Trail Rides and Beach Days Are Not the Same Thing.

On a sunny Saturday, my daughter got ready to attend a Girl Scout troop trail ride.  With temperatures in the 70s and sun shining on us, I got ready to ride to the horse farm with another mom and her daughter. I found my flip-flops, a comfy skirt and a tank top to soak up the sun while the girls rode. My daughter got ready to ride a horse. With giddy anticipation, she put on her western shirt, her cowgirl skirt, and her cowgirl boots.

I remember the love of horses so well from my childhood. I relentlessly harangued my father about getting a pony. Weekly, but probably more like daily, I talked about horses and how much I would love to have one. I made a book by copying everything I could out of the World Book Encyclopedia about different breeds of horses, horse colors, and horse care. I peppered my father with questions about when I could have one, and why I couldn't now. When my father finally relented (as a child, he farmed with poorly trained horses and was not particularly interested in having a horse on his farm), he called me at school. The school secretary called me from my classroom to the school office to talk long-distance with my father. Those acts alone should tell anyone alive in the 1970s just how important the news he had to share was to him and to me. He told me he found a pony for me and I would meet it within the week. Talk about incredible! Talk about joy!

With Dusty as my horse friend, I spent afternoons riding or sitting on him. I rode in all seasons--in my snow-pants and in my swimsuit and shorts. Most of the time I was in jeans and tennis shoes, but I rode in whatever I was wearing when I decided to go to the farm. My father was happy to have me riding, so he would help me saddle up. Perhaps because my horse riding had been so informal, I didn't bother to read all the horse farm information.  I signed the waiver to permit my daughter to ride and placed said waiver in my purse.

When our ride arrived to pick us up, my friend commented that I looked ready for the beach. I assumed she was really commenting about the beautiful day we were enjoying. Later, she would tell me that she thought of mentioning that my child might need pants (Leah spends time each summer riding with her family in Wyoming, so the rules of safe horse riding are clear in her mind--yes, she is the same Leah who was my soccer snack savior), but she thought my daughter's cowgirl outfit was adorable, so she let the worry go. The girls made loom bracelets as we drove the hour north to the horse farm.

With the girls anxious to get started, the farm staff gathered them up. They asked my child if she didn't have jeans she could wear. No, she didn't have them. They explained she would not be able to ride without pants. You can imagine the look my daughter gave me. The other mothers asked if I didn't have an extra pair in my car.  Even if I had my car, I wouldn't have had an extra pair of jeans--this JV Mom doesn't plan like that. I did ask those mothers if they happened to have extra jeans in their cars for my daughter to borrow, and even those Varsity ladies didn't have extras. Of course, they did have appropriately dressed girls.

The problem solving commenced.  I searched the farm lost and found for jeans. No luck. Then I asked my friend Leah if she would kindly drive me into town to find pants of any kind that would fit my child.  I was willing to stitch some men's athletic socks into leggings, but no such socks were to be found at the local grocery. We knew we would find jeans at the Walmart 20 minutes away, but with a 40 minute round trip, I was certain my sad girl would be crying in a corner because she was not allowed to ride. I Googled a thrift store, Leah dropped me at the door and I ran for the kid racks. I found jeans and we sped back to the horse farm.

We found the lesson in progress. To my surprise, my daughter was riding a horse in jeans. She wore teenager jeans, with cuffs that went up to her knees and a waist cinched by twine, but she was in pants and riding. The instructor had taken pity on my child and dug a pair of jeans from her own car. What a sweet girl! My child didn't want to change into her "new" jeans that would fit her properly because she was wearing the jeans of the coolest girl she knew that day--her riding instructor. The afternoon was saved by a stranger, and I would remember that I owed the universe a similar kindness.

As a child, I too, enjoyed a trail-ride at a stable a couple of summers. Not one time did the guides question my attire. Perhaps my parents knew to put me in jeans, but I remember summer rides and I swear we wore shorts and tennis shoes. I absolutely know that my parents did not walk behind the horses as we rode. The moms at this trail ride decided we should hike in the mud and dung and follow the riders on foot. Hmm. I thought we would sit in the picnic area and drink iced tea. Hiking the trail was not an option I considered when I dressed that morning. I was clearly in beach gear, but if all the other moms were going to hike behind the trail ride, I guess I was going to do the same in my flip-flops. It was as messy and comical as you are imagining.

Let it be known that this JV Mom did bring an amazing salad to share during the picnic that followed. Let it be known that I received compliments on that salad. Sure, I endured some chiding about my lack of hiking shoes and my daughter's lack of riding gear. Those women were only speaking the truth, and I am a firm believer in the power of laughing at myself to make friends. I maintain the afternoon was more interesting and more fun because of the JV pants scramble and my dung dodging in beach shoes. I think the moms laughed more than they would have if my child and I had arrived in jeans and boots.

Maybe JV Moms don't bring all the required things, but I think our ability to find humor in our failings makes events more fun for everyone. Those Girl Scout moms are kind women. Even if they decided to gossip about how my child and I weren't dressed properly--what is the harm of speaking that truth? If they did judged me, what they think about me is--as the wise say--none of my business.

The lessons I took away from that day are as follows:

• People are generally helpful and kind.
• My child is better able to adapt to situations than her mother is.
• Scanning a waiver for an event does not provide the required information--so spend some time reading the website's frequently asked questions section.

Looking back on that experience, my final revelation is this: the childhood my children are enjoying requires more specific attention to details on my part than the childhood I enjoyed required of my mother. My children will not experience the childhood I had, which was a rural Wisconsin, come-as-you-are-because-we're-happy-you-are-here-to-pay-to-trail-ride kind of childhood. We wore the same athletic shoes for track and softball.  We rode bikes without helmets and played in hay mows. My children will experience a safer childhood. They have a childhood with helmets, covered legs, wrist and mouth guards. Those are all good things. Those are things this JV Mom embraces.

Three years ago, my father had a Christmas surprise for his five grandchildren. He bought a pony and an Arabian for them to ride when they visit. What gifts! The kids love walks to the farm with carrots to treat the horses. They have boots for riding, though I let them ride in shorts and without helmets. I lead the horses, since my kids are not interested in trotting. This past Christmas, the kids and I had lovely bare-back rides on the Arabian. While the snowflakes fell, that gentle beast took my lead as the kids rode and then let me guide him with halter reigns. I slipped into sentimental thoughts of my childhood on a pony named Dusty in the same pasture. My failings during the summer trail-ride were distant memories for both my daughter and me.  We made new memories as we marveled at the snow, found the rhythm of the the horse and took in the beautiful light of dusk in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Those special memories are sponsored by Papa and Cookie, two of the best grand parents any kids could have--Varsity Grand Parents, for sure.