After four kids, ten moves and nearly two decades, we are still blissfully in love (most of the time) and I found myself back in the state I was born and raised in. It has definitely been a journey. In fact, on our 18th anniversary we pulled the last of our stuff up over the pass and into Montana, leaving our surprise love, Idaho, behind. But Montana is a great place. The last best place according to some. And we fully intend to explore as much of it as we can! Join us on our continued adventure through life, love and other stuff that comes with it.

Monday, March 30, 2009

I love this picture

We arrived at my mom and dad's house on Saturday. Mom always has new fun things to show us. Last time it was her new window treatments. This time it was her new Ipod. Yes, my mother has an Ipod. I don't, but I'm pretty proud of her.

So she was showing me her little gadget and how she put pictures of all her grandkids on it, and this is the one she has of Grace:

I hadn't seen it before. Mostly because it was taken when I was in labor with Violet. But, I love it.

I love it for lots of reasons. Obviously it's my little girl who's getting big. You should see her ride that horse. She is really getting it. She makes him go where she wants him to go. With purpose. She looks so grown up sitting there. And she looks like she belongs there on top of that horse.

That saddle, even though it's still big for her, was mine when I was that age. And it was my mom's when she was that age. Runs in the family I guess.

And that horse. My dad traded two bull calves for him when I was about 12 years old. My dad helped me break him to ride and that horse and I spent countless hours together. We rode the hills. We chased cattle. Once we got hit by an angry bull and even though we ended up on different ends of the field, neither one of us was hurt and we left the bull to his maddness and went home. Sometimes I think he loved trying to see how many times I would fall off in a day (neither of us liked the saddle much, so sliding off was rather easy.) He may be the reason I'm even on talking terms with my mother. I was a hormonal mess in my teens. But what girl isn't?

Shamere is his name. He's 25 or something around that now. (Shoot, I don't even know how old I am.) Mom and dad brought him over to us when they sold the farm. That was three years ago. Recently, with the move looming, we didn't know what to do with this horse. We threw several ideas around, listed him on Craigslist, talked about donating him to a local organization that works with at-risk youth. He'd be great at one of those places.

Then, I watched Grace on him in the back field. She had that look. That look like she was really getting it. Like she was really enjoying riding him and she was falling in love with him. I know that look. So I called my dad. He has a soft spot for this horse, and his granddaughter. And his daughter for that matter.

"Dad, we need to keep this horse."

"Let me make a few calls," he says.

And he did. And a couple weeks ago when I was watching Grace in the field with Shamere, brushing him because she decided he needed it (she was right) and watching Shamere watch her and enjoy every moment of his brushing, I called my dad. He wasn't home, so I left a message.

"Dad, I just wanted to say thanks. I'm standing here watching Grace and Shamere and I think they have something good starting. He's got another little girl smitten. Talk to you later."

Sometimes, life is just good.

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