Frazzled

I forgot socks today.  That's what started it.  I was wearing tights to school, and realized I didn't have other socks to ride in.  I sat barefooted on the bench outside of the Dining Hall bathroom (/my dressing room), contemplating.  I could ask a kid to lend me socks.  I could ask an on-campus faculty member.  I could tear the tights currently in my hands into socks.  For some reason, at the moment that seemed like the best idea, I guess because they were ripped already?  More likely because I was due to be driving kids in about 30 seconds  and I still had to pick up the van.  Tights-to-socks conversion did not work though.  Weird.

So I gingerly put my poor bare feet in my paddock boots.  This would have to do.

I ran to the zoo in my unzipped boots (still could not commit to being sockless), since I use the zoo's minivan on game days as my usual Millbrook short bus, similar to the one below (and JUST as much fun), is used for games.

Since it only fits 5, I need to make two trips to bring the 9 riders back and forth to Kildare.  I had turned on my phone and had it with me, noticing I had a voicemail marked "Urgent."  Excitement!  Who would've possibly left me a voicemail?  And having been left a voicemail, what could it possible pertain to that would merit such a designation?  Sure, I was late to get the kids, but this was urgent!

There were no parking spots at the zoo, so after shuffling the minivan out and my car in, I stood listening to the message on the shaky single bar service.  Ron Ross, horse dentist extraordinaire!  Asking if Friday morning would be good for him to come by for EZ's mouth.  I was psyched.  Since the vet was here 2 weeks ago, saying he could use some filing, I have been imagining his poor little mouth being ouchie.  So the day could soon be here!

 

 This is neither EZ nor Ron Ross, but it looks like the level of fun I am imagining.

Anyway, Ron needed confirmation, so since Friday morning (like the rest of my life) I am in school, I called to ask mom if she would be around, leaving a message since she was galavanting.

Then I drove the van, smelling mildly of red panda, up to campus to pick up the first load of kids.  As I left campus the phone rang, and I irresponsibly answered it when I saw it was Ron Ross.  Of course, the one bar of service was nonfunctioning, so I tried to yell at him for a minute before my fear of endangering the lives of my students overcame my desire to make EZ a dentist appointment.  But Ron Ross is persistent, and he left another urgent message so that he could confirm his other appointments.  I needed to be in on that confirmation!

So I idled at the end of Kildare's driveway before picking up the second group of kids, reached mom, confirmed her always helpful presence for Friday morning, and was able to also finally talk to Ron Ross, with the bar of service only causing intermittent instances of talking over or blanks.  Yes!  Friday morning is great!  He'd call before he drove over--which meant I had to give him the house phone number.  No, not that house phone, that's on campus, the Indian Pond Farm number, oh you need a pen to write it down?  Oh you're driving?  Oh you'll call back?  By the time he had called back I had lost the bar of service and to find it again had ended up backing slowly down Kildare's driveway, in the rain, in a zoo van that smelled of red panda, with  my bare feet stuck in unzipped boots, yelling, Ron?!  Can you hear me now?!  while students were waiting for me both in the barn and still back on campus, thinking, I have never been more ridiculous.  Which is untrue, I totally have (see below), but still.

I gave up, drove back to campus, and while the second group loaded up (after crying tears of joy that I had not completely abandoned them so that they would be forced to walk the three miles to the barn) sent a text to Ron Ross, apologizing profusely so that he would like us and giving him mom's number, while promising she is much more helpful than I am.  Mission completed; I hoped I hadn't discouraged him.

Back at the farm, while reluctantly putting on my halfchaps over my finally zipped boots, I realized that in my eager friendliness my sent text had started off,  Hi Ross!  Nope, that's not his name.  Not what I meant at all.

If only Ms Frazzle was as popular as Ms Frizzle.

Millbrook Winter Riders

On Thursday, the last day of riding with the school, I realized I had my camera in my pocket.  You may wonder while this realization resulted in so relatively few photos, but I had to get on my horse, and Wellington is not as easy to ride while shooting as EZ is. 

I have ordered (as a teacher, you get to order) the kids to put the bridles on their horses.  You can tell in the background that this is still only being contemplated (that's the thing with ordering, you can't guarantee fulfillment).

But the little kiddies do you usually get around to doing it, here the throatlatch has successfully been identified on Pal.  Pal is a great teachers for the beginners, although he has very bossy grand manners.

Like that.  

All around, sometimes these horses are tricky to keep a hold of.

But once you got them, you best hold on!

Both children and horses can occasionally be a bit camera shy, unfortunately.  Although others are complete hams, need I remind you of this:

Winter is the longest sports season, and with the weather this was a particularly rough one, but still it seemed to go by pretty quickly.  After a few weeks of spring break, we'll be back for more, different kids, but same deal.  We want to try to have a little show at the end of the season, give us something concrete to accomplish--other than being able to bridle your horse on command, of course.

Millbrook School and Indian Pond Farm Unite!

Firstly, that title reflects how I may be spending too much time teaching the Communist Manifesto.  Anyway, do you want to hear why it's been so long since I've posted?  Probably not, but it involves chewed cords (I blame this character:),

                                                                                        and wind-storm-induced-power-outages.  No joke.  And laziness.


But anyway, last week was the final days of the fall riding program at school.  To celebrate they came to play with Donker.  And all the horses and stuff, but mostly Donker.

 Look at the joy he brings to the youth!

 Obviously, EZ Dollar was also a hit. 

 I believe in this case, she was teaching Donker to halt on command.  Very successful.

 We also took the opportunity of man (child)-labor to trim the goaties' hooves.  I felt like a farrier, "we'll call that one done."  Maybe that's only out west.  And those are "Be a goat!" faces. 

Notice my beaming delight at making the young ones do the dirty work.  It builds character!

 How cute is Donovan?  Please make note of his curly forelock, a result of his bur curlers he's so partial to.

 The herd.  They are all down in the lower pasture while the upper one gets water, electricity and a new barn!  Get psyched.

 This really captures all the work that I do.  Wrangle goats.  Kids.  Arabians.  Whatever you've got, I'll wrangle them.

 And then I'll feed the pig many, many treats because I think the kids will be really entertained by watching a pig eat.  Right?  Isn't that what they're into?

 Then I again try to take advantage of having helpless laborers to pick up sticks for me.  But there was a dead deer hanging from a tree, so staring at that obviously took precedence.

 As did pretending to drive the tractor.  Just pretending, I swear.  Notice the piddling stick collection.  Really, where's the work ethic today?

 And then there's the modeling.  This obvously is more important than picking up sticks too.  Not every day you get a tractor photo op.  Who can blame them?

 Tada!  I think the instructions on this one were, "Everybody get together, but not too close, so that it looks like you're working!"  If you notice me there in the corner, bending down, because I actually am the one working.  Oh well, you get what you pay for I guess when it comes to hired help.


So, bye for now, Millbrook riders!  I will only miss you a little bit.