House Overflowing

You would think while I was on medical leave, I would have found plenty of time to blog.  I would have found plenty of things to blog about. But, nope.

I actually sank into a pretty good depression brought on by surgery – recovery – boredom – restrictions and my own definitions of my self worth.

I realized that I define myself less by whom I am and more by what I do.  My self worth is tied up in my ability to be strong, active, busy, problem solving, and volunteering, physical self.

So the restrictions of nothing but bed rest for two weeks after surgery were a prescription for suicidal depression for me.  And yes, I know there are wonderful women who are on bed rest for pregnancy or people who wish their confinement to bed would be temporary.  I cannot speak for them. I can only speak for me.

By the second weekend after my surgery, I was depressed. I was blue. I was down in the dumps.  OK, fine! I was sitting on the floor of my shower with the hot water running full blast and crying for no damn reason. And I hated it.  I am a bit of a control freak (my sister would say way more than a “bit”) and I felt totally out of control of myself.

I am not the woman who can lay about waiting for the maid to bring in the mail or fluff a pillow or serve a lovely afternoon snack.  I don’t do well at being waited on.  I would rather do it myself. Why? I don’t know. It is just the way I am. I am sure some Freudian based psychiatrist would have way too much fun with that issue.

So I was away from the keyboard.  I couldn’t find the gumption to even email or text friends about how I was recovering.  So hence I did not blog. I had nothing to say except to rail against the world and sound like a rather large pity party.

But House Overflowing is over its hiatus and I will be back often. I missed it.

Ok I will admit it.  When I am bored or depressed, I sleep.  Sometimes for hours and hours at a time.  BUT that being said whether or not I sleep during the day, I cannot sleep at night. 

I think I come from a long line of night owls.  I have tried in vain for years to reset my internal clock to a more “normal”(whatever that means) routine. 

I have gotten up at 5:00 every morning and exercised – so I could start my day earlier and energized (the energizer bunny I’m not). 

I have refused to nap during the day- so I would be tired (And yes, Mom, I hear your voice in my head telling me to nap when I was a child because I wouldn’t have time as a grown up). 

I have avoided my bedroom except for sex and sleep, so I would associate my bed with sleeping (but I still associate it with sex which is stimulating and not sleeping – never mind). 

I have become caffeine free (and that includes chocolate!). 

I have done stretching and yoga exercises to quiet my body and my mind before bed (have you ever tried to quiet a body with fibromyalgia?). 

 I have tried to meditate before bed (impossible in our noisy overflowing household).

I have tried warm milk (BLECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

So every night when I go to bed I take a prescription medication to help me fall asleep.  If I don’t take it, I stare at the ceiling. I make a list of things to do tomorrow.  I write wonderful blogs and paragraphs and poetry in my head (which is of course lost to me the next morning). I watch TV with closed captioning (sleeping snoring husband) I get out of bed and wander the house. I go outside (weather permitting) and sit on the deck and stare at the stars.  I wonder about friends and family.  I make great plans to rearrange – remodel – redo the house.  I plan the next week’s menu (which I can remember in the morning – must be the food thing).  I think about finances (the lotto is my retirement plan). I think about politics (don’t get me started).  I think about my own spiritual journey.  I contemplate the cosmos BUT I do not fall asleep until at least 3 or 4 in the morning.

So while I was on my forced leave from work for surgery recovery, I did an experiment.  I discovered that if left to my own devices my perfect world require getting up at 11:30 a.m. or so and going to sleep at 3:30 a.m.  Same amount of sleep.  Same amount of awake time.  Just a very different internal clock. Which would be great if I worked shift work.  But alas I have a basic M-F 9-5 type job.

Of course I am married to a non-night owl. (Opposites do attract).  He is asleep by 10:30 most evenings if not earlier and that includes taking a little 30 minute power nap before dinner. He is awake by 7:00 am (that’s sleeping in)  He doesn’t see the attraction of all night diners, theaters that have an 11:00 p.m. showing, stores which are open 24/7 (although he might if it were a Home Depot) or sitting out on the deck at the wee hours.

I try to be a considerate insomniac.  I am quiet.  I move around in the dark.  I slip out of the bed slowly as not to jostle him awake.  I creep around like a mouse.  I avoid the squeaky parts of the floor.

But truth be known, I hate my out of kilter internal clock.  I feel disconnected from the world when I let my out of sync clock rule. 

Am I the only one that has this issue? 

Maybe I just wish to sleep – perchance to dream.

Yes I know I am supposed to be in bed 24/7 “getting up for short walks”.  But as I have said, I suck at laying around.

Saturday, my daughter and the rest of the circus took me to Hobby Lobby to buy some fleece to make a tie blanket for a baby shower gift.  Tie blankets are ridiculously easy to make and a fabulous gift for anyone.

Anyway, I offered to buy lunch for the whole circus on the way home.  As we went through a drive through (not a national chain) I saw Colorado Peach sale across the street.  I made my daughter stop.  I bought an 18 lb box of Colorado Western Slope Peaches.

I no real plans for the peaches, until my son in law piped up and said – so when are you making cobbler?

Now cobbler is something I make when I can’t figure out what to do with rapidly ripening fruit that I have bought too much of.  Cobbler is very easy (at least my way is) and it is such wonderful comfort food.

Fruit Cobbler

Preheat oven to 350

3-4 lbs of the fruit of your choice (works well with peaches, apples, pears, blue, black, huckle berries) (I used 8 large peaches last night)

2/3 – 1 cup sugar – depends on the sweetness of the fruit (I use less for blue berries and more for apples)

1 tablespoon of flour

Place peeled and sliced fruit or washed berries in a sauce pan with sugar and flour.  Simmer on medium low until juice from the fruit has thickened.

While the fruit is cooking, mix up a batch of biscuits.  Feel free to use a biscuit mix if you like ( I do).  Add 1/2 cup sugar to the biscuit recipe. Don’t over work the biscuit dough (it should look barely mixed and be sticky – use a fork to mix) Place biscuit dough in the bottom of a greased baking dish (I use a very old deep rectangular metal pan)  I also double the biscuit recipe due to the size of my family.

Pour hot fruit over the biscuit dough and pop into the oven for about 30 -35 minutes.  You can serve with ice cream or whipped topping or just by itself hot from the oven. 

Cobbler is a true comfort food. 

Everyone in my family, with the exception of my son, love cobbler (my son doesn’t like cooked fruit except for strawberry rhubarb pie which I heard about last night)

Anyway it is a quick and easy dessert that even someone who is only allowed to take short walks and do light cooking can make and enjoy!

My sister turned 40 yesterday.  That means I am getting much older.

I remember when she was born.  It was back in the day of Dads-to-be pacing a smoke filled waiting room.  My step-dad was puffing like a freight train on his pipe.  He was just shy of his 35th birthday and this was his first child.

This was also back when then new mothers didn’t get to see their newborns until they had recovered from anestesia. I think Dad and I saw her first. She was beautiful (for a newborn) but had a resemblance to a spider monkey – long and lean and the longest darn fingers and toes I had ever seen on a baby (before or since) with a head full of dark dark hair.  The nurse brought her by the waiting room in a double isolette with the other newborn who was born at the same time.  My sister looked so tiny as this other child had entered the world weighing a good 9-1/2 pounds.

She managed by her birth to do a couple of things to change my life – a) I was an only child until her noisy arrival and b) I was the only kid starting 8th grade with a newborn sibling at home (not so unusual now but in ’69 it was very odd)

She was also the reason that at the birth of my first child, I turned down the bathing your baby – diapering your baby – holding your baby classes the hospital was so insistant that I attend since I was a prima-para.  Sorry, not coming to that class,  been there done that and my sister had taught me well.

I was awed by her beauty and terrified by her grand mal seizures at the ripe old age of 10 days.  I had to laugh when she came home from the hospital and they had shaved the top of her baby head making her look like the twin of my bald fringe around the edge Dad.

I rocked her while reading homework assignments when she was fussy.  I would check her blankets and stroke her toddler cheek when I got home from dates.  I took her on dates to the drive in, the beach and the circus.

She was just shy of her 8th birthday when I went states away to finish my college degree.  She was just shy of her 10th birthday when in her words I ran away and got married.  I didn’t run away, I just left the East Coast. Our mother drove me to the airport – how is that running away?

So living in the Rockies while she grew up on the East Coast made me miss a few things.  Like her deciding to shave her head. Her senior prom.  Her high school graduation. I was there for her wedding and listening long distance to her divorce.  I wasn’t there for the birth of three children (in three different states I might add) but she has shared her children with me through the internet – phone calls – photos etc.

My sister and I are a lot alike and yet very different. We are both independent as hell and the meanest Mama Bears on the block. We both cherish our families. She now has duty with our mother who is living with her. Our mother was with my family for four years.  We both smoke and should probably quit.  We both grew up on a diet of budget stretching meals and indulgent Southern cooking.  We both have wicked senses of humor and find puns hysterical. We both are good at public speaking and love to help where we can.

My sister is bright and beautiful.  She has a woman who adores her and six fabulous kids – 3 of hers and 3 of hers.  She is thoughtful, caring and is deeply wounded when a friend or family member is hurt (although she would never admit it) She has always held my hand long distance as I have strugglerd with our mother, our other sister and personal health issues. And I have tried to hold hers.

I guess she is middle aged now since the average female life span in the US is around 80.  Although they say that 40 is the new 20. Thank God I am over 50, I don’t want to be 20 or 30 again.

I thought long and hard about how to celebrate her 40th birthday. She has a wonderful woman, 6 great kids, a very cool and retro house in Chicagoland, a great community of friends and is very happy.  So short of a winning Lotto ticket I couldn’t think of a thing to get her.

So, sister here’s your birthday gift……..

Yes I know Mom always loved you BEST!!!

and I am okay with that!!!

I love you with all my heart, baby girl!

I am bored.  I am tied to staying in bed as much as possible and doing NOTHING (yes all caps in my post operative instructions) for at least two weeks after surgery.  It has been a week and a day.  I can only nap and watch daytime TV so much.

Don’t get me wrong, I like that I can watch NCIS, Law and Order, Bones and movies during the day.  I have never  been a Soap Opera person.  My mother used to watch Days of Our Lives every day.  She never missed an opportunity to watch her stories.  My great-grandmother was the same.  But I was never hooked except for…..

Dark Shadows.   It came on just as I got home from school. (No TiVo back then). I would try to watch it everyday. Barnabas was wonderful.  The story line was classic soap opera but with a gothic vampire twist.  I heard Johnny Depp wants to play Barnabas in a movie version of Dark Shadows. I don’t know if he will live up to Jonathon Frid but it should be interesting nonetheless.

I hadn’t thought about Dark Shadows much until the current vampire-ness came on the scene.  The Twilight series, True Blood, Thirst, Underworld Series (I likes Rise of the Lycans) have all added to the vampire “craze”.  Now I have to admit I am a huge fan of vampires and werewolves, witches and goblins, those creatures that live in the dark on the edge of human awareness. I am just way behind on the current literature and movies.

I have seen the first of the Twilight movies.  I have not read the books although well read dog eared copies are in my house.  I just started reading the Charlaine Harris series.  RJ, my 13 yr old niece is way ahead of me on this count as is my daughter.

So I guess I should just settle down and get caught up on my vampire literature and movies.  I just am not one to lay in bed and hang out.  I want to clean the house, clean out my closet, be productive during this down time. But I have been yelled at by my doctor (and my daughter is constantly harassing me to go back to bed) so I am going to behave.

I want to heal and I want to avoid having this surgery again.  So off into the world Sookie Stackhouse and Bella and Edward I go!

Well it has been two days since my surgery. And I cannot believe how freaking tired I am.

I have had surgery before – two c-sections – a partial hysterectomy – shoulder repair plus a few others. And I don’t remember being this tired.  I feel like a large lump of goo.

I am not good at recovery.  I am not good at laying in bed waiting for my body to heal.  Yes I know it is necessary.  Yes I know I don’t want to screw this up. Yes I know I have to behave.  But I suck at it!!!

I miss seeing my horses. I miss going to work (yes I know I probably have some work psychosis). I want to clean my house.  I want to clean out my closet.  I want to rearrange my bedroom.  I want to power cook and bake for the next several weeks. I miss driving. 

I am not good at depending on other people.  Ok truth be known I really suck at depending on other people.  Maybe it is because from a fairly young age I had to depend on myself.

The surgery itself went fairly well. The doctor not only installed a sling to prevent further stress leaking but she also repaired a cystocele.  So a little more work than planned.  I also lost a bit more blood than normal.  So they kept doing a blood test to check my hematocrit.  Fortunately I was allowed to come home instead of spending the night in the hospital.

My inner thighs are the most uncomfortable which I guess is due to being stretched in the knees and feet in the air stirrup leg rest thingys.

Fortunately, I am peeing just fine.  I returned to the doctor yesterday to have the Foley and vaginal packing removed.  Geez having the vaginal pakcing removed felt like the magician trying to get all the hankerchief out of his pocket. Holy cow!  The NP filled my baldder, removed the catheter and then had me pee into a hat on the toilet to see if aI could pee want she put in.  I passed that test with flying colors.

But I am a long way from feeliong 100%.  I am tired.  I am sore. And I am impatient!!!

I had a partial hysterectomy 20 years ago.  No more Baby Motel for me.  And I did the happy feet dance. No mourning the loss of my womb for me. No more severe bleeding, monstrous cramps, needing a wash cloth to clean up at tampon changing and no more birth control.

I never embraced my monthly cycle as a validation of my womanhood. I saw it has a huge pain in the…..neck.  I have two children, now grown.  I was a great pregnant person but a lousy baby deliverer.  I had two c-sections.  I attempted a vaginal delivery with my second child but it was a no go.

Courtesy of Kotex.com

Why am I writing about this? Well I have always found the stirrup position mostly embarrassing.  OB-GYN’s are not my favorite type of people.  I like the OB part.  I think bringing babies into the world is wonderful.  It is GYN part I never understood or enjoyed.  I realize the female plumbing system is fraught with dangers and many things, if caught early that do not have to be a life sentence. But I have always avoided PAP smears and mammograms like the plaque itself. Not the smartest thing but nobody ever accused me of being a genius.

All of this was brought to my up close and embarrassing attention several months age.  For several years I have ….well…leaked whenever I coughed or sneezed or laughed or sometime lifted a bale of hay.  With my usual aplomb I ignored this mostly annoying problem. Finally I got tired of pads and feeling like I smelled like pee.

So it was off to see the family doctor. After receiving a referral and delaying for a couple of months it was off to a specialist.  Now I understand Urogynecologists are a rare breed.  The metro area where I live is lucky enough to have two of them. I guess.

So I have visited this very lovely, woman staffed only office several times now.  I have met with their nurse practitioner for history.  I have been tested for urodynamics (what exactly is dynamic about peeing?) and the doctor has examined me.

During this examination, the doctor commented my vagina was in great shape and my kegels were strong.  She also commented that the doc that had performed my hysterectomy had done a great job.  Funny, that OB-GYN is now a world-renowned infertility specialist. 

Anyway back to the present.  I had never thought about my vagina as weak, strong or anything. Now do not get me wrong, I have enjoyed my vagina and sexual activity a lot but I just never thought about it much.

Tomorrow morning, at an early hour that is obscene, I am reporting for surgery for stress incontinence.  Today I am limited to only broth and Jell-O and liquids I can see through (you can see through coffee, right?) so I will have a clear bowel system.

My daughter says my bladder needs a hammock. Of course I am hoping it comes with a pool boy and an endless supply of umbrella drinks. I am having the sling procedure. While I am worried about the procedure, after all it is surgery, I am more worried about the recovery.

Learning to self-catherize was interesting.  Being told I cannot lift more than 5 pounds for at least two weeks is disturbing (I think my purse weighs at least 10 pounds. Oh and a bale of hay weighs 65).  And taking a minimum of two weeks off from work is…. well…. against my nature.

So I have been nervous as a cat these last several weeks.  I have been embarrassed. I have cried. I have ignored the pending dates. I have pretended nothing was going to happen. I have played ostrich extremely well.  I have presented myself to world, as this is just no big deal.

But really it is a big deal. I have a hard time telling anyone what the surgery was for.  I have a hard time telling my family, I need their help.  I have not arranged for someone to care for the horses.  I have not figured out how to avoid picking up Baby R as he runs to me, arms up yelling, “Hi, B.”  Or to lift Cd up to ride his horse.

I am a really good caregiver.  I am really good at helping other people.  I am really lousy at asking for help.  I realize that this a time that it is perfectly reasonable to ask for help. I realize that I have a large extended “family” that would be happy to help.  But I just cannot open my mouth and ask for help.

But at least hopefully after tomorrow, I can quit buying pee pads. Quit rushing to the bathroom to sit while I have a coughing fit. And those will be good things.

Last night I realized Baby R was wearing the same t-shirt for the 2nd or 3rd night in a row and I was pretty sure he had 2 day old jelly on his face.  Now his butt was clean and he was happily shrieking after Papa when he got home from work.

I had to stop and wonder why Baby R was still wearing the same USA t-shirt he had worn on Sunday.  Then I realized it has been a hell of a week for Mama.

I think Mama is hanging on as tight as she can but the knot at the end her rope maybe coming untied.

Last week she spent Tuesday and Wednesday night in the hospital with Baby R after a major seizure episode (and no they don’t what it is – they just upped his meds – yes I am frustrated).  Just as she returned from the hospital her Mother in Law had some issues and was taken to the ER.  Of course Daddy has been traveling so Mama went back to the hospital to check on the Mother in Law leaving Uncle is charge of Cd, B and Baby R.  Uncle while he loves his nephews is not real comfortable taking care of 3 of them at one time.  It somewhat overwhelms him.  Especially when Baby R is still stoned from all the meds received while at the hospital.

Then Friday A, the only girl in the sea of grandchildren had a suspicious EKG (being one of the twins who were 10 weeks premature – they get an EKG every year with their annual well child check) while getting her go to kindergarten required by the school system vaccinations.  This EKG was sent to a pediatric cardiologist at the local children’s’ hospital.  Yesterday we found out that next week, A has to go in for an echocardiogram. She may have an enlarged ventricle.  I am not even sure what that means.

Mama has been running a bit ragged getting back to school stuff done.  When did it get so complicated just to go back to school?  Registration, Parents Only Meetings, Back to School Introduce the Teacher to the Kids Meetings, Child Assessment Meetings, Supply List that seems a hundred items long (This is kindergarten!) and of course all of this is times 3 because Cd, Cl and A all start kindergarten this year.

Mama has also been trying to develop her getting out of debt plan which requires making a ton of phone calls and working up a plan.

The weather has been hot, the living room DVD stopped working, Daddy has been traveling and Papa and I haven’t been home much.  So Mama has felt very much like a single parent of five – two of which have some scary health things going on.

So I guess it is ok the Baby R is still wearing his USA t-shirt and could stand a good face scrubbing.  After all, all the kids are fed, busy, in pretty good moods and the house hasn’t been burned down.  After a week of hell if the worst is a dirty face and no change in wardrobe, we are probably going to be ok.

I have been thinking about kitchens a lot lately.  Maybe because mine is in constant use whether for regular meal preparation, putting away groceries, feeding the dogs, feeding the cat, short order cooking or the ever present getting Baby R to get out of the refrigerator.

My sister runs a retro food blog  http://www.retro-food.com.  And when she was designing the blog she asked me for a description of our great grandmother’s kitchen.  Our great grandmother, N, lived in a huge Georgian style house in Mobile Alabama.  What I wouldn’t give to have that house now!  Not in Mobile.  But magically transported here.

Nonetheless, N’s kitchen was huge by today’s standards. But amazingly it had no counters or cabinets.  It had a metal topped work table in the corner where stood the ever faithful Mix Master standing mixer. There was a large Formica (red) topped table with six chairs in the middle of the room.  Under the window was a gas stove.  The top of the tall casement style window had a huge industrial strength fan.  No hood, no microwave, no food processor.  A big white refrigerator stood in the corner to the left of the stove.

The sink was in a cabinet type stand with the sides of the sink being the same porcelain coated cast iron as the sink.  The sides were slanted toward the sink so everything drained in to the sink.  There was no dishwasher (unless you count me and Pearlie Mae) or garbage disposal. The small hanging cabinet over the sink was for drinking glasses and the there was a drawer for everyday flatware and a under the sink cabinet with cleaners etc.

Everyday dishes (and cookies and gum) were kept in a free standing old fashioned pie safe.  Mixing bowls and extra platters were on the bottom shelves.  Bread, crackers and coffee cups were on the top shelf.

N saved everything.  Plastic bread wrappers, aluminum foil, paper bags, string, rubber bands and jars.  There was a small multiple hook wall rack next to the sink - for dish towels but it always had a bread wrapper or washed aluminum foil hanging there to dry.

All the food was kept in one of two pantries.  One was in the corner under the stairs with a full length red gingham curtain for a door.  In there you could find spices, tonics, baking chocolate, flour, sugar, lard, oil, shortening and flavorings.  The other was in the opposite corner and was an actual room with a window that served as a pantry and laundry room.  In there you could find store bought canned goods and a plethora of homemade jarred canned goods.  Fig preserves from the tree in the back yard, Lady Baltimore Relish, pickles, chutneys, tomatoes, green tomato relish and different kinds of berried jellies and preserves.

N’s kitchen had no granite, travertine, stainless appliances, fancy lighting, trash compactor, espresso machine, ice makers (just aluminum ice trays with the lever to you had to pull to crack the ice), bottled, filtered chilled water dispenser And no designer cabinets.

Everything served at her table whether breakfast or supper in the kitchen or dinner in the large dining room was homemade. No microwave popcorn or pizza, no store prepared entree, no instant oatmeal, no instant tea (sacrilege in the South) no lemonade mix and certainly no refrigerator pie crusts or cake mixes.  Everything was made from fresh ingredients and everything took time. 

She baked cakes every Monday. OMG did she bake the most marvelous cakes.  She would begin creaming the butter and sugar the night before letting the Mix Master run on its lowest speed all night.  She made mayonnaise as needed again letting the oil and eggs emulsify overnight in the work horse Mix Master.

Her food was wonderful.  It wasn’t Cordon Bleu (Although her Charlotte Russe might qualify) but it was certainly wonderful home cooking.  Her Black Fruitcake (don’t wrinkle your nose and say yuck) was made this time of year, stored in a dark sideboard wrapped in cheesecloth and “basted” with bourbon every week until the Holidays.  Even the most fruitcake avoiding person would like this.

N taught me to love food.  Not just eating but the menu planning, the preparing, the enjoyment of watching someone enjoy a meal you have prepared and the insistence that no one ever leave your table hungry.

Maybe that is why my kids have always eaten dinner at the table. Or the most important discussions in the world happen in the kitchen. Or the dining room table is the spot of most family meetings. Or why I don’t have a food processor.  To this day I use a spatula from N’s kitchen along with a machete she had for cutting rhubarb and watermelon down to size. I have her hand cranked eat beater hanging on my wall and I can whisk custard with the best of them. And yes I have Mix Master too.

Maybe we don’t need two hundred feet of granite countertops or cherry cabinets.  Maybe we just need the love of providing our families with good food.  Fresh, healthy, homemade.

I haven’t written much about my horses.  Mostly because most people think I am horse obsessed and I have to admit once I am on the subject of horses I can get a bit……overwhelming is probably the right word.

I have four horses.

CJ (Cowboy Jack or Certified Jackass depending on the day) who is an eleven year BLM Mustang gelding from the McCullough Peaks Herd Management Area of Wyoming.  He is a short stocky bay. CJ is my baby – he is just a big puppy dog.

For those of you who do not know, The Bureau of Land Management runs multiple herds of wild mustangs and burros across the U.S.  These are herds of feral horses that were either abandoned by ranchers, farmers, cavalry or explorers. These horses have the basis of their breed in the Mesteno and Kiger horses which were abandoned or escaped from Spanish explorers centuries ago.

I have Kobe (PPF Shot in the Dark) who is a nine year old Quarter Arab gelding.  He is a big tall bay. He is quite the diva and thinks he is a lap horse.

I have Waylen who is a twenty seven year old red dun stock quarter horse gelding.  He is retired from the horse group I work with. He is a medium sized quarter horse.  He thinks he is still two or three years old and like most men tries to keep up with the young guys. But he is the one that got the girl.

And finally I have Jezebel.  A five year old Mustang mare that is from the same herd as CJ.  She is Black Beauty gorgeous which a solid black shiny coat mane and tail with white star.  She is quite the little hussy and will play one gelding against the other.  But the old man, Waylen, is her main guy.

Unfortunately my herd does not live in my backyard.  They are boarded in a self care – not very fancy – stable about 10 minutes from my house. The emphasis is on SELF CARE.  We are responsible for the entire feeding and cleaning etc. 

We have had an amazingly wet spring and summer. The barn has been one huge mud (I am using the term lightly) pit. It has been very difficult to keep any of the outdoor facilities clean and dry. This last week has actually been fairly dry and warm so I knew major barn chores were going to get done.

Yesterday I spent SEVEN AND HALF HOURS at the barn.  I moved all the horses to the back to play in the arena. I scrubbed and cleaned water tanks.  And I cleaned Kobe’s stall and run.  Yesterday was moving day for Kobe, so I had to leave the stall and run in a move in ready condition for the next horse. A different pen had become available, so I was rearranging the herd to be closer together and more convenient for me.

I have never shoveled as much manure as I did yesterday.  I had Mama come down and help or I would still be there today shoveling.  Plus we unloaded some bales of hay and 50 lb bags of grain.

There is not a muscle in my back, arms, hips, knees or ankles that are not busily reminding me that I don’t do manual labor for a living.  I think my hands actually hurt the most.

By the time we left – just before sunset – the horses were clean – fed and settled into the new pen. They had fresh water, fresh hay, peppermint treats and an abundance of rubs and loves.

And of course had they already pooped in the new sparkling clean pen! I think I am going to teach the horses how to shovel their own manure!