Your Money at Work

We went through three years of dance school and, consequently, three years of dance recitals. Yes, like loving mothers everywhere, I had the ubiquitous photos on the fridge. (I think we still have at least one of them there: our little angel tarted up in feathers and lamé looking like nothing so much as a toddler in a tiara.) 

My very first round as a dance mom, I attended the dress rehearsal. My now teenage daughter was five, and her group was supposed to be fairies. They wore green and pink stretchy velvet dresses, flower wreaths and gauzy wings (the costumes were sluttier in subsequent years; these were actually pretty sweet). The choreography included flitting about and tumbling. Their fifteen minutes of fame was compressed into about three.

Another mother sitting behind me in the auditorium tapped me on the shoulder. "Your money at work," she said, gesturing to the stage.

These days, dance school is but a distant sequined memory. Our daughter is all about the horses and the entire household must follow suit. For three years, she attended equestrian camps ("your money at work"). This year, she went away to a renowned horsemanship clinic in Vermont. It was only ten days but there was much expense entailed: trailering the pony up and back, the program fees, new equipment, room and board with a host family, a weekend at a B&B for my husband and me at the end.

We dropped her off the last Saturday in June. As always when my daughter is away, I missed her terribly. But, the week went by pretty quickly with work and the 4th of July. Before we knew it, we were driving back up. We visited the facility on Saturday for a three-phase event (dressage, stadium jumping, cross-country), did some sightseeing Sunday, and Monday, picked her up and brought her home.

Since cell phone service was sketchy at best (and my daughter had more fun things to do than call us when it did work), we had a lot of catching up to do. Here's a quick rundown of her experience:

• 1 sixth place ribbon

• 2 intensive riding lessons each day
• 6 hours of barn chores each day

• 3 demerits for not cleaning her saddle well enough

• 1 rope swing into the Ottauquechee river
• 7 nighttime bike rides (without a helmet)
• 5 new BFFs
• 4 chicken caesar wraps
• 2 sunburns
• 10 mosquito bites
• 1 spider bite (we think)
• .5 showers per day (don't ask)
• 0 letters home
• 13 horse-crazy roommates
• 56 ounces of Starburst candies

"Your money at work."

The equine experience of a lifetime? I have no idea what we spent, but suffice it to say, it was not inconsequential.

Having my daughter home again, happy and in one piece? Priceless.

And She's Gone Again

I'm not a sleeper. Never have been. Oh, I can fall asleep all right (usually, unfortunately, in the middle of a book I'm trying to finish). But, the wee hours of the morning invariably find me tossing and turning. 

It's about stress. 

These days, my "to do" list is so long that I'm convinced it slinks down the stairs from my third-floor office like a poisonous snake, insinuates itself under my bedroom door, climbs up the bedpost, wraps itself around my neck and ... voilà. Sleep no more.

When I do find myself suddenly awake at 4 am, the first thing I do is head to my teenage daughter's room. (Well, actually, the very first thing I do is try to go back to sleep. Without success.) I tiptoe over to her bed and watch her breathe for a minute. Very Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, I know, I know. But, it's my little ritual and it gives me a bit of relief. With my daughter deep in the sleep of the just and innocent, I can check off one worry.

This morning, I waited until the respectable hour of 4:45 before I gave up and got up. But, there was no reason to look in on my daughter.

She's gone again.

Yesterday, we dropped her off at a horsemanship clinic in Vermont. Her boyfriend (all 950 equine pounds of him) had been trailered up a couple of days before. Their reunion was particularly joyous — think Ashley Wilkes returning to his wife Melanie after the Civil War. The equestrian center hosting the clinic is nestled into the most gorgeous countryside, with hills and brooks and woods and layers and layers of green. My daughter was most definitely in her element and all was right with the world. I couldn't help but be thrilled for her. I also couldn't help but wonder how we pulled it off. Again.

After the last week, it was practically a miracle that we did. Let's see ...

We had five snow days to make up this year, which meant that the week we should have had between school and leaving for Vermont was compressed into one day. Laundry, last-minute shopping, packing (not just my daughter's clothes and gear, but about 500 pounds of equipment or "tack" — and I'm not even slightly exaggerating).

Along with everything we needed to do to prepare for the clinic, my daughter had to take seven 90-minute final exams in four days: World Cultures, French, Biology, Geometry, Theatre Arts, Health Ed, and English. Oh my.

And, the horse had to get a haircut. Really. (BTW, I need a haircut too. But, did I get one? Nooooooooo.)

On Friday, my daughter went to the stable (where, I have no doubt, there were some melancholy moments as she gazed at the now empty stall) to organize and pack up all of her tack. She texted me from my husband's car:

We need borrow someones car.... The bmw is stuffed to capcity with all my stuff, no room for 3 people in the car and my duffel isnt in it (sic)

Great. Needless to say, my husband's aging BMW is our largest vehicle. My sister-in-law graciously offered her Jeep SUV ... with the caveat that one of her tires had a slow leak that she hadn't had a chance to repair yet. Thank goodness my husband is mechanically minded. (Thank goodness we have a portable electric tire pump.)

Early the next morning we were on the road. We stopped several times: tire pressure check, coffee, tire pressure check, restrooms, tire pressure check. We realized that my daughter forgot to bring a (required) watch and blew in and out of Target in Hooksett, NH just as they were opening. While we were there, we ... you guessed it ... checked the tire pressure.

One final costly inconvenience (I won't get into it, but do yourself a favor, don't drive over 25 mph in Woodstock, VT; although the police officers are very polite) and we arrived. Phew!

Despite the drama, we still had a little bit of crazy to deal with. Turns out, my daughter didn't need a hanging saddle rack (which we own and brought); she needed a folding saddle rack (which we neither own nor brought). Also, apparently, her paddock boots had pretty much busted at the seams. Sometimes, there's a limit to what you can do with duct tape. 

This time, fate was on our side. When we checked in, I had seen a sign for a "Huge Equine Yard Sale" a couple of miles down the road. I figured the odds were slim, but it couldn't hurt. A quick drive and $15 later, we were the proud owners of the appropriate saddle rack. Similarly, there was a tack shop in an antique barn adjacent to the equestrian center. They had my daughter's exact boots (a half-size too big, but she can wear an extra pair of socks). 

Done. And done. (I'm so done! And you wonder why I can't sleep?) Sometimes I have to question if it's all worth it.

A quick "good-bye" and we were on our way, without the gear, without the duffel, without our daughter. I miss her already. We'll head back to Vermont next weekend for a three-phase event (dressage, stadium jumping, cross-country). Two days later, we'll bring her home.

There's no cell service at the equestrian center where my daughter will spend 10 hours a day for the next 10 days. But, the house where she and 15 of the other girls are staying has WiFi. I received a text just as I was pulling into my driveway:

Thank you for everything mom < 3 i love you

Yeah, it's worth it.

Summertime, and The Schedule Ain't Easy

For the last three summers, my now teenage daughter has gone to sleep-away camp. Not just any camp, mind you, but pony camp — all horses, all the time. Three weeks of unbridled (get it?) equestrian adventure. Three weeks surrounded by girls as horse-crazy as she is. For her, those three weeks each summer flew by.  For me?


Not so much.


Oh sure, it was nice to go out with friends at the spur of the moment. It was nice not to have to play chauffeur. It was nice to spend some quality time with the spouse. But mostly, I thought about my daughter, missed my daughter, wrote letters and sent packages to my daughter, and pretty much counted down the days and eventually hours and minutes until I'd have my daughter back.


Two words: Sucker Mom.


This past year, we finally made the monumental (monumentally monetary, that is) decision to purchase a horse. Yikes! In doing the rather daunting math associated with said purchase, my husband and I assumed that the several thousand dollars we have spent on camp would no longer be an expense — and this would make a dent in the costs of acquiring and maintaining the gigantic new pet. Our daughter, on the other hand assumed she would still be going to camp. Not only that, she assumed that we would also send the horse!


Three words: No Way, Jose.


After many months of pleading, cajoling and downright whining, she finally got the hint. Camp started yesterday ... without her.


Now, lest you think my daughter is having a deprived summer of Dickensian proportions, let me give you some perspective:


We went to London. 
We went to Paris. 
We went sailing on a windjammer in Penobscot Bay. 
She's taking a digital photography course. 
She's in a book club. 
She rides virtually every day
She has a horse show virtually every weekend.
She swims. 
She goes to the beach. 
She goes out on our boat. 
She has sleepovers. 
She has electronics. (Oy vey, does she have electronics!)


Have you ever heard the world's tiniest violin? This ain't no Little Nell, folks.


Of course, with all this summertime activity, there has been very little time for ninth grade required reading or bed-making. And, it also comes with much scheduling chaos for yours truly. "What do you mean you're supposed to be in New Hampshire next week not this week? But that conflicts with Grandma's visit, our tickets for Annie, and my agency's big new business presentation."


Then there's all the driving, lots and lots of driving. Thanks to my daughter's schedule, I can now recite the location of every  coffee shop that has WiFi in a five town radius. I have become extremely adept at juggling pick-ups and drop-offs and conference calls. (Oh my!)


But after a long day of enabling my daughter, when I finally fall into bed — and fall, by the way, is the exact word I'm looking for — I sleep better. Much better.


Because she is not in some bunk in Vermont; she is right here, under my roof.

Missing My Campfire Girl

It's quiet. Too quiet.

My house has been a very different place for the past seventeen days. That's how long it's been since my daughter left for camp. She's up in Vermont participating in an intensive equestrian eventing program for three weeks. Which, through some simple mathematics, means that I will see her again in just about four days.

Not that I'm counting or anything.

Moms like me complain about having too much on our plate. Career, motherhood, housework, trying to squeak in a fitness routine ... you'd think I might enjoy the privacy, the peace and the absence of all the tween drama.

Ha. How wrong you are!

Camp really snuck up on me this year. My daughter and I enjoyed a fabulous weeklong cruise to celebrate her shiksa mitzvah. Then, we had visitors from London. Then she competed in a big regional show. And, suddenly, we were packing and driving and saying good-bye at the new camp. I give myself "props" (that's tweenspeak, short for "proper respect") for not crying all the way home after we dropped her off. This shows great courage or, at the very least, great restraint on my part. The last two years, when she attended a different riding camp, I was not so tear-free.

So, my husband and I have settled into a temporary DINK ("dual income, no kids") routine. He sleeps in. (How does he do that?!?) I get up early, walk for an hour, work, go to a midday yoga or Zumba class, and work the rest of the afternoon. No need to drop everything to help with homework. Or to drive my daughter to a lesson or the mall or a friend's house. It's remarkable how much I get done! Once we call it a day, we go out for drinks, take walks down by the harbor, or catch up on some of our favorite shows via DVR. We've also managed to see several other childless couples for boating, dinner, a museum opening. And, I made a quick trip to New York where I saw two shows in two days.

'Sounds pretty nice, right? Well ...

I can't wait, can't wait, can't wait for this to end!

Over the past couple of weeks, I've managed to write her every single day. Not long letters mind you, just postcards, notes, silly little gifts. She's written us four times. Multiple pages on the first day, which betrayed some homesickness and a little nervousness about the new camp. However, subsequent notes were much shorter. And, that's okay. If I have to choose between long letters or a happy daughter, I'll take the latter. We can gauge her state of mind by the number of exclamation points and capital letters ...

"I've met SOOOOOOOO many awesome girls!!!!!!!!!! They are SOOOOOOOOOO fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

All right, it may not compete with Jane Austen's famous letters to her sister Cassandra as a literary missive, but I'll take it.

When I haven't been working (working, working out or working on trying to have a good time), I've been feathering my empty nest, making plans for my daughter's imminent return. She's coming home to a new iPhone, for example. The vibration mechanism in her old phone had broken and it sounded like, as she put it, a duck farting. The nice young man at the Apple Store's "Genius Bar" is replacing it for free.

There is a brand new pair of Converse sneakers waiting in her room. And, I'm stocking the kitchen with all her favorites: orange soda, cheese puffs, popcorn, Ben & Jerry's S'mores ice cream (formerly known as Marsha Marsha Marshmallow). I also straightened all her drawers and reorganized her closet. I'm a mom; I can't help it. Somewhere, deep down inside, my daughter will appreciate this. Okay, maybe not. Still, it's helping me kill time.

That's really what this is all about. The shows, the drinks, the work ... I'm killing time because my daughter's away and it's killing me. I'm looking forward to our reunion, and according to the brief notes we've received, she is too. But, I don't kid myself. Once we're back in our routine, I don't pretend to think we won't have our ups and downs, our disagreements, a little war now and then.

But, after thirteen years, I'm still crazy in love. And, I'll take the worst day with my daughter over the best day without her.

At this point, I'll see her in three days, 16 hours and 14 minutes.

Not that I'm counting.