Like many little kids, he was fascinated by horses...and ducks...and confetti...and boogers. Anyway, back to the horse thing. When TLM was about 2, his daycare had their annual carnival, with a pony ride. TLM got on the pony and started grinning like a drunk monkey. I mean cheek-splitting grinning. He was really happy to be on that horse. Lots of other kids also wanted to ride the pony, but when it was their chance to hop on, they got scared and backed out. OK, let's be honest, TLM's gigantic Cheshire-cat grin is what freaked the holy hell out of the kids, but let's pretend it was the pony. TLM got to stay on that poor pony for about 30 minutes, since no one else wanted to. Anyway, I didn't pay too much attention to the pony-riding.
A year or so later, TLM saw pictures of a little kid (it was me) riding a horse. Of course, since I looked like a boy back then, TLM thought the picture was of him. Long story short, I got TLM started on riding lessons.
One day, I told an acquaintance that that we had to head out for TLM's riding lessons. Her husband overheard my comment and came over. Here is the conversation that followed.
Acquaintance's Husband (AH): "Is that for his college applications?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry, my son is 3, not 13. That boy over there. Climbing up the slide." I thought maybe AH thought I had a 13-year old.
AH: "Yeah, I know. Is he learning to ride for his college applications? Like for Harvard?"
Me: "Huh?" Hey, when you've got a bangin' vocab, flaunt it.
AH (slowly; enunciating every word): "Are. you. making. your. son. ride. so. that. he. will. get. into. a. good. college?"
Me (still baffled, but also speaking slowly, in case my accent was indecipherable): "My. son. is. three. years. old." I also held up three fingers to make my point.
AH looked at his wife, shook his head and walked off, disgusted.
This exchange clued me into how ridiculous parents in NoVA are. I could give more examples, but just read your FaceBook feed; you know what I mean. If a kid does the dolphin swim in Cancun, they are the next Jacques Cousteau (look him up, you young 'uns); if they go on a hike, Bear Grylls better watch his back. Kid made scrambled eggs? He is the new Bobby Flay!
In this asinine world, TLM can't put his ass on a horse without immediately becoming the next Marcel Marceau. Or is it another famous equestrian of whom I am thinking? (That's right. I may not know my equestrians from my mimes, but I know my "whom" from my "who.")
Why can't we let our kids be kids? Why does everything they do have to be a prediction of future greatness? Allow them paint today and have the option to never pick up a brush again. Allow them to love snakes one day and hate them the next. Allow them to totally get the idea of black holes one day and be an epic fails at addition the next. Can you imagine the stress you would feel if every time you took a breath people predicted your future? This unreal amount of pressure might be why so many parents are stressed and so many of our kids are on Prozac. Something to think about next time we are tempted to start predicting our kids' futures.
BTW, TLM still rides. He is not fabulous, but he really loves riding and he loves horses. He loves how they feel, he loves how they smell, he LOVES them. He even loves mucking out their stalls. That is good enough for him. So, it is good enough for me.
Now, let's de-stress with some deep breaths and a gimlet. A gin gimlet.
Gin Gimlet
1 oz Rose's Lime Juice (if you don't have this, just mix 1 oz lime juice with 1 oz sugar)
1.5 oz gin
Garnish: Twist of lime peel
Glass: This one right here. The InsideOut Martini Glass.
Shake with ice and serve. This is really easy to drink, so be careful.
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