Yesterday, my teenage daughter participated in a big biannual equestrian competition. She and a teammate rode a 6-mile marked course through woods and fields, through water, over fences, logs, and embankments. The goal was to get as close as possible to an optimum ride time — which is paced by an expert rider earlier that day and not revealed until the awards banquet that evening. In theory, if you are riding efficiently, but safely, you should be close to the target time. (Another horse mother once called it a "crap shoot," and there's an element of truth there too.) At any rate, it's called a "Hunter Pace" and takes place in a truly bucolic setting about an hour north of Boston.
The first time she rode in this event, my husband and I had no idea what we were in for. At a three-phase show, you can watch your rider do dressage and jump in a stadium. Then they go off on a cross-country course, but only for five or seven minutes. In a Hunter Pace, you're lucky if you see the first and last two jumps. The rest of the course — an hour or more — you're stuck waiting around. After we figured it all out that first year, we had just one question ...
"Where are the Bloody Marys?"
Over the (many) years since, we've focused on the art of tailgating. It all began with a Mexican serape, the Boston Globe and some muffins. Then we graduated to those folding chairs that soccer moms use. Then a folding table. Eventually, my husband found an oriental rug at an odd lots warehouse store. Add some champagne and orange juice, ripe strawberries, bagels, spreads and smoked salmon, and ... voila! We were transported to an earlier, horsier, classier time.
"Carson, please pass the cream cheese and lox."
This year, we invited two couples to join us, as well as the other parents from our daughter's stable. The day was foggy at first but it soon burned off and we were left with bright sun and clear skies. From our vantage point, near a flowering tree in front of the first set of jumps, we watched my daughter and her partner, and then dozens of other teams head off. Meanwhile, our new puppy played with another family's Jack Russel and sneaked bites of ... well... pretty much anything he could get his paws on. It was an idyllic day.
Until I lost my iPhone.
First of all, for the record, I rarely lose anything, much less an expensive smartphone. I will confess that there had been much bubbly enjoyed and that once it was time to pack up, everyone had already had a bit too much fun and sun. It was a little chaotic. Also, the terrain was not exactly on my side in terms of being able to find said missing phone. There were acres of tall grass and dandelions. Horses, trailers and cars coming and going. Plus the restroom facilities consisted of a single port-a-potty. I don't think my phone was in my pocket when I used it, but ...
I don't want to think about it.
At any rate, I was well-fed, a little sunburned and without a phone. We went back to our picnic area — twice — but no luck. I tried the "Find my iPhone" app on my iPod when I got home. No luck. At the awards banquet (btw, my daughter came in third, mentions the proud mama), we left our number with the event coordinator, just in case. But, it was becoming pretty damn clear.
The iPhone was gone, girl.
This morning, I took a two-hour break from work and drove to the nearest Apple Store at a mall three towns over. Fortunately, I qualified for an upgrade. Unfortunately, I didn't have my old phone to trade in. The difference was $189 out of pocket. (Wait, isn't "out of pocket" how I got into this mess in the first place?)
I told myself what I always tell my daughter. "It's a thing, not a person. It's just money, not life or death." Still, $189 is $189.
I'm trying not to think about it.
The remarkable thing, the truly amazing thing, is that it really was just about money. Thanks to the "cloud" (and my fairly anal retentive backup routine — I never lost a phone before, but I've lived through some fairly horrific computer crashes), virtually all my data, apps, contacts, photos and music are back. I lost some money (did I mention it was $189?) and some time, but otherwise, my life and my phone will go on exactly as before. Exactly.
We warn our teenagers to be careful. That everything online is permanent.
For the first time, I can say that I'm glad it is.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
Loyal readers, I apologize.
Since starting my "Lovin' the Alien" blog two and a half years ago, I have never gone this long without writing. It's been a full ten days since my holiday post about Halloween hos. This is a new personal record (and not one that I'm proud of). Even when I've been away on vacations in the past, I've written from the road or scheduled posts in advance. But not this time.
My bad.
Of course, I do have a very viable excuse. A veritable slew of them, in fact. I'm running a marketing agency. I'm writing movie reviews. I'm dealing with a small fleet of old cars that need maintenance (and in one case, a new front end, thanks to last month's red-light runner at the intersection of Storrow Drive and Beacon Street). I'm trying to make it to yoga. I'm trying to make it through Zumba. I recently published my book.
None of this is new. (Well, the book and the fender bender are.) But, the past week has flown by with no time to write for one main reason ...
I am the mother of a teen.
Here is a handful of the most recent maternal activity that kept me away from my laptop.
AP World History
Between September and May, my daughter has to cover all the history of the world. Holy ancient civilizations, Batman! That's a lot of history. And a lot of dates and rulers and wars and dynasties and cultures and ... and ... and. Her teacher is wise and tests the students every other chapter or so, rather than save it all for one or two major traumatic exams.
Of course, this means that we have mini traumatic exams every week. 60 multiple choice questions. Daunting. After the first test, we brainstormed and came up with a system. My daughter studies; she presents what she's learned to us; then we quiz her. I highly recommend this process — but it takes at least a couple of hours. Every week. Usually after a particularly long day of work. With a cold coming on.
You get the picture.
Multiple Halloweens
This kooky, spooky holiday has become more complicated as my daughter's gotten older. Gone are the days when she chose a single outfit and stuck with it. (Winnie the Pooh, the yellow Teletubby, a ghostly cowboy, a combo kitten-fairy-princess because she couldn't make up her mind.)
This year, we had to dress up for school (she borrowed my rasta mamma outfit), dress up for the stable (she and the pony were clowns — don't ask) and, dress up for the annual Hunter Pace, an elaborate costumed equestrian event (she and her teammate — and their horses — were Mexican Day of the Dead). They did win the blue ribbon, so it was time (lots and lots thereof), well-spent.
A Tale of Two Cities
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
No, I'm not talking about the French Revolution. I'm referring to the analytical essays my daughter has to turn in every other week for her English class. And, more specifically, the time she asks me to discuss and review and proof and print them.
As always, it's a bit of a conundrum. I definitely don't write the papers for her. In fact, I often irritate her (okay, piss her off royally) by circling a passage and suggesting that she revisit it to find her own mistake. But, the process does take time (please refer to AP World History paragraphs above).
Items Missing in Action
In the last few days, we've lost an envelope of cash (costume reimbursement from the parents of the other Day of the Dead girl), and a watch. Not just any watch, mind you. The $125 "Ultimate Event Watch," a cool $125 timepiece that is, apparently, absolutely critical (to the tune of $125) if you're going to compete in three-phase equestrian events.
Did I mention it cost $125?
Not only did these two mysterious disappearances cause worry and stress, but they necessitated multiple people on multiple occasions searching through the pony barn and car upholstery. Happily (surprisingly), both were found.
The time spent, though, was gone forever.
At the end of the day (and why do so many of these fire drills happen at exactly that ... the end of the day?), I know that I am lucky to have a daughter who cares about her schoolwork and her grades, who puts thought and passion (and often my money) into her extracurricular activities.
I also know that this time will pass — too soon — and she'll be off at college ...
leaving her loving mother-proofreader-costume designer behind.
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
