PrintKarmic forces conspired to keep the girl from getting to the barn on Tuesday. I arrived home from a long day at work with just a few minutes to shove something in my mouth before turning around to go back out the door to a library trustee meeting.
After greeting the husband and the boy, I asked about the whereabouts of the girl. Husband pointed into the living room, which I had breezed through on my way in. Upon closer examination, I did see the girl, stuffed between the chair-and-a-half and the ottoman of the chair-and-a-half. Yes, that was indeed the girl, lying face-down in the crack between the chair and ottoman. The two pieces of furniture were not that far apart, so she was, sort of, suspended above the carpet. I’m not really sure how she did that, but it clearly wasn’t the time to ask.
I did ask her what was wrong. The girl is 12. So, any mother of a 12-year-old will not be surprised to hear that the answer I received was, “Smmmaaand brrrhnnn.” Translation? I think it was, “Oh, I am just lying here practicing my yoga meditation,” or perhaps it was, “Mom, this carpet design is truly fascinating! How did you and Dad make such a perfect choice?”
But alas, no, my translation was slightly off, and apparently the girl’s plan to go to the barn tonight had fallen apart. The girl usually goes to the barn directly from school, with the heaven-sent bus driver dropping her off right at the bottom of the barn driveway. But today, the girl had made the mature decision to stay after school to get some extra help with schoolwork and a head start on homework. She planned to go to the barn later in the evening with one of the young adult riders. I approved said plan since I would be out at a meeting, and the boy would be at hockey practice with the husband.
But the young adult rider had a change in plans and wasn’t going to the barn, which in turn meant that the girl wasn’t going either.
To suggest that the girl was a wee bit disappointed would be akin to suggesting that some of us feel slightly sympathetic toward the residents of Haiti.
Super Mom Syndrome kicked in, and I quickly calculated the possibility of blowing off the library trustee meeting and going to the barn instead. CHILD DISAPPOINTED, MUST FIND SOLUTION NOW!!!!!
Instead, I took a deep breath, and commiserated with the girl about how unfortunate it was that she wouldn’t be riding today. And I assured her that the earth would continue to rotate on its axis, the sun would rise in the morning, and her brother would probably come home from hockey practice and attempt to fart in her face.
Two nights later, similar circumstances pointed to the possibility of another barnless day. I received frantic text messages and a phone call where the girl was incapable of completing a sentence. We had a commitment at the school in the evening, and the math teacher had requested the girl’s presence at an afterschool extra help session. A promise to take her to the barn after the school event allowed the girl to resume breathing and averted another potential natural disaster.
So, here I sit, at 9 p.m. (on a school night) at the barn. She can’t go two days in one week without seeing her pony. And neither can mom.
