Becoming My Parents

Last night it was fresh bedding night for our pony, Snoopy.  Every few weeks we grab a couple fresh bags of shavings to replenish what is carried out with the daily stall clean-out.  As I pulled the plastic wrapped bales of pine shavings out of my SUV, (a) announced “I’ll dump em and you make em soft, ok!?” I agreed and giggled to myself as I knew he meant fluff and spread when he told me to “make em soft.”  Pine shaving don’t weigh much, so it wasn’t a big deal for him to pick them up, but they are packed pretty tightly and the plastic wrap is very snug, so my 4-year-old’s efficiency at dumping them was kind of another story.  When he couldn’t get them to just fall out, he began pulling handfuls out of the bag at a time.  In the process of that he started getting shavings down in his rubber boots, so then he had his boot off, standing on one foot like a stork dumping shavings, while he leaned on the bag he was supposed to be emptying.  It was kind of becoming one of those “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie…” scenarios.  

Success!! After...

Boot drama and...

frustration

But instead of jumping in to help him or fix it, I found myself watching and talking him through it while still making him independently solve the problem.  Eventually he got the boot back on and attempted the dumping again.  I suggested maybe he should tear back a little more of the plastic and showed him what I meant on the bag I was holding.  He tried it, and what do ya know- success!  After he had both bags dumped where he wanted them, I took the stall fork and started spreading and fluffing.  As I worked, I was talking him through why I was doing what I was doing.  He then came over and asked to take a turn.  While we finished up, I also talked with him about being more careful not to get SO many shavings with every scoop of manure he cleaned out of the stall in the mornings- sure it’s part of the process, but there is no need to be wasteful. 

 

After that process was finished, we mixed some new feed I had grabbed for Snoop from “the farm store.”  He pasture is getting eaten down pretty thin, so we opted to supplement him with a little bit of beet pulp.  For years I fed beet pulp to show heifers, but I realized that was long before (a) was around and he didn’t know the process of wetting it down to soften it and make it expand, so before I knew it we were both crouched over the bucket with hands in mixing wet feed.  He thought that process was epic, but loudly announced “I would NOT eat that!”  I giggled and told him it really wasn’t bad at all, and then I pulled out one of the wet shreds and offered it to him to try (I promise, it is totally safe).  He took it, chewed it up, and declared it was pretty good! He then asked me, “Mama have you had this before?”  I assured him I had chewed on beet pulp a few times myself to which he followed up with “Who gave it to you?”  I didn’t hesitate to answer, “Poppa Loran” (the name he calls my dad). 

 

But with that simple answer, I realized many other things.  Not only did Poppa Loran teach me to try a sweet, wet shred of beet pulp from time to time, he taught me how to mix it by getting my own hands dirty with him.  He often helped us practice the “art” of scooping manure without wasting bark or shavings in a heifer stall.  When we were figuring out how to do something, he usually talked us through it while making us independently problem solve, dump our own boots, and try again.  He talked us through why he was doing something as he did it.  And he let us work beside him on jobs that would probably have been quicker and easier to do himself, but he found value in the teaching instead of just getting it done.  In a few moments flashback, I realized that with my son in the barn I am a lot like my dad.  (a) brought me back to the present when he picked back up the conversation of who gave me the beet pulp by asking “Was he YOUR Poppa then?” And I just smiled as I said, “Well yes, but he isn’t my grandpa, I call him ‘Dad’.” 

 

In an hour’s worth of work, we had a successful cowboy, a happy pony, and a new reality that I am becoming my parents.  And I decided I am more than thankful for all three.

 

“Children’s children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.” Proverbs 17:6