When a horse named Zip bucked me off his back, I lost total respect for the four legged animal and gained it for a two legged animal instead – my mom.
After my parents divorced, my mom continued to pack my brothers and me in the car for one week every summer for our family vacation in the mountains. We loved it. For seven glorious days, we did whatever we wanted whenever we wanted – as long as we would check in every now and then. I would wander the woods, go swimming, play volleyball, and even ride horses.
Being a big city girl of eight years old, I just wanted to go horseback riding. The two measly hour long sessions scheduled for my family during the seven day stay didn’t cut it. I wanted to ride every chance I got and to get those chances you had to beg.
Every morning and every afternoon, I would walk the half mile to the stalls and sit on a tree stump. I waited as patiently as possible while the families who were actually supposed to ride that day were assigned horses. If a family didn’t show, I would plead for the cowboy who held my fate in his hands to pick me for one of the left over horses standing , saddled and ready to ride.
I was chosen nearly every time. I mean how can you resist a cute, ponytail wearing, freckled faced girl? This time, I wish the cowboy would have given someone else the go ahead. I knew I was in trouble when he said I would ride a horse named Zip. That’s just not a name you should give a horse if you want a kid to ride him. I should have listed to that little nagging voice in my head.
Zip started acting zippy right away. With me strapped to his saddle, he bolted to a tree and started rubbing violently against it. I started getting nervous. Zip realized that wasn’t working, so he started galloping and stopping, galloping, and stopping, galloping and stopping. I could now hear my heart beating in my ears. I knew what was coming next. Zip reared up on his hind legs and decided to get rid of me the old fashioned way. In one fluid motion, Zip threw me in the air and I landed several feet later on my fanny.
The only thing bruised was my ego. I was mortified. I stood up, made sure I didn’t break anything and brushed myself off. The cowboy yelled at me to get up and hop back on my horse. He then roared that I was holding up the group. Tears of embarassment burned my eyes, but there was no way I was going to let him see them. I ran out of there as fast as my little kid legs would carry me.
It felt like I ran forever. I searched and searched and searched for one person – my mom. I ran to the dining hall. She wasn’t there. I ran to the arts and crafts cabin. She wasn’t there. I ran to our cabin. There she was reading a book on the bottom bunk, listening to music and twisting her long hair in her fingers. Relief filled my body.
I startled her when I burst into the cabin door. (Startling her is actually really easy to do. If you ever meet this woman, let me just give you one piece of advice: never, never, never stand near her if you ever need to wake her up from a nap. Before the word ‘mom’ leaves your lips, this lady is up and swinging. She’ll knock you silly if you’re anywhere near her no matter who you are.) She asked me what was wrong and before I could even tell her, I started crying. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with me. I just wanted her to comfort me. I just wanted her to wrap her arms around me. I just wanted her to tell me that she loved me. I just wanted my mom.
We don’t live in the same state anymore. She visits me and my family about twice a year now. She was here during Mother’s Day weekend. It was wonderful. We went to a concert, went shopping, went to a movie, talked, played with the kids and celebrated my son’s one year old birthday. My mom even spent about four hours making and decorating the most beautiful 3D train cake for his party.
I love and hate these visits. I love that she’s here and I hate that she has to go. Even though I’m nearly 35 years old, the visits remind me of how much I still want my mom. I want her to comfort me. I want her to wrap her arms around me. I want her to tell me she loves me.
I’m a happy girl. My mom did all of that for me this weekend and I didn’t even have to be bucked off a hulking horse to hear it.
Related posts: