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Archive for the ‘Horses’ Category


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-22-2009

Tonight at the dinner table, we went through the usual how was your day routine.

The Baby had a wonderful day, as she celebrated her birthday today at school and was, or at least felt like, a Queen For a Day. As her birthday is always during the Fall break, this was very nice for her. We spent hours yesterday making up the little treats that she would pass out to her classmates and an appropriate snack for all. of. the. teachers.

When The Girl started to speak, I was stunned : she wants to back to horse riding, back to her old manege in fact. She rode there for 8 years and left when she could no longer take a group of girls there who had become too catty for her taste. The Girl is so good with horses, she has such a talent for training them. She loves ornery horses.She had worked with horses that are quite well known in Europe, getting them back into a more obedient frame of mind. At 14. Working with up to 8 horses at a time.

The owner of the manage cried when she left. His wife called The Girl, time and again, asking her to return, they would ban the cats.

I tried everything to get her to return. I watched international horse shows on TV with her , while she pointed out this or that a horse that she worked with, what the beasts problems were/ was.

But she was adamant.

But at the table this evening, she pointed that all of the catty girls were gone and that there was something else : she wanted something that was just hers, something besides The Boyfriend.

I am so very pleased about this, most likely too pleased.

She has such a gift and I want her to enjoy that recognition of her talents once more.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-25-2009

Tomorrow The Girl’s horse get’s that shot and enters the pastures of Paradise.

I can think of nothing more painful for her, although she will not be there. The Father will be there, as we know how it feels to watch a beloved pet die.

I am convinced that some day we shall sing *Happy Days Are Here Again,,,,,*


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-19-2008

The Father floated back home again today at about 2- a few hours before I expected him, days later then planned.

Mr.Jo is fixing the wood rot, The Boy’s bike is repaired, the horse is not going to die ( wonder where The Girl gets her rather melodramatic flair ? ), the gift for The Baby’s boyfriend’s birthday party arrived just in the nick of time, the bus strike is over and despite having to do a last moment triage yesterday of important things to do ( which saw the trip to the big grocery store fly out of the window), we have enough toilet paper to last for a day or two more.

After two weeks in India, we had a very Dutch dinner this evening and shall all loll about, eating sausage rolls of various sorts ( who really needs toilet paper ? One can fake that, but not a tasty family snack on the first night home) as we watch football.

Here at Casa Kitchen we shall be rooting for Portugal.

Yes, the long, long days of being a single mother ( without a car) are over.

Thank God it is Thursday.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-9-2007

How much pain can one person endure ?

After, oh, maybe that vacation that we took in May, or even perhaps after that oh-so-jolly vacation this summer, as I made up The Girl’s bed in the morning, I noticed the name of a boy- J.- scribbled all over the place, in that manner that 14 year old girls have a tendency to do.

Chatting together one day, I asked if J. was her boyfriend. With downcast eyes and a shy smile on her face, she said no.

I then asked her if she wished that he was her boy friend. She looked up at me and smiled, saying yes.

J. has been in the hospital for a few weeks lately, his sister keeping The Girl up to date. To me, from what she told me, it sounded as if J. had pneumonia . Day after day, I told her that the Doctors would try stronger and stronger medicines, to help J.

Shortly after dinner last night, J.’s sister called The Girl ( no one but family was allowed to visit him at the hospital), and said that J. had cancer everywhere , and would most likely die that evening or today.

He died two hours later. His funeral is for family only.

I called The Girl in sick today at her school, for she loved J. dearly ( although she now has a boyfriend) .

Since August, she has (basically) given her first horse to someone that she trusts will care for him, left the manege that she has been a part of since she was 6 years old and her dog- Buddy- died.

She thought that her new horse would lessen the pain of giving away the first horse, but it has not.

How much pain can one, small soul tolerate ?

At the moment, we form a protective shield around her, the others must stay away from her or be pleasant.

Staying away from her is much easier for them, for snarky behavior is indeed a part of siblings growing up together.

My poor, dear child.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-25-2007

As The Girl and I wait for the bus, I mull over the odd phone calls that The Boy received yesterday. Girl, I said, someone else was behind those calls. In fact, I think it was Willem.

But the bus came and The Girl and I headed off into The Big City, to buy The Boy a jacket. I was going to go alone, but she asked if she could come as well and I said sure, fine. The Boy couldnĀ“t come, as he had a football game this morning.

Having The Girl help me to pick out the clothes for the others works out very well, for my first name is actually Drab. Both The Boy and The Baby have loved the clothing that she has chosen for them.

Black leather jackets are all of the rage for young men these days and I could see that The Boy- with his total admiration of The King and his fondness for Jimmy Dean – would love one of those babies, a jacket that a rebel without a cause would wear. The Girl agreed and picked out the latest style at a cool little store. It actually looked like a male version of a sweet little jacket that she conned her mother into buying for her.

The Boy loved it. He even slouched, which seems the appropriate thing to do in jacket such as this.

And then- a few hours later- the phone rang. For The Boy.

It was Willem.

That same thug who once threw a firecracker at Buddy- you know, our dog who gulps enough digitalis each day to keep five men alive. And pissed old mild mannered mommy off so much by doing so, that mild mannered mommy actually called the police.

When The Girl came home from horse number two, I mentioned the new calls to her. We put the phone- which The Boy had taken off of the hook- back in place.

And wonder if wee Willem knows what he has stepped into.

Red Letter Day

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-23-2007

We sold the first horse today.

It was a good sale, K.has helped care for B. since we bought him, her family has land where the some what lame beast can party- hearty on and The Girl wanted it.

He was sold for a token amount of money and with an however… however, should K. ever wish to sell B, – at any point in time- we shall have the first option to buy him, for the same token amount that we have sold him for. In theory, only The Girl and K. shall ever own him.

Talking to K.’s mother, I believe this is true.

But then, of course, despite all DNA results, I also still believe that Anna Anderson was Anastasia

First Day of School

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-20-2007

The Girl comes down stairs in a fine, foul mood. After sleeping in for weeks on end, it is once more time to get up with the cows.

This day, The Girl has 5 hours of something that The Mother cannot translate. But The Girl has some choice : she can ( I kid you not- and this at 14) go for being a nail stylist ( or whatever the sh*t they call that), a…oh….an…oh.. beautician ?….a change the pampers on old folks person or someone who deals with small children .

The Mother looks over her mug of coffee at her infuriated daughter and says, go for the kids thing. After all, for the last few years, The Girl has been the one at the manege who has taught handicapped children ( of various and sundry flavors. Sorry.) how to ride a horse.

The Mother hasn’t a clue what else to say, for she loathes and finds the options dull to death as well.

After The Girl leaves, The Mother sips her coffee and remembers telling her little girl that she could be whatever she wanted to be.

The Mother has now been proved a liar of the first degree.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-12-2007

I crawl back into my life. I cannot find my link to this place, I find my beloved baby board with much effort. After weeks in Alabama- with turbo airco- I simply sweat, sweat, sweat all day long.

My grass is brown.

Tomorrow The Baby starts school. Next week, The Boy and The Girl. The Father is crippled by elective surgery which took place the day after I came home. He shall be out of the running for 4 to 6 weeks.

I remain Kunte Kane.

Piece of cake.

On Tuesday, I shall take The Boy to the Big City, and there we shall buy fine chocolates for his physical therapy teacher, whose brother just happens to run a club in Tilburg, where Chuck Berry just happens to be coming soon, the tickets for this concert were not on sale when we left and are now sold out. Perhaps, she can help The Boy to get tickets. If not, I shall simply pay twice the price from scalpers. Why, well, you tell me . How many more concerts do you think that Chuck Berry, a living legend, will be giving .

In fact, I should like The Baby to see him as well….

We shall see.

TheGirl has moved her horse away from the manege which she has gone to since she was 6 years old. The owner took it very hard. He must have thought well of her, for she cared for his horses. But the safe and snug world that she once found there is now gone, replaced with former friends being, oh, a bit catty as she puts it.

I have to find her a new, used Oma fiets – bike- by next Monday. And new football shoes for The Boyr by this Monday.

The good news is that Pennys now has cheap shipping rates to Europe and I have just ordered two pairs of Levis for The Boy. At 12, he wears a size 16, slim.

Guess the little boys in Holland are just taller then their American counterparts.

And at the moment, my brand new computer, much like my old one, will not give me the correct punctuation marks.

Hoi Steph, Hoi Catherine, do tell, how are you ?

Small Children, Small Problems

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Feb-27-2007

On Saturday, The Girl turns 14. She gave me a list of what she wanted ( mostly *merk* clothing, clothes with a *name*) which I dutifully bought. The children all know that we don’t do birthdays big, we do Christmas big and so do not expect to be lavished with goods upon the glorious day.

She will also get money from her grandparents and us, to go towards buying another horse, most likely from Poland.


When The Girl was about 2, she had to have an emergency ( like, without this, she will die) operation : she had a strangulated bowel on both sides, caused when she gave a hefty sneeze one afternoon. While all of the males in The Father’s family have had this very same problem – let me add that The Girl is the first girl in three generations-, I was patted on the shoulder and assured that this was not a genetic flaw. But when those loops became clamped between the muscles- quit visible to the naked eye- GP called the emergency room immediately and I was on the phone calling The Father.

It left The Girl with an enormous curiosity about Doctors ( she can watch any operation in full gory on TV) and a love for ER.

Last week, she watched the last episode of season 11, which -after a long delay on Dutch television- I finally downloaded for her. As the last scene from season 11 faded from the screen, she started nagging me about downloading season 12. Har, I thought, perhaps I should take as long as she does, when I ask her to clean her room.

But I did find season 12 and did download it. It was The Baby who suggested that I keep this hush hush, that season 12 would make a nice birthday present for The Girl. And she was right.

Now I am using all of my computer’s strength ( and I do believe that after 8 years, it might be time to upgrade this dear piece of metal and wires) to to re-encode the episodes for The Girl.

The Baby is right :it is a perfect gift for The Girl.

Fly Away

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-11-2006

This morning I walked The Girl over to the bus stop not far from The Baby’s little school. While I never in particular feel like walking a few kilometers first thing in the morning, The Girl did indeed have the first day at a new school from hell, and so I knew that my duty was to help her breach this next hurdle. After all, one bus ride and she would know the ropes.

As we set off, she asked me if I had brought my camera along: how funny ! Even she knows that on long, boring walks, I like to take a camera, have something to do.

A very polite young woman answered my questions of what bus to take, and I stood on the far corner of the gas station, glancing back until I saw that The Girl had a seat.

Back in town, I bought a half a sesame white for The Boy, half a tiger brown for The Baby at the baker’s. I set out the plates, the knives, the pots of jam and nutella, all of the things that The Boy and The Baby would need to make their own lunch.

I still have a niggling feeling that they are too young to spend an hour alone at lunch, they are 11 and 6, but The Baby sobs drops of blood at the mere thought of staying at school for lunch, and today, well, I really wanted to blow this two horse town. I wanted to shop. For clothes, of all things- how unlike me. I also needed to buy ( send?) a MoneyGram, and there is a place to do that right at the train station.

I didn’t really buy much, a few of those let’s- replace- the- bra stretchy tank tops, an ashes of roses zip sweatshirt, and one nasty white shirt, made to be worn with one of those let’s- replace- the- bra stretchy tank tops.. And a belt of my own. Oh, The Girl bought me a belt for Christmas, but she is proving to be quite the Indian giver indeed. I like my belt. It is redolent of huarache sandals. When The Girl saw it, she squealed How Cute!.

Whenever The Girl squeals How Cute! in reference to something that I am wearing, a small goblin sitting on my shoulder whispers into my ear that I most likely am not dressing appropriate to my age, that I most likely look the aging fool.

En fin…

In the afternoon, she and I walk to pick up The Boy and The Baby. I bitch and moan that my back hurts and she tells me to stand up straight. Nudging my shoulders back, she tells me that at horse riding, she has learned how to walk with a straight back. This is true : The Girl has perfect posture.

She is in a fine mood. This tells me that all is well with her. I am glad of this.

Vanity : the other day, a man in town said hello to me and did a double take. Really, I could see it. It was the first time that he had seen me without my bulky coat on. I had on a brown union shirt and my vaguely nasty jeans. Of course, he might simply have been shocked by the sagging tits, encased in a let’s- replace- the- bra stretchy tank top. But it did not feel that way, and he is a man of my age, and I felt vaguely flattered. I felt vaguely attractive and that felt very nice indeed.

Tomorrow we take Jim to the Vet. She has a toenail which has grown into the pad of her toe. She won’t let me trim it. In fact, she bit me twice yesterday when I was clipping her nails.

We haven’t taken Jim to the Vet forever.

I know what the Vet will say : put her down.

But we won’t. She is blind, she is deaf, she misses the kitty litter 9 times out of 10 ( but Lordy, Lordy, does she get an A for effort), we carry her about when she is looking lost or bewildered. We won’t put her down because every day she has a blissful look on her face, a purr in her throat, as she sits with the children on the couch as they watch TV.

She is a much beloved, wisp of a cat.