Sarah Reinhart's blog

the flight

This post was inspired by my little niece, Ava.  A two-year-old equestrian extraordinaire!  She began horseback riding lessons today, and really, you should check her out.  Oodles of cuteness and confidence!  Congrats Ava dear on choosing such an expensive sport.  I told your mother they should start socking away the dough right now for your very own horse.  Or at least enough for the fees, the outfits, the equipment, the so on and the so forth.  HA.  Swimming or soccer look great don't they Reinhart kids?  Maybe chess?  Let's all JOIN THE CHESS TEAM.    

Anyway.  The history of my dad's family is very intertwined with the equine species.  In fact, that's what led my great grandfather LEO O'DONNELL to eventually settle in the bluegrass state.  The horses.  He was a jockey and a trainer.  And through the years various racehorses have been owned and very much loved by my fam.

When my dad isn't lawyering, or traveling, or antiquing with my mom--he teaches an Equine Law class at the University of Louisville.  As you can imagine, that's a pretty specific little niche.  And since there aren't any textbooks for Equine Law--he decided to write one.

And since my dad is (very sweetly) a fan of Sarah Reinhart's poetry--he commissioned me to write a little something to put at the end of his book.  Annoying that I just used third person, but I won't delete it.  No.  It's better that you see the way I authentically talk in my head.  CRAZY TOWN in here, for real.

So I'd like to share that poem that I wrote.  My very first horse poem.  I'm not entirely thrilled with it, especially the ending.  But it has certain moments that make me feel good.  I told my sister about the poem's premise and she goes You just wrote a summary for Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron!  Not cool, Sister.  Not cool whatsoever.

The important thing for me is that my dad liked it.  After all, it's for HIS BOOK.  But the process did cause my mind to wander....and wander....back to the English Renaissance.  YES.  THE ENGLISH RENAISSANCE.  Back to a time when poets had to please their patrons.  Back when Samuel Johnson quipped â€œNo man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money."

So dad, I have to ask--where's ma money?  Or do you take me for a blockhead?

I'm totally joking.  HA.  It's simply an honor to have my poem on the last page of your textbook.  Here it is, ya'll.  Enjoy, cliched ending and all.

The Flight

Before the bucket, the bristled brush, the curry comb,
the soft, ready, sponge. Before the pick cleans away

the mud and the muck from his shoes. Before slow circles sweep
the loosened dirt from his coat. There are dark mornings.

There are decisions to be made. There are muscles that must be
flexed, worked out, ridden, tested. There are many merry go rounds.

And everyone looks for the winner, the money maker, the bourbons
all around good timer. And everyone wants the headlines. A single,

fragrant rose will not do. He knows. He shakes. He struts. He pauses.
Feels the weight. The leather. The cloth. The human. The heaviness.

But the ecstasy! He must. He will. He runs. He runs. He runs and
runs and runs and runs until he escapes into the sky.

brothers don't shake hands

This is what seventeen months apart looks like. 

There are days when push comes to shove for sure.  There are tantrums.  There are tears.  There is plenty of shoving.  And I am pushed to the edge. 

More often than not, though, there is merriment.  There are giggles and games.  There are chases and expeditions and discoveries.  My boys always have ideas.  I study them.  I take a lot of notes.   

        

And I was needing a little pick-me-up.  Been fumbling around for my own bootstraps and all that.  Maybe you too?  Nothing gets me back on my feet quite as quickly as what you see below.  My sons sharing a sweet moment.  Just doing what they do.  Unbeknownst to them.  Etching a memory directly onto the camera card and my heart.

More than just picking me up.  More than just putting me back down.  Yes, that's more like it.  Thank you, thank you my boys. 

 

Wishing your week off to a good start.  Hoping you find that something (or someone) special who puts you in a better place when you need it most. 

another word about Leo's school

Look.  I don't want anybody thinking I'm leaving Leo to rot in some armpit of a school.  His school is a GOOD school.  His teacher is a GOOD teacher.  Remember this?  Mitchell, Leo, L's teacher and I are ALL on the same team for heaven's sake.  She said so herself.  And I believe her.  This school is a loving and nurturing place. 

I know little ones will cry at school from time to time. That is expected. I expect that of Leo.  I'm not upset that Leo had a meltdown on his first EVER day of school.  My beef is more with the administration.  What concerns me is what I saw (and didn't see) and what I heard (and didn't hear) when we met with Leo's Principal.  Being a former teacher at an excellent (top-notch!) local parochial school--I like to think I know what's what.  Here are the areas that have my stomach flipping, unsettled, uneasy. 

1.  Communication (or lack thereof),
2.  Leadership (or lack thereof)
3.  Organization (or lack thereof)

Rest assured, Leo is happy at his school.  He likes his teacher.  He's making friends.  He's learning.  He's settling in very well.  To my delight he's giving me the run-down of each day in great detail.  So, of course I'm elated for him.  It's me that's disappointed because I simply thought the items numbered above would have been better.  Over and over I've thought Am I being too critical?  Am I over-analyzing things?  Am I being a righteous bee-atch?

And I've come back to the answers NO.  And NO.  And....NO.  It's extremely difficult to separate the mama and the educator inside of me--but I'm viewing the situation through both lenses.  Those three areas are simply too important to shrug off.  What's a school without a backbone? 

The answer is A MESS.        

So I'm just, you know, ready to put my feelers out and begin shopping around for next year.  Let the tours begin!   

   

leo's first, second, and third day of school

Oh, school.  I don't really know where to begin on this one. 

S'pose I'm gonna tell it like it is.  Sigh. 

Leo started preschool on Monday.  Mr. Eager Beaver.  When his teacher came to round up her bunch from the auditorium, he sprang to the front.  Was made LINE LEADER.  Mr. Eager Beaver Cleaver.  Little beam of sunshine.  One thrilled boy.

Talked his teacher's ear off whether she was paying attention or not.  And did you know I brought APPLES for SNACK.  I DID!

I followed along with the moms and dads to peek into the room, watching the little guys and girls get settled.  WONDERFUL SCHOOL.  AWESOME JOB LEO.  Gus, Matilda, and I scadoodled.  See you at noon Leoman.  Love you. 

And then.

And then it was noon.  Just like that.

Hmm.  Leo wasn't standing with his class.  Weird.  I asked his teacher.  She says Leo is not in her class.  HUH?  Find out he's not actually in the class we thought he was in from the beginning.  He's being dismissed from a different part of the building with this other class.  Standing with a teacher I've never met.  CONFUSION.  I'm being brief here, but things start to get even weirder.  I find Leo.  Leo says I cried Mom.  I say oh, a little?  He says No.  A WHOLE LOT.  Teacher I've never met says Yeah he was pretty upset.  Hard to calm down for most of the day.  Etc. So, why didn't I get a call???  You switched him to another class on the first day.  He flipped out.  AND NO ONE CALLED ME? 

I'm skipping a bunch here.....

Next morning--Mitchell and I meet with the Principal.  Skipping some here too (I just don't feel like talking about it anymore)  but the good news is HE'S BACK WITH THE ORIGINAL TEACHER IN THE ROOM WE WANT.

We're not exactly happy with the way things were handled.  And after our meeting with the Principal, Mitchell and I felt like we got a pretty good peek at the behind the scenes workings of the school.  Red.  Flags.  People.  EVERYWHERE.  Ugh and Ugh.

Like Mitchell said--had the mix-up and the way things went down not happened on the first day of school, then slowly but surely the disorganization, lack of leadership, and poor communication issues would have surfaced throughout the school year.  Of that we are sure.  But as it happened--everything was exposed at once.  And this administration just doesn't meet our high expectations.  Period.

So.  That's where we stand.  First day--freak out.  Second day--Leo "break-ted the rules" and "got in trouble".  His words.  Third day--He switched back.  Smooth Operator.  Good, good day back with Mrs. U.

We're taking it from here.  We'll see how it goes.  Tomorrow is a new day.  The search is on for a new school for next year.  I've felt such a range of emotions this week.  Not many of them good.  Tomorrow is a new day.  We'll see how it goes.  We're taking it from here.  Rinse.  Lather.  Repeat. 

And OH YOU ALL.  We're ALL making adjustments in the Reinhart household.  Lest you forget, the three muskateers are disbanded from nine to noon five days a week now.  The trio is down to two.  And those remaining at home miss their bro.  Big time.  No worries little ones. School awaits you next year, Goose.  And the year after that you, Miss Tilda. 

Three.  Two.  One.  

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Leo's shiner is courtesy of Ava.  A loving push into a piece of furniture.  My sister hates when I tell people Ava did it.  SORRY ANN!  It's just Leo has had so many black eyes this summer--I feel like I need to explain them all.

matilda's first birthday party

Yesterday I wrote these words--

Today my baby celebrated her FIRST YEAR. MATILDA IS ONE. I'm typing that. I'm saying that--You're ONE! I've told her happy birthday many, many times--but it's not quite registered down inside my heart just yet. I remember August twenty-first of '09 quite vividly. And it's a little hard to believe that was three hundred plus sixty five days ago.

And after reading that again just now, I realized something.  That's not at all what I meant.  I really didn't mean that I don't know where this past year has gone.  I live about ninety percent of the time IN THE MOMENT.  Living each day FULLY.  Trust me when I say that being a stay at home mama to three jumping beans ages three and under has me really FEELING EACH DAY.  It definitely FEELS like a whole year has past since we brought Matilda home.   What I wrote was a knee-jerk reaction.  Something we all say.  On occasion maybe even you've done it?  Jumped on the GOSH, TIME SURE DOES FLY BY bandwagon, eh?  Very, very easy to say.  It's an easier way of gliding over the truth.  And the truth is.  What I really meant to say is.

It's hard for me to believe how much you've changed in a year. 

And because it's hard for me to believe how much you've changed in a year.  That must mean that I've done some changing too.  Change is AWESOME.  But change is FRIGHTENING.  Change can leave you feeling like your choke hold on Mr. Time is loosening, slipping, fading.  And finally non existent.  That is the truth.  I can believe my baby is one.  It's harder to believe that in a year Matilda is becoming more of a little girl and less of a baby.  Growing stronger, smarter, faster.  She is becoming more tied to this outside world and less to her first home inside me.  Yes, that is harder to believe.  It's a little harder to accept.   

I've said this before, but why not say it again?  I LOVE THIS STAGE OF MY LIFE.  It's fun.  For the next four months, our children will be ages three, two and one.  WOW!  That is joyful, friends.  Can you even imagine the ENERGY that fills our home right now?  Knock you down, pick you up, toss you around ENERGY!   

But let's get this straight.  I am not a baby machine.  I AM NOT A BABY MACHINE.  I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT.  Now, let's also get this straight. I love GETTING pregnant. I love BEING pregnant. I love GIVING BIRTH.  I love HAVING my baby.  Just, love love love.  LOVE everything about the experience.  LOVE everything about being a mom.  But don't think because I love this stage that I will be caught up in it forever. 

I realize there will come a time when my last baby will turn one and....No more first birthdays.  That's OKAY.  Because I plan on loving the NEXT STAGE of my life just as equally if not more than this one.  We always hear LIVE IN THE MOMENT.  BE PRESENT IN THE MOMENT.  But that can't be it.  No, that's not it, in my opinion.  Because if you are SOLELY living in the moment--what about your treasured past?  Your much anticipated future?   

For me, it's three fold.  The way I see it, it's like this.  You gotta glance over your shoulder and grin at the past.  Just a glance or two from time to time.  Little reminders of the people, the places, the things.  But be brief.  You gotta throw your arms around the present.  Hold on to this day while it is this day.  And then!  You gotta look out at what's coming.  And you gotta smile while you're doing it.  Because tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow is where GOOD things are waiting.  Balance.  Balance.  Steady now.  Balance.    

I didn't always have this perspective.  I've changed.  My children are excellent teachers of mine.  They are masters of honoring the past, living the present, and looking forward to the goodies the future is bringing.  I'm fairly certain all children are experts at life. 

After all was said and done with our Tillie's party, there Mitchell and I sat on the couch.  He said Our family is very blessed.  We really are blessed, you know?

And because I'm a sucker for answering rhetorical questions I said Yes.  I know it.  It's true.

***********************************************************************************  

A very happy first birthday Matilda, my dear.  Know that your dad and I are smiling along with you at all your tomorrows.  We love you, Rosebud. 

PICTURES!  LOTS OF THEM!

*********************************************************************************
Thanks to all who made Matilda's day so grand!  Special thanks to my mom, Marianne, and sister Ann for their extra bit of help! 

matilda year ONE

Today my baby celebrated her FIRST YEAR.  MATILDA IS ONE.  I'm typing that.  I'm saying that--You're ONE!  I've told her happy birthday many, many times--but it's not quite registered down inside my heart just yet.  I remember August twenty-first of '09 quite vividly.  And it's a little hard to believe that was three hundred plus sixty five days ago.      

Her strawberry themed party was berry successful, and overall a berry good time.  While I haven't taken a second look at ALL THOSE PICTURES from today, I have put together a little slideshow highlighting Tilda's first year of life.  And.

One more thing.  This show is set to an ENYA song.  Caribbean Blue.  You're just going to have to get over it.  Matilda loved Enya while she was in utero, and is still a fan.  I know.  I used to laugh at people who listened to Enya.  But!  Now I don't.  So, if you'd like to listen to the background music--before you click play--you'll have to look to the right hand side of this blog and pause the other music player.  Unless of course listening to two songs at once doesn't bother you.  Go for it.     

M'kay.  Relax and enjoy.

looking way down the road

This past weekend Mitchell's dad's side of the family had a mini-reunion.  The rendezvous took place at Lakeside, of course. 

Chips.  Sammys.  Cookies.  Cokes.  Cannon balls.  Baby floats.  And smiles.  And fun! 

Well.

Mostly smiles.

Unless you are one of my sons and people start taking out cameras.  Then it's time for you to tuck your smile away.

For as big of a family on both sides as Mitchell and I have--these are the only three males currently of this generation who will carry on the good Reinhart name.  Leo.  Miles.  Gus. 

No pressure, gentlemen.  No pressure at all.  Just, you know, wait until you're at least in your twenties--preferably--and with someone you are committed to--and THEN YOU GIVE ME GRANDKIDS. 

Is it wrong of me to already lay that on them?

Family is where it's at.  Just sayin.            

what lies beneath

Just today Mitchell and I were lounging and having one of our Where Does All Our Money Go talks.  WHERE?  WHERE?  But I know where.  We both know exactly where it all goes.  Hey, we live on one income and we have three children.  So.

So.  A vacation this summer was not possible.  We spent our fun fund back in April when we went to Arizona.  So.  It was a working vay cay of sorts.  Sorry Reinhart kids.  There's always next summer.  Unless, of course, you are counting down until your own personal Armageddon and this summer was it for you.  BUMMER. 

But HEY!

We're making the best of things.  Like, everyone come gather round.  Be quick!  This will be a thrill.  It's time to clean the vents again!  Remember this toothbrush Goose?  Look at these coins Leoman!  Popsicle sticks, Miss Tills?!  Well, I never!  What treasure! 

Yeah.  Next year we WILL sink our feet into some sand.  Mitchell and I WILL clink frothy beverages and look out at our children building castles, chasing waves, and each other. 

Any way you slice my life--I've got it pretty good.  Clean vents and all. 

this august is different

It's that time.  Lots of parents and their children are doing it.  They're heading back.

Back.

To.

School.

BUT OH!  This is our FIRST BACK TO SCHOOL.  Our first August where August means something other than hot, muggy day after day.  The month when we all start dreaming of cooler weather.  And football.  Glorious change-of-season-round-the-bend-August.  It's different now. 

This August, for the first time, my oldest baby will be away from home, out of the care of anyone besides family members.  And I know we will all survive, and what a small stepping stone this is--PRESCHOOL.  And--eye roll--everyone with kids has had their "first days" come and go.  But just let me have this moment.  This moment where, I, as a mom, have to say--THIS IS HUGE.  THIS IS SOMETHING THAT just won't fit inside my chest cavity.  I don't want it to. 

Let me have this moment where I say very childishly--I'm sad and happy for Leo all at once.  Smooshed together.  It's like I've taken the blue Play Doh and red Play Doh and rolled them together.  NOW!  Purple Play Doh.  Don't be angry with me.  I'll get you some new Play Doh next time I'm at Target. 

And we've only just been to the open house.  And I'll probably have more to say about school once it's here and we're going.  But, my boy.  I think he's ready.

And I took some nerdy self-portraits in the car to show that we are ready.  That at least, we're excited for him.

 

And I am excited for him!  I am thrilled.  He's going to move mountains, my boy.  He's going to learn when to leave mountains alone. 

Really, I'm not sure what I mean by all that, but I don't feel like deleting it.  We can pretend it's profound.

 

Until the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL post, I leave you with this snippet: 

Mitchell and I were talking with Leo's teacher--as parents do at an open house--and because we know our Leo; we know what a special boy he can be from time to time, if you catch my drift--Mitchell says to her jokingly Good luck with him!

And Leo's teacher places her hand on Mitchell arm--gently, lovingly, but with emphasis--and says.  Oh no, Mr. Reinhart.  We're going to be a team.  We'll be helping him together.  We are IN this TOGETHER.

YES ma'am.  It's going to be a great year.  Yes.  It.  Is. 

Go team.   

matilda speaks

We've got LANGUAGE.  FIVE WORDS.

I'm storing the memories from these early days for a future time when my daughter knows WAY TOO many words.  When she can wield them against me!  When she's karate chopping me with them!  HA YA!  When I get a hand or a foot that continues through the wooden plank I'm holding straight into my chest.  OUCH. 

Or maybe, heaven forbid, I'll come running back to this post on a day Matilda and I have reverted once again, to using gestures and body language only.  But instead of cutesy pointing, smiling, nodding it'll be, ya know, rolled eyes and slammed doors--icy silence.  Hopefully, Tills and I will side step that drama altogether. 

Don't smirk.  I can feel your smirk.  It can be done.  I think.       

IN ORDER OF FREQUENCY OF USE: 

Moh = MORE
Good all purpose word.  Used for anything.  More food.  More sippy cup.  More boobie.  That toy that's out of reach.  Pick me up.  Hold me.  I want it.  I want what he's got.  I want THAT.  I want MOH.   

Dah = DOG
Dewey is a best friend of sorts.  Her bestie.  The feeling, however, is not mutual.  Dewey does not enjoy having fistfuls of his fur twisted and manipulated by a small, pudgy clutch.  Can't say I blame him.  Spends most of his day hiding.  She hunts him down.  Finds him.  Points.  Speed walks to him Dah!  Dah!  Dah!  

Mah mah = Mama
That's me.  I do love hearing this one.  Pulls at me like a kitten with a bit of yarn. 

Bah = BALL
We have a lot of these around. 

Dah Dah = Dada
That's Mitchell.  She says it and he responds Yes, my beautiful girl?  Two words.  PINKY and WRAPPED. 

While I'm digging this new beginning for her--I admit--I'm still loving looking into her eyes and knowing, just instinctively knowing--what she wants, without any words being exchanged at all.