Do you have any idea how hard it is being a 5 foot, 13 year old, size ten, brace face red headed adopted kid growing up? It builds Chutzpah. I had a "wicked pissah" personality. Growing up prior to boarding school I loathed going to school every day because someone always had a snappy comment for me. Thankfully I had some really fantastic friends who had my back growing up. Lynne, Marnie, Emily and Heath were my trusty four. We each, for our own reasons, had challenges and I think we stuck together because of it. I used to dread walking to the bus in the morning to go to school but I was always galloping to the bus at the end of the day as it would drop me off at the barn so I could go ride.
Mona was my riding trainer growing up and very much a second mom to me. She was always giving me things to do around the farm so I could get some free riding time. By my mid teen years I was there every day mucking stalls, getting kids up on their mounts for lessons, cleaning tack, and rationing out grain for the night time feed. Smelling the hay and grain, the companionship of the horses, and being around other kids that were there for the same reasons was an absolute staple in my life. When we had a fire at our house in Darien Mona let me stay at her house and she gave me lots of jobs to do to help her out. The trade off was I got to ride all kinds of different race horses that had just come off the track and were retraining for new disciplines. It was fascinating to me just how different each and every horse was in temperament and personality. I learned a lot from working with animals on how to work with people. Mona came from Sweden and naturally I learned some very choice phrases in Swedish. I couldn't seem to grasp Latin or Spanish in school, but I could say you mother fu**ing rat in Swedish no problem. It was mostly said after Mona ended up buying a horse on a hand shake deal from a shady local dealer. She'd go test ride the horse and it was sound and perfect. 3 days after it was at our barn it would be dead lame, ears pinned and crib and weave like some demon serpent coming off of amphetamines. One of my fondest memories was when she told me to drive her daughter to work. I had no idea why I was to drive her to work, but when she handed me the keys and said do it, I did it. I was 15 years old and that was the first time I had driven a car, let along a Dodge Ram. Call that the quickest driver's ed.
So what does this have to do with being adopted? No idea, but I look back on those years now and realize how much fun that was back then. I was blessed to have such good friends and good influences in my life (minus the driving without a license and the Swedish cursing). I wouldn't have had those if I had not been put up for adoption.
Oh and one of the best lessons I learned in life.. When you get bucked off, dragged, trampled and kicked; you get the hell back up and continue on. Remember Chumba Wumba didn't say a whole hell of a lot in their one hit wonder but what they did say made sense (now you'll have those lyrics in your head for the rest of the night).
Dust yourself off and carry on. And don't take life too seriously, no one gets out alive. This is a picture of some of my friends this past year doing the Tough Mudder with me. Speaking of serious, I put a serious amount of time into making that Wonder Woman costume. It made a lot of people smile. We all made it around the 10+ mile British forces course on Mt. Snow with the help of hydration packs, energy gels, bananas and at the end; a beer and Jose Cuervo. I believe I may have tarnished Wonder Woman's reputation walking around with a beer in one hand and a flask in the other. Oh well. I still have yet to hear from Linda Carter on that one.
Again, experiences brought oh from being adopted: Priceless.
I know I'm rambling. I'm working an overtime and it's 2 am.
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