Ok, fast forward to this Thanksgiving. My sister was was visiting for the holiday and her kiddos were wanting to see the horses. So we all head down there. Tom.. so kind a patient got all of the horses ready for riding and helped the city slickers onto the horses. The kids were having a great time.
Then came time for the adults (that us!) to ride. I had ridden when I was little and felt no trepidation. However as I was the last one to get on (and this is where the funny comes in) I started to hear little nagging voices. Thoughts about how truly TALL these horses are and how SHORT I am. About how TIGHT my jeans were and how HIGH the stirrup was that I had to insert my foot in before hoisting myself up and onto the saddle. I was so determined that I was not going to be able to get on that Tom led me over to a make shift ladder. Rickety is the word that would best describe here.
This would be the part where the voices in my head are SCREAMING at me about how I have blood clots, take blood thinner and have been told to not take risks, not to put myself in situations where I could bump my head, etc.. I am whimpering to TOM in this photo that I am really ok not to ride and really I could get hurt and he is telling me to get my A%$ on the horse. So I did. I rode. I did fine. I got on ok, I rode and I got off ok.
I would love to post a photo of me smiling as I ride around like a rodeo queen but those don't exist for anyone as you are continuously basted in dust and dirt as you ride. We all had a great time. I had to leave soon and join my hubband at his parents house so we helped (use that word loosely) Tom get all the gear off of the horses and peeled the kids off the pens and headed home. My sis had loaded all her peeps into her car to go to Toms. I had grabbed my moms golf cart (its a country thing-or is it a retired thing?) and ran down a few beats behind because I wanted to finish curling my hair (yeah I know ridiculous but it made perfect sense at the time). So as we were returning the boy (that would be mine-he's 9) asks to drive me back. For those not knowledgeable about the kuntry and golf carts-here is the skinny. Kids LOVE them and if you are going next door that could be a ways in the country due to acreage so once he turned 9 I let his Mimi teach him how to "drive" it. He is only allowed to do it alone on their property and only on the road when accompanied by an adult. Knowing how much he wants to and how much I don't care I say sure. We are rolling along and I tell him to drop me at the front door and then go and plug the golf cart in so we can go. He pulls up, I step out and the next thing I know I am face down on the concrete. I have no explanation except to say I fell. When I felt the grit in my mouth that can only be broken teeth I immediately took inventory and thanked God that all but one were still in. I got up with the help of the boy, cleaned off and headed to Magnolia to meet my hubband. By the time I got there, I knew something was not quite right. I quietly mentioned that my arm might be broken along with my tooth. He wanted to take me to the emergency room immediately. I made him finish the gumbo (priorities people!) and then we headed out. A few hours later I made it to my own bed with LOTS of pain meds (thanks Sugarland Methodist!), a broken elbow and a half broken tooth.