something new

Welcome to the new blog! When I saw the postpartum depression-soaked entries that I ended with on the old blog, I thought I'd best just move away. Quickly.

Little Rubber Feet is an homage to my daughter. No one told me that a child's feet feel like rubber when they drag across your skin. This dragging is especially painful when it happens on your own feet. I can't properly describe the pain so I won't even try. Henceforth Little Rubber Feet shall be known here as Sassy.

I manage a stable full of expensive, spoiled, over-fed dressage horses. (Dressage is kind of like horse ballet. It's all about making the horse do very pretty, controlled movements.) Working in a stable is a dream come true, but the compensation is a nightmare. My list of responsibilities stretches on for four (single-spaced) pages. I defy anyone to show me a manager who must do so much for so little. That said, I hope to be there for years and years. I can wear dirty clothes to work. I can bury my face in a horse's soft mane and cry when I'm having a bad day. These are the little pleasures. Did I mention the tractor? I get to drive a tractor! And, you know, do stuff with it!

Besides that I mostly just clean up horse shit. No better shit exists, though, I'm telling you. They eat grass. How nasty can that be? I'd rather muck 20 stalls than clean one litterbox.

In exactly one month we will live in a house at the front end of the gravel driveway that leads back to the barn. "Gingerbread" is how I'd describe the modest, two-story brown house. The living room ceiling is the roof, creating the most lovely, airy feeling. Windows on every wall burst with sunshine. The yard is so big we'll never use it to its full potential (unless we held two simultaneous softball games) though I think I'd be content to fill a small and busy niche with a fire pit, chairs, and tiki torches. A propane grill will be cleaned and moved from the front to the back, and used regularly, for cabobs and pork steaks. A baby pool, one big enough for a few adults, will be off to the side. A hose will stretch perfectly straight out into the yard with a sprinkler at the end. Sassy will never want to come inside. Neither will I, come to think of it.

I'm ready to kiss apartment living good-bye. More like kick it in the nads goodbye. Auf wiedersehen to neighbors yelling, stomping, and feeding the shit-tastic ducks outside our door. Hello, living 300 steps from work! Howdy, little gingerbread dream.

Something new. I need it.