

So, a long weekend done, and a long week coming up. Bah.

•••••

Cowboy’s on his way home, and the last stop turned out to be the one that did it. He’s dragging home a five-year old red roan gelding. Somehow, I knew he was going to bring a roan home, and before he left, I teased him about it. Sure enough, he says this one’s a ringer for Jack. But the only name that comes off the registered name is Frosty, and I don’t like that without even seeing the horse. Sounds too much like a kid’s pony with that name. We’ll have to see if that sticks. We may end up with a “Roany” after all, although that’s like naming Palomino horses “Yellow”: boring.

He should be somewhere in Arizona or Nevada about now, but he’s not in cellular coverage, so I really don’t know. I expect him back late tonight.

•••••

So, we were minding our own businesses in chat last night, and some asshole comes in and completely shut us down. Strange and stupid MIDI music came out of my speakers, and when I exited the room to come back in, I was banned. What the hell? I shut down the computer and tried to restart it, but it took a couple of tries. I was afraid that somehow this dickless wonder managed to hack into my computer and mess with stuff, but I ran a scan and everything seems to be normal.

I didn’t know this could be done, but what’s more baffling is why? It’s about on the same level as telling people who can or cannot get married, or what they can do in the privacy of their own homes, as far as I’m concerned. I guess some people are just stupid that way.

•••••

Still no truck either. I got a sad phone call from the service guy—I guess the mechanic had locked the invoice in his toolbox and left for a training class on the day they had promised me it would be done. That service guy seems really nice, but that might just be the contrast to the mechanic. I should get it today at least. I’m so looking forward to paying that bill.

•••••

When my Mom had the boys for their annual spoiling, she bought them some sugar cereal for breakfast. Fine with me; it was their vacation, after all. But she sent the box back down with them because she doesn’t eat it and it would just go stale.

Now, I don’t usually buy them sugar cereal, but part of the reason is because I eat it if it’s in the house. So guess what I had for breakfast? You got it. And now I’m on a sugar buzz so bad that I can’t stop my hands from shaking like a crack addict, and I feel a little queasy. Of course, that could also be the antifreeze I spilled on my hands this morning topping off the green truck. That stuff absorbs through skin, doesn’t it?

(Crap, I just looked up ethylene glycol in my book—yes, shaking and probably this morning’s asthma attack could be due to that. Duh! But I feel better now; it was only a little bit anyway.)

•••••

OK, enough disjointed ramblings for now. I get lazy on Fridays.

•••••

Bonnie, I scanned in some of the pictures from the albums Mom made us.

My god, I was a pudgy baby—this picture doesn’t even show the half of it! My rolls had rolls, and that was just on my arms. I always thought my kids would be like that, but both of them were relatively skinny babies.

I couldn’t have been much more than two here, since Mom is pregnant and there are only two and a half years between us. I think this was the Downard’s camper, and thanks to the red feet, I’m pretty sure we were at Trinity Lake. As usual. Look! Yellow paper towels! We were nothing if not fashionable in the early 70s.

I can’t pin down the exact date of this one, but I think you were six months old when we moved out of that house. I barely remember it. But look at the classic Harvest Gold appliances and flowery wallpaper! And I see by the gin bottles in the background that Dad liked his martinis even then. I bet he hasn’t even switched brands.

I do NOT remember living with such a small refrigerator, but perspective changes everything. I’m sure it was huge at the time. I do remember those bar stools though. They made the move with us, and got reupholstered a few times. I think they were yellow in grade school, weren’t they?

I think this was at the first house too—you’re too little to be six months old. Do you remember that couch? I have a strong recollection of the smell and texture of it. I think I hated it, but didn’t know any better. And eventually, that afghan had that same smell to it, and became a dog’s blanket, but that was years in the future for these people. I had a doll? I don’t remember that.

I do remember that ashtray though. They had two, didn’t they? I’d really like to have one of those. And just at the top, see that tiny bit of picture frame? I think that was a velvet painting, with ships on the ocean and a luminous moon. I was mesmerized by that painting, and used to get in trouble for petting the velvet.

You’re a little bigger here, but that still has to be the old house, because there should be a window behind the couch otherwise. And yes! That IS the velvet painting! And the lamp over Dad’s head migrated into my room in high school and is probably long gone. Dad made it in his high school, remember?

Wow, look at how young Dad looks! He’s younger there than either of us are now, isn’t that weird? Looks like he was growing a mustache too—wonder if he shaved it off one side at a time to make us laugh?

And here’s one from a little later, at Dennis and Muriel’s house. That’s the horse that started me down the path I’m on now, way back when. She was Muriel’s prize Arabian mare Binney (I don’t know what her registered name was), who was out of the only Polish Arabian mare to be evacuated with the Lipizzaners in World War II, according to family lore.

We used to spend hours out in the pasture brushing and playing with that mare. As I remember, she was pretty damn old even when we were kids, so we rarely rode her. And Muriel was pretty frail too, but she’d always send us out there. There was another mare too, a sorrel, who was a lot less tolerant of small kids all over her. What was her name?

I’m surprised to see how short Binney looks in that picture compared to Mom. Mom’s not that tall, so Binney must have been really pretty small. But at that age, she was huge, and she loved us and was totally tolerant.

I have that saddle that’s in the picture; it was Muriel’s custom-made parade saddle. She and Dennis had a matching set, and used to ride in parades, probably up in Auburn mostly. She gave me that one when I was in high school, and was apologetic that she couldn’t give me Dennis’, because it had more silver on it and she needed the money. I didn’t care; I was thrilled to pieces to have it. She was such a petite woman that there is no way I will ever be able to sit in it, even just to take a picture, but it’s had a place of honor in my house for at least 20 years now. Of course, it would be more honored if I could find a nice antique saddle stand to keep it on.

Muriel loved that we liked the horses. She never had children—never wanted them is my guess, but she loved being an aunt. When I was just a little older than in that picture, I’d go stay the week at my grandparents (across the road), and she would always arrange for professional horse riding lessons for me. I think she did that for Bonnie a few times too, but Bonnie never was the horse nut that I was.

Muriel always was my favorite aunt, even though she was a great-aunt. I’ve got quite a few of her things, some in storage and some hanging on my walls. She was the neatest person; a real old-time cowgirl, like you’d see in the movies of the 40s. She always, always wore boots and slacks, and her hair was always done up in pin-curls. She never did have an old-lady poofy hair style.

She and Dennis used to own the Soda Springs ski resort, where Grandpa and his dad ran sheep in the summer. Dennis reportedly qualified for an Olympic team in skiing, but was disqualified as a professional due to owning the lodge. They had quite a childless lifestyle; we always knew better than to go over there before noon, because they wouldn’t be up yet. Didn’t Dennis have a naughty picture in his bathroom that we weren’t allowed to look at?

Oh, I could write about them all day, but I won’t. I wish I had been older when they died though, and I wish I’d stayed inside and listened to stories a little more often instead of dashing outside to pet the horses and look for eggs.

Anyway, just thought you’d like to see those…

It’s been a long, strange week, and it’s only Wednesday. Hmm.

The alone time was quite nice for the first couple of days, but by last night, I was bored already. I’m so used to my routines (both of them) that it really rattles me when things are so very different. No kids to fetch, no dinners to cook, no commute to drive, no horses to feed. Can’t go play in my garden or check my PO box, since I’m not on that side of the Valley. Due to slow works days, I’ve already looked at most of the interesting internet sites during the day, and have nothing to surf at night. So I’m rattling around my house.

I still don’t have my truck. I just called the dealership; they were waiting for me to let them know about the torque converter. Since the previous mechanic hates me, I really don’t think he’s going to get back to me about that. But in a bit of good news, replacing what I’ve got with a Chrysler part was included in my initial price quote, so I told them to go ahead and do it. And now the transmission is going to have a warranty—only a 12-month one, but still, that’s more than the rest of the truck has. I’ll just have to think hard about selling it next year, but I did get 100 thousand miles out of this transmission, so I should be able to get something like that out of a brand new one. Still, the obligatory “ouch.”

And I think I have a truck curse. I’m driving Cowboy’s spare truck, which is a 90s Chevy and usually very reliable. But now it’s going “clunk.” I was really hoping that the clunk was something rolling around in the bed, but I’m just in denial. I think it’s a U-joint, and I hope it holds up long enough to get my own truck back. I talked to Cowboy about it last night, and he said to send it in to the shop if it gets worse. Except the shop is on the other side of the Valley, and that’s it for vehicles; all the rest are in use.

Cowboy’s not getting as much out of this Texas trip as he’d hoped. Instead of the land of the cheaper and better horses, he’s finding it to be the land of bigger lies and false advertising. He hasn’t seen one yet that’s worth hauling home. That includes the horse our friend bought already. He thinks Bob’s going to be pretty disappointed in that horse, based on what a kid who’d been riding it told him.

It seems that in Texas, their idea of a “broke” horse might be just slightly different than back here. We expect a horse with a good start on him to be able to stand quietly in the box, to follow and track a steer, and to be pretty calm minded. He’s not finding that to be the case, even on the older horses he’s tried. They start them at two there, as we do, but they just go right to roping on them with a lot of pressure. We don’t really rope on them (at least at our house) until they’re four or so, and have a strong foundation and a good size. He thinks the horses in Texas probably don’t last as long; he’s seen a few middle-aged horses completely burnt out at 12 years old, where ours still go strong in their late teens to early 20s.

It may just be that he’s looking at dealers and brokers, and they always move a ton of horses without getting into them too deeply. It’s hard to find the good honest guys when they don’t advertise and you’re new to an area. But he did find someone yesterday who seemed to be our sort of man. This morning, he’s going out to rope at that guy’s place. He’ll try some of his young horses, but at least he’ll have fun roping. It would be good to have an honest connection back there.

I think he’s a little disillusioned with the weather too. We’re just not used to that sort of humidity! He says he’s sweated through his pants too many times, and he called last night from the laundromat. Clothes get damp no matter if you’re wearing them or not.

I think I’ll stick to California weather. We’ve got it good here. Sure, it’s going to be 104°F today, but “it’s a dry heat.” Hah! But you do get used to it over the summer, and I didn’t think it was as hot as all that yesterday. The only downfall lately is that the smoke from all the fires in the Sierras is pooling over the Valley, making it hard for us wheezers to breathe. I will take it easy this afternoon, because I like oxygen.

So, the kids are home and all is right with the world.

I have two tired little boys who had a ball. John’s favorite part was going to see caves at Mercer Caverns. He’d never been in a cave before, and he couldn’t stop talking about it. I wish I’d been able to go, but there is also a cave system at Moaning Cavern in Calaveras County, so maybe I can take them there next summer. Seamus was a little nervous about being underground, but since no rocks fell on him, he did fine.

Seamus’ favorite part was this morning’s trip to Pinecrest Lake, which is usually swarming with kids in the summer. It’s the favorite vacation spot of about a jillion Bay Area people, and it’s surrounded by cabins. But since there are so many people around, they have really good activities programs, and it’s really close to my Mom’s house. She took them in the lake, which has a great swimming beach—if you don’t mind the infestation of screaming kids—and he even put his head under. They made block-printed T-shirts and had ice cream and generally had a good time. It would have been a good lake to take them out in Mom & Dad’s kayaks, but I think I left their life jackets in Jeff’s boat last summer, so that was a no-go. I don’t think they missed it.

I think my mom is totally worn out. She said they were really good, but that she’s not used to being on the go for three days straight. And she totally did more with them than I would; they also went to a park in Murphy’s at least twice to play in a creek all afternoon, and they went up to Columbia State Park. John’s been there with school a couple of times, and I’ve taken them when they were smaller, but he really liked going without an agenda this time. They had big plans to ride the horse-drawn stagecoach, but Mom said it disappeared. Knowing my kids, I bet they spent at least an hour climbing the big rock in the parking lot. John panned for gold, and Seamus made a hand-dipped candle for me.

Now, they’re crashed on the couch catching up on their mindless TV, and pretty soon, I’ll hose them off and make them go to bed. I don’t expect any arguments tonight!

I wish I was still a kid, or at least had the vacation time to spare to do this sort of thing, but they really had fun being away from me. Oh well; there’s always next summer!

I’ve been hearing about this book, and thinking about buying it to satisfy my inner grammar geek, when it turned up at Costco. Woohoo! And shut up, y’all, I know damn well that admitting to a thing for punctuation is guaranteed to cause at least three errors in this entry.

The introduction goes on a bit about the type of people who not only would buy the book, but also would like the book. It’s right on, too, but fortunately, I do get dry British humor. I’ve been around it all my life; besides living with my mom, many of my favorite children’s books were obscure British novels.

The author’s really hilarious; sticking one-liners right in the middle of an explanation, and taking a dry subject to something more interesting. I knew I was hooked when I read up to the apostrophe chapter before bed on the day I bought it. And then waking up with a nightmare that I’d misused an apostrophe in my business’ name. I went and checked in the morning, and I’d used it correctly, but the scare that put into me was really funny.

I don’t agree with all of her rules, being American and all; but on some issues, I seem to be British. The punctuation inside the quotation marks or parentheses—I can’t for the life of me remember to do that. I’d rather do it like the British do, and that’s as it seems to fit. If the punctuation belongs to the whole sentence, outside is fine; if it’s part of the highlighted bit, inside it goes.

I’ve squabbled with Quality Control at work over it, and I can see why editors piss writers off so badly. I’m not much of a writer, but I do like things to be my way, and when some QC knucklehead comes along and moves some punctuation, changing the whole meaning of my sentence, I get a little heated. Fortunately, I have a manager back in the home office who insulates me from that. I usually never see QC’s markups, and what I don’t know won’t hurt me. Except change some important technical detail and screw my report all up, but hey! I’ll never know.

Anyway, Cowboy seems to be somewhere in Texas. He’s already picked up the trailer, and last I heard from him, he was headed north to look at horses. He goes in and out of cellular service, but I’ve been talking to him every couple of days.

I tried to call him last night to get some sympathy for my truck deal. It seems that the dealership heard, “fuck me running” when I meant to say, “fix my check engine light.” My transmission needs to be rebuilt, so I went in to look at it. Sure enough, some parts are worn or pitted. I may not have the slightest clue how an automatic transmission works, but I can see metal fatigue when it’s pointed out to me.

The mechanic’s an ass and a half, and was clearly resentful that I wanted to look at my parts. He was accusing me of putting in the wrong torque converter when I had that rebuilt; he said that it wasn’t a Chrysler part, and that he couldn’t tell if it was a locking type or non-locking. I’m trying to get a hold of the mechanic who did that for me, but he’s not in a hurry to return my phone calls. I don’t think it matters; it was working fine, and I don’t think it contributed to the tranny problem. I think that problem was pre-existing, and the last guy just didn’t catch it. I think the dealership is just fishing for more money out of me, but I’m not having them replace a perfectly good torque converter. (See? This is language I shouldn’t even know.)

Things like this are why I have an ungodly amount of credit, but this is adding up to at least another year’s worth of payments, and all at once. So I won’t be selling the truck; I’ll be keeping it at least a year after it’s paid off, which is two more years’ real time. Ideally, this will fix my overheating problem when I drag the trailer up in the mountains too. But damn! My credit card seems to be firmly lodged in my ass, where the dealership has wedged it. Ouch!

After an antsy weekend of Seamus asking when we were going to Grandma’s, John finally came home. I guess he had a ball at camp, because he was exhausted and absolutely filthy. I made him take a shower before we left, and I don’t think he got it all; there are muddy drips all over the bathroom floor.

We got up to my mom’s in time to go see the new house they’re building. They’ve got a progressive architect, who’s not exactly complying with mom’s decorating wishes, but is really using innovative technologies.

Instead of a wood-framed (or even a steel framed) structure, they’ve gone with a concrete-in-styrofoam technology. It sounds very complicated and futuristic, and it looks that way too, but basically, they’re building a Lego house.

These styrofoam blocks are the concrete form, and they will remain in place as the insulation after it’s poured. They consist of two flat blocks, tied together with plastic spacers. They came all flattened out, and my dad and the construction crew just pop them open as they go. The tops and bottoms of these blocks do look like legos, and they key in together just like that. Then rebar is placed horizontally and vertically between the plastic ties, and the concrete is poured in lifts. The plastic ties keep the forms from wallowing out due to the weight of the concrete, and also provide surfaces for the surface treatments nails to bite into. It’s all very fire-safe too, which is a bonus up in fire country where they are.

Right now, they have the foundation poured and about the first lift’s worth of forms in place. The wall is as high as the sub-floor right now, and when the concrete is poured, there will be a lip to rest the floor on. I took pictures, but I only had my film camera, so they’re going to have to wait until I finish the roll and scan them in. It looks really neat, and I wish I could take some time off during the week to watch them pour.

And the reason that I don’t have my digital camera is because I left it in the truck when I took it to the shop. Silly me, thinking that it would only be a couple of days. Hah! It’s been over a week. On Friday, they called to let me know that my transmission was all torn apart, but that they hadn’t found the problem yet. Goody.

And because Murphy is my patron saint, I got my registration notice in the mail on Thursday. The one that I expected to have my smog test requirement notice in. And it’s not due for a smog check this year. I totally could have put this off for another year. I’m consoling myself with the thought that it had to be done, whether this year or next, and that I can’t sell it anyway with that light on. And if this fixes the transmission overheating problem I’ve been having when pulling the trailer, well then maybe I just won’t sell it.

Oh, and the registration for the trailer FINALLY came. I’m not putting the sticker on until I get my digital camera back though. It can’t hurt to have that date-stamped bit of evidence, because I am still suing Dan Gamel for making me pay for a lawn ornament for ten months.

Bitch, bitch, bitch, or a woman who just won’t take unreasonable shit? Who cares!

Cowboy’s off to Texas this morning, for real this time.

I’m really quite proud of him. Last time, he’d intended to go to look for a roping horse, and since he was there, he was going to drag home a trailer that one of our friends had bought. But he had to postpone the trip to take care of some things at work, and in the meantime, he bought a horse here (Jack.)

So he really didn’t have to go; Bob easily could have gone back to his original arrangements for getting the trailer home, and nobody would have thought less of him.

But he’s going anyway. Because he said he would. He’s taking a 30 hour (one way) trip halfway across the country for no other reason than to fulfill a promise. That right there defines a man, in my eyes.

And I have no doubt that he’ll bring home a horse or two for himself, but he doesn’t need to go for that. He’s been looking at ads in Texas and Oklahoma; he even had me do some horse-shopping on the internet. He’s got a couple of big ranches to go look at. I predict he’ll come home with a good finished head horse and maybe a younger prospect that he can sell. He’s bringing a horse back for Bob, so that limits him to two.

So it will be an odd week around here. I’ve only got Seamus all weekend, and both the kids are going up to my mom’s for the first half of the week. It will be strangely quiet and terribly boring. The only good thing about it is that I will likely be so bored as to go to the gym. I used to do that a lot on my no-kid weeks before I met Cowboy and found better things to do with my time off, and man, does it show that I don’t now.

Oh well, off to the grocery store so we don’t starve.

Since John is off at Boy Scout camp, I thought that I’d take advantage of only having one kid to keep track of, and I took Seamus with me out to Cowboy’s last night.

I had him a day early, and I really didn’t want to lose one more day with Cowboy, since he’s off to Texas tomorrow, and he’s the kid who’s been interested in the horses. I picked him up and stopped to snack him up, since I know we always go way past his dinnertime.

And promptly got all annoyed at the cashier at the Minimart. Who on earth lets two lines form for one register, and then starts alternating? She was taking people who hadn’t even been in the store when I got in line. Fortunately for my blood pressure, one of the guys buying his after-work 40 of cheap beer saw my jaw jumping and let me go ahead of him. That’s enough of THAT Minimart.

But we got out to the barn and dropped the dog off, and Seamus started playing around, after a few lectures on horse safety. Our friend’s daughter was there—she’s a seven year old, but a hell of a little cowgirl. She was roping the dummy, and I think Seamus was a little intimidated by her, but he warmed up eventually.

We had about a zillion horses saddled up, so I put Seamus up on Rowdy with the kid stirrups and led him around the arena for a while just to see how he’d do. He was fine, so I got on Jack, and ponied that kid around for what felt like hours. I didn’t think he was ready to use the reins himself, and especially not on that horse, so I led him with a lead rope. Eventually, he felt really comfortable and asked to go faster. So we went around in a slow jog, with Seamus bouncing a little in the saddle, but really not too badly for a little guy on his first ride’

Our friend had brought his babysitter horse, who I had intended to put Seamus on by himself, but our cousin Dillon showed up and monopolized old Red. That?s OK; Seamus got to see a few different kids riding around and handling themselves just fine, and any remaining fear he had just disappeared. This is the kid who was afraid to touch the horses last time we were out there, and this time he was bugging to go faster!

I told him that next time; I’d put him on Red, and let him use the reins to steer. He thinks that’s a great idea.

Eventually, he got a little bored, and our horses were needed anyway, so I put him down to go play on the tractor. There were other kids on the ground too, so he had a good ol’ time with them. Now that he seems to show some self-awareness of where he is relative to horses feet, I feel much more comfortable having him around the barn. I stayed on Jack and warmed him up and pushed steers around without worrying too much about Seamus.

The other two little guys have been around the roping much longer than Seamus has, and sooner or later, as they always do, they worked their way over to behind the chute. At one point, Brock (who’s all of three) hadn’t shut the head gate all the way, and Dillon let a steer into the chute. Of course, the steer blew right out the head gate, catching Brock on the head. Fortunately, he got smacked by the gate as the steer went by, and not a horn. There were some tears, but he’s a tough little shit and was back to working the chutes. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen three people less than three feet tall pushing cattle around and working gates.

Cowboy needed my Jack at that point, and the boys were squabbling about who got to work which gate, so I went to maintain order. Dillon, who’s really the best at it, got bored and went off to ride another horse, while Seamus and Brock fought over who did what. Well, more like Brock fought about it; my kid is kind of quiet, even when faced with a shrieking toddler. I showed them both how to watch the header and let the steers out at the right time, and I showed Seamus how to make the cattle move where he wanted them. He got a kick out of that, but eventually got bored and went to play in the dirt.

He’d wanted to ride some more, but all of the kid-friendly horses were otherwise occupied, so he had to entertain himself. Fortunately, there was a whole tractor to play on, and a heel-o-matic, which is a roping dummy for the heel end that jumps feet up and down. He and Brock were having all sorts of fun roping that. And I don’t care if “roping” means putting a rope right on it with both hands at this point; I’m just glad to see him interested in it.

While we were unsaddling, the two little girls just kept riding around and around in the dark. We easily could have left them, and they would have been perfectly happy to ride all night. The horde of boys (four? five? I don’t know, they were moving too fast) were running around letting the big boys rope the smaller ones, and playing roping steer with the chutes. Good thing the arena footing is soft, because there was a lot of heeling of small children and faces planted in the dirt. They all came up giggling though.

At one point, Cowboy was leading in Tommy’s grey colt to unsaddle, and Seamus must have asked for a ride. So he swung him up on the saddle, and started to lead him off. Until the horse got a glimpse of something moving up there, that is. Seamus doesn’t weigh too much, and that colt must have thought Cowboy was sticking a rope up there or something, because he kinda freaked when he saw Seamus move, and got all sideways.

Cowboy rescued Seamus, and put him up on Blaine’s horse behind her. That was so cute; I really regretted not bringing my camera out for that one. A six and a seven year old just riding around together; now that’s why I wanted to bring him out there. Blaine’s horse used to be one of our roping horses until her dad bought the mare for her. She was a majorly wound up mare with Chris roping on her, but she takes incredible care with kids. You don’t find something like that every day, and Blaine’s going to go far on the Junior Rodeo circuit on her.

It was way past Seamus’ bedtime when we finally got home, and nobody felt much like cooking. I made him choke down a bowl of cereal, but he was nodding off at the table. Hey, I figure I force healthy food down that kid’s piehole every single day that I have him. One dinner of Frosted Flakes isn’t going to kill him.

It’s pretty rare that I can just relax and have fun with my kids. Usually, I’m pretty well occupied being a mom, or doing something that needs doing. I don’t get to just play with them very often. But last night, we both had a great time. I think I’ll start bringing them both out on one night a week when I have them. I don’t have to concentrate on riding, but I don’t have to worry about them quite as much as I used to. They’re growing up! Except maybe for John, who is easily three times as difficult to be around as Seamus and not interested in the horses. I will have to keep him from dismantling the tractor.

But I’ll make a cowboy out of one of ‘em yet.