Coach Kitty

I had volunteered to be an assistant coach for my eldest son’s soccer team.  I know that they are short volunteers.  I know that parent involvement is important.  So I said I would assist.  Just assist.

I get a phone call one week before the first game.  “We can’t get a hold of the coach.  Could you pick up the equipment, and call all the players.  Oh – and try calling the coach.”

I say okay, but have no luck reaching the coach.

I contact the league, explain my predicament.  And I’m told “Congrats – you’ve been promoted”.

So, I attend a clinic. Plan my practice.  Do Meet and Greet with the parents and players.

I run the practice.  150 Variations of tag.  And chasing balls.  And chasing me.  “Catch the Coach” seemed to be the game of the night.  Scary that young kids can run that fast.

I’m proud that I did it.  Tons more to go, of course.  But I did it.  I didn’t hide behind my size or my gender (I believe I am the only female coaching a boys team in this age group).

Next practice we have to actually talk about soccer.

What has been keeping me busy

My sister in law is trying to divorce her husband.  He is an ass.  However, he is a hardworking ass who is a reasonably good father (for an ass), and pays all the bills, and generally enables her to stay home.  She is not a smart girl, tough start, as well as a slew of learning disabilities that pretty much renders her unemployable.

The tricky part is that she and her boyfriend (also an ass) keep calling the police because she is “afraid of her husband”.  The last time the cops were called in, she was trying to get him to turn off the TV to talk to her.  She was on the phone with her boyfriend.  Hubby refused, saying if she wanted him to turn off the TV, she should get off the phone.  She unplugged the TV.  He yanked the phone from her hand.  911.

Even the cops said “You should NOT call your boyfriend in front of your husband.  Just don’t do it”.

Like talking to a brick wall.  Except the brick wall isn’t mouthy.

Spousal abuse is a serious matter.  Very serious.  However, despite the assness of the husband, despite the fact that he is not a great partner, not a supportive partner and not really a nice guy, he does not physically abuse his wife.  I’m annoyed that my sister in law is trying to work the system so that he gets forced out of his home.  Because if he *has* to leave, then she doesn’t have to try to *earn* him leaving by (gasp) earning some money.

My Foster Pony (part 2)

My Pony and I connected immediately.  I really liked her.  She seemed to like me too, as she didn’t seem to try to bite me as much as other people.

I decided that the biting had to stop.  We worked on that for a few weeks.  Every time I went up to see her, we would go for a walk, eat grass (mostly her), and I’d pet her and scratch her neck.  I didn’t ask for anything, other than company.  I tried not to do any of the things that would make her bite, like touching her legs, or her belly.  Or going for her face right away.  I just wanted to earn her trust.

After a few visits, she started to know who I was.  She would walk over to me when I came into her field.  She would come to the fence if I called her.  When I put her back, she would follow me along the fence line.

I started making demands on her.  I was to be allowed to groom her.  And she was not allowed to bite me.  If she tried (or succeeded – OUCH), she got a smack.  It took a very short time where her bite-impulse changed to just a pissy look and flat back ears.

Eventually there came a time I could groom her anywhere with any brush.  She didn’t always like it – but she always tolerated it.  There was always lots of rewards.  Lots of scratches and carrots.

It was time to do her feet.  She hated anyone touching her feet.  When I picked her her front ones, she would bite me in the ass.  When I picked up her back ones, she’d kick out at me.  With time and patience, that too became tolerable.  She anticipates the next foot, and never kicks out. She does nuzzle my butt, and if my shirt goes up, she loves to sniff at my back.  It still makes me nervous though – if she bit me there, that would hurt.

Things were getting a bit more complicated at the rescue.  Rumours were flying about trouble with the landlord.  There was a push to get horses adopted.  My Pony was pretty much unadoptable.  With tons of free, safe, sound, rideable horses out there, a bitchy unrideable mare was not going to do well.

I had to get her to take a rider.

The internet is full of creepies

I have said it before, and will likely say it again: I write this blog for me. Very few people read it (hi all 4-6 of you!). Which is fine. But it is nice when new people drop by. I do find some neat blogs that way. One time, when I posted something in Violet’s comments, I got over 40 hits. Wow.

But I have noticed in the last couple of weeks that more people are dropping by. How neat. My readership has doubled. Yep – 8 people a day. Sometimes 6, occasionally 12. But 8 is a good average number.

I decided to look at what brings people to my site.

Imagine my shock:

Holy Fuck, what have I done?  I’m attracting creepy folks who want to look at photos of kids to my site.

Nasty.

(note how I avoided any “key” phrases…and the terrible “p” word)
The post in question was one about body image at the Great Wolf Lodge.

I have changed the title.

Bring on my 4 loyal readers!

My Foster Pony (part 1)

I got back into horses a few years ago.

I was raised riding and loving horses. I started taking lessons when I was 2 or 3.  I was good, and loved every minute at the barn. I took a break in my teens, got back into them in University, then had to park that hobby because I was very busy and didn’t have any money (note:  if I ever go back in time, remind me to kick myself in the ass, as I was neither busy nor broke compared to my life today).

A few years ago, I started feeling drawn back to horses.

Two summers ago, I found a rescue farm that was within driving distance of my house.  I called them, asked to come out.  It was great to be back with horses.  I decided to become a volunteer.  And a sponsor.  I paid 50.00 a month to feed a horse.  Basically – I felt that this was a good cause, and I thought that for 50.00 a month, I could come and play with horses.

Now – the owner of the farm was a complete nut bar, but it was obvious she had a good heart.

During my first year, I mostly groomed, help feed, or just sat being with horses.

During my second year, I wanted more.  I had been doing reading, watching lots of the training that was going on at the farm.  I wanted to work with the horses.  I have good instincts.  I can read a horse well.  My riding skills were lacking, but with horses that have issues, most work needs to be done on the ground.

In a rescue, horses come and go.  Sometimes without warning.

I went up one day, and spotted a shiny new horse in a field.  Now, normally new horses look like crap.  This one was gorgeous.  I asked the owner for the story.  She said “oh – she has come back.  She is sour.  A bitch.  We’ll never get anyone on her”.  I thought, hmmm, that is fine, she is too small for me anyway.  I asked if I could play with the new horse.  I was told yes, but to be careful.  She was known to bite and kick.

I approached her confidently.  I don’t like to bring any negative energy to a horse.  I let her walk over to me.  When she seemed ready, I reached out to pet her on the shoulder.

She stood still.  She tried to bite me.  But she didn’t walk away.

I had met my Pony.

A Perfect Day

Sunday.

Woke up, not late, but not early.  Everyone was chipper.

Woke up daddy, he made pancakes while I read with kids.

After breakfast, daddy went back to bed.

For the next hour and a half, I sat on the sofa, reading books and drinking coffee.

The doorbell rang at 1130 – a friend of my eldest was calling to play.  She was worried that she had woken us up. We were all still in our jammies!

We played inside for a bit.  Daddy took one child to do the weekly groceries.  The rest of us went outside.

Groceries done, shopping child sent out to me in the park.  Lunch made.  Friend went home.

After lunch, my eldest and I went to the barn.  We caught the horses, groomed them, tacked them up, brought them out to the paddock to ride around a bit.

My eldest mounted my foster Pony by himself.  I lightly held the reins, but I wasn’t holding her still.  I did also hold the stirrup so that it was still for mounting.  But he got up there.  Just amazing.  And Pony stood so very very still.

I spent some time on the ground – providing a refresher course in riding.  Then I hopped up  on my Boy. Around we went.  Chatting, listening, learning, trying.  It was amazing.  The sun was shining.   There were birds around.  We saw a hawk and some turkey vultures.  My Boy was calm and under control.  My Pony was trying so hard to do what her young rider was asking her to do.

After about 15 or 20 minutes (I’d promised we wouldn’t stay long, as we were riding in summer grazing land, and don’t want to ruin the grass), we walked to the gate.  We got off.  Good Boy.  Good Pony.  Kisses.

Walked them back to the barn.  My eager student learned about taking tack off.  Then we hand-grazed the horses.  (Hand-grazing is sort of like taking a horse for a walk).

We put them back in the field, and headed home.  We had plans with the rest of the family.

Head out for a bike ride.  Explore a river.  Come home to a yummy smelling house. Mmmm  garlic!

Play outside while dinner is made for us.

Still light out after dinner – so we head out with neighbourhood friend to play until bathtime.

A perfect day.

I’m so freaking lucky.  I really am.

Some things just don’t go together

I need coffee.  Love coffee.  Can’t go through a day without coffee.

(I’m sure Violet feels the same way – but I assure you all, there is no competition there.)

We go through lots of coffee here each day.  My partner takes a thermos to work.  I drink almost a pot myself.

In the morning, after the thermos is filled, a few more scoops of coffee, and a bunch more water is added so I can make it through the day.

This morning, when I came down, the coffee smelt funny.  And my glass from last night was still on the counter.  It had been filled with gin and tonic.  I didn’t get to drink it (what a waste) as a child woke up sick.

I stuck my head in the shower.  Asked if the cup had been emptied and cleaned before getting water to make more coffee.  “I think so…maybe” came the sleepy reply.

The coffee was finished.  I poured a cup.

Gin, tonic, lime and coffee.  Not a good mix.

I made a fresh pot.

The cost of a horse

We are not rich.  We are really not rich.  We live delightful middle class lives, in a smallish, but respectable home.  1 1/2 baths, no garage, no giant fancy master bedroom (actually, we don’t have a master bedroom, since we sleep with our kids, but that is another story).

I keep my horse a secret.

Because people think that having a horse is a crazy luxury, and if I have one it must mean I’m filthy rich.

Horses are, in fact, a luxury item.  And there are certainly millions of ways to spend money on a horse once you get one.  (Tack stores are huge problems for me.  I restrict myself to once a month, unless it is for medication, and I make a list and keep to it)

Horses can be very expensive to buy.  Fancy smancy eventing horses or race horses can cost a ton of money.  Easy to spend 20,000 to 100,000 on one of these.  And if you have one of these, you’d want to show it, train it, work with it, and get the vet out at the slightest sign of injury or illness.  You’d want a boarding stable that looked at the horses 3 or 4 times a day to spot for the slightest sign of injury or illness.  You’d want a pasture with only your horse, or maybe one other horse in it, so as to reduce the likelyhood of injury.  Just board – 600 to 1000 a month.  Easy.

Most horses are actually quite cheap.  In my area you can get a decent, sound, safe riding horse for free to about 3000.  If a horse has a show record or is particularly special, you could see 5000.  But rarely.

Keeping a horse, however, is where the money adds up.   For an average boarding stable, with indoor stalls and outdoor turnout, indoor riding ring 400-600 a month.  Outdoor only board can be found for 200-250.  Horses checked and fed a couple times a day.  4-6 horses to a turnout.

My boarding stable is low, low frills.  It is also cheap.  Which is really the only reason I can afford to have a horse.  My partner (love him!) made it clear that I cannot, at any time, decide that I *need* to be at a 500 a month facility.  I need to make my boarding situation work.

There are things that I don’t like about it.  There are things I would do differently if I could.  But I am making this work for me, since it is the only way I can keep a horse.

The worst part of my barn is that the horses don’t get checked.  The owner lets them in, lets them out, but doesn’t do a look over.  The other complicated part is that all the horses are in the same turnout.  20 horse.  One small muddy pasture (summer is  much better – but we can’t let them ruin the summer pasture in the winter or else there will be no grass for the summer).

The best part is that it is so close that I can get there every day.   I can do the check.

But I figure that keeping a horse costs me 2500 a year (not including tack and grooming stuff). Which isn’t terrible for something that brings me so much joy.

Board each month costs me my cable, plus a cell phone, my cleaning lady (who used to come once a month), 2 dinners out a month plus 20 bucks that I scramble for (meatloaf for dinner anyone?).

I have made sacrifices to keep my horse.  I’m not rich.  But I’m happy.

RIP Ratty

I am a rodent girl.  I love them.  I’ve had hamsters, gerbils, mice, a chinchilla.  I’ve always wanted a rat.  But rats were out of the question when I was younger, and when I had my own apartment, mice fit better.  Pet rats need people.  They need space.  They need stimulation.  I could not offer that as a student.

My partner is *not* a rodent person.  Doesn’t “get” the attraction.

We have plenty of pets.  Dogs, cats, fish (oh – and a horse or two).

Rodents (rats in particular) had not been invited to join our family.

But I wanted I rat.  My friends had rats.  Rats are great for kids (they are gentle, like people, and are solid enough not to get squeezed to death by accident, and they can generally handle a child-height drop – not that I would encourage the testing of that statement).

My eldest found a dog wandering the neighbourhood in the fall, just before Thanksgiving.  We called the humane society, and they came to pick the dog up.  My kids were worried about what was going to happen to the dog, so I promised that we would go to the humane society first thing in the morning to visit her.

When we arrived, we explained who we were.  The owners had come first thing to pick up their dog.  My kids were delighted that she had gone home.  We looked around.  Cute kittens.  Lots of black-and-tan dogs of mixed parentage.  Birds and rabbits…and a couple of rats.

One rat looked at me with such a kind stare.  He sniffed at my fingers.  I asked to pick him up.  I did.  He snuggled right down. He was content.  I asked my eldest to hold him.  Same deal.  Calm, content, cuddly.  I asked my younger children to sit down.  The rat sat on their lap happily.  He was at least 2 years old.  Rats are expected to live for 2-3 years.  I hate seeing old pets at the shelter.  Particularly such well behaved ones. They deserve better.

There is no money for unnecessary pet supplies.  Particularly for a unnecessary pet.  I put it out to the universe, which generally takes care of me, that I needed a rat cage by the end of the week.  If I got a rat cage, I would convince my partner to let me take home the senior ratty that behaved so well with the kids.

By Friday, I had 2 cages.  After some cleaning, I settled on one.  Dragged partner to humane society to meet the rat.  Later that night, he said yes.

We brought our rat home, and he fit right in immediately.  He liked to cuddle for about 5 minutes before going off to explore.  He liked riding on my shoulder.  He wasn’t allowed on my computer, although he did try to walk over the keys.  He loved my eldest, who was allowed to play with him unsupervised (eventually).  He loved waffles.  He’d beg at the bars of his cage when he smelt them.  He wouldn’t eat in your hands. He’d take the food away to eat it.  He liked chicken bones.  And muffins.  He ate fruit and vegetables like he knew they were good for him, but was a much bigger fan of bread and pasta.  Aren’t we all?

On Friday, we had waffles for breakfast.  He had some.  He was begging for food on Friday night.

On Saturday, around lunchtime, I went up to clean his cage.  He was lying on the floor, twitching and breathing fast.  I knew he was dying.  I picked him up, and he cuddled right in.  I stroked him, and he fell asleep.  I couldn’t put him down, but needed to feed the kids.  So I put him in my sling (what I carried my children in when they were younger) and strapped him to me.  He rode in there for hours, occasionally waking, taking some water that I offered, then drifting back to sleep.

Then he started to push me away.  He wanted to go back to his cage.  He wanted to be alone.

I tucked him in his cardboard box, and hoped it would be quick.

I found him out of his box when I checked on him, and he didn’t seem to want to be *in* anything.  I checked on him every half hour or so.  His breathing grew weaker, and more shallow.  He liked the lights off.  Every hour, I touched him lightly and told him it was okay to go.

I found him dead at 1130 last night.  His body was still warm, he hadn’t been gone long.

I sobbed and sobbed.  My little guy.  My special little cuddle-monster-waffle-loving rat.

I miss him already.

My kids, on the other hand, have shed their tears, but are wondering if we can get a pet sword-fish now.

Sylvain – Interview Question #1

Sylvain asked:

1. Did you have a best friend growing up? What is your fondest memory of time spent with this person? Also, what was the absolute craziest thing you two did?

Kitty answers:

I had lots of best friends growing up.

My first best friend was a little boy named Corey. We were 2. I remember him. Which is odd. He had a neat “under the stairs”. Although I don’t remember anything crazy that we did – I do remember walking to his house. It was very very windy. I could barely walk. I had to hold my mom’s hand really tightly.

My longest best friend (and the person I still consider to be my best friend, though we don’t see each other as often as we could) was someone I met in grade 5. She is one of the most wonderful people I have ever known, and one that I can trust with anything. She has a generous spirit than shines through despite the shit she has been dealt through life. I can ask her for anything, and she’d try her best to give it to me. I can ring her doorbell any time, day or night, and know that I’ll be ushered in and offered tea. She makes me feel safe. Always has. Her mom was like that too. I feel blessed to have her in my life.

My last best friend growing up had a huge impact on my life. We did way too many crazy things together (some x-rated), getting us into situations that we were just not quite ready for. He dumped me as a friend after I started university. He had started college, met a girl and moved in with her. He couldn’t handle being my friend and having a girlfriend. I understood and respected his decision. But I missed him. So much. He had been there for me during my darkest times, and still cared for me. He expected nothing more from me than to just be me. That is a rare gem. The craziest thing that happened with him was that one of the women I was helping with breastfeeding a couple of years ago turned out to be his wife. And they lived 10 minutes away from me. Oh – and the girl that couldn’t share him with me? His wife.

I’m still growing up – and I still have best friends. They change. They come and go. Some become “dear” friends – they are special friends that are going to be my friends for always, because of what we have gone through together.