Flying free

She hinted she didn't want to ride.

P gets stressed at the thought of homework building up, forms that need to be signed and bags that need packing for the next school day - which is a sad state to be in when you are 9 years old. I knew as soon as I saw her, as she wearily left the classroom, that she was unhappy; there were 50 multiplication sums and 10 spelling sentences to do for the next day. P can't think, or process, or have fun, until the pesky school work is completed.

I persuaded her to trot around for 10 minutes on Spot who enjoys a little jolly. She rides well, little P, but I can see she doesn't always enjoy it. After a cajoled canter, I built a teeny, weeny, tiny jump.

Go on I said. You can do it. And she did! Quite spectacularly. Twice in fact.

She grinned, I praised her and hugged the pony for being so honest.

"How was that?" I asked

She thought for a moment and considered her answer.

"When you go over the jump it was like there was a big hammer, hammering down my homework into the jump!"

Wow I replied. How does that make you feel?

"Like an angel lived inside me" she said, flooring me with her reply.

My 9 year old daughter had just explained how horses made me feel. No matter how life is turning out, how blue my day has been or desperately unhappy I felt; when I am near horses, it's like an angel lives inside me and nothing else matters.

To the horse who put the angel inside me:

Rest in Peace Mr Fletcher, thank you for teaching me, for allowing me to feel, for your free spirit and wild ways. I will never, ever forget you. Run free you crazy ginger beastie and I'll see you on the other side for a mad gallop.

Fletch, who rekindled my love of horses, put to sleep this week

The next phase

I loved the milky babies, days out with toddlers to play farms and forests. I loved the relative freedom  of them starting school and being able to discover horses again for myself. I loved them growing up and developing strong characters and dislikes. Of them still believing in Father Christmas and needing to sleep in our bed if a nightmare arrived. I think I loved it all, but the memory is a marvellous thing and filters out the mundane and the boring. The photos taken are of happy times and milestones, like the first solid food and wobbly ride of a bike, they fool us into remembering a content and peaceful time. I really loved being a mum to little children. I'm just not sure I'm doing a good job of the next bit.

A is nearly 12, developing into a young woman at great speed. Her character from toddler-dom is still there, a kind and empathetic child, a loather of pain, a messy eater with a wide infectious smile for all. She tries hard at school, loves her pony with passion and has many friends.

And now she has a phone. And Instagram. And I don't like it, I don't like it at all.

It's not the amount of time spent staring at the screen, we are all guilty of that I'm afraid, but the influences and messages which pollute her child-like brain.

Maybe I am feeling a loss of control. The beginning of letting go, the start of her finding her own path with it's steep drops and craggy rocks on the way.

I try and help her with her friendship issues, I encourage her to talk about her worries, we discuss what to ignore and what to confront and we spend time together in silence - just brushing the horses or mucking out the stables. I want her to fit in and stand out as different. I want her to be strong but caring. I would like her to work hard at school but not to the detriment of her pleasures. I would like her to have a special friend but be kind to the whole class.

And of course I hope, hope so much, that she is happy.

Mallorca or Sussex, being a Mama is one of the hardest jobs of them all. 

Winter

Winter happens overnight here in Mallorca.

Half term was a blissful week of sunny days, riding in tee shirts, sunglasses over lunch, snoozes on the balcony with faces to the warmth and ice creams watching the super yachts moor for the winter; after a season of indulgent luxury.

We had the obligatory end-of-summer-BBQ. Just as the last sausage was consumed and the last glass of chilled white wine was quaffed, at exactly the same time as last year, the weather turned cold and the skies turned black. Winter had arrived - and boy, do you notice it here in Mallorca.

The houses are just not built for the cold, with their stone floors and no insulation. It doesn't help that our boiler has broken, the logs are too damp and the electricity company is threatening to cut us off for not paying our bill - we are trying to pay obviously but it just isn't that simple here in Spain. The ceiling has a hole in it, the rain drips slowly onto our duvet, the horses are wearing their rugs and the kids wrap up in puffy jackets and tights on the way to school.

But do you know what?

It might be chilly, with a shivery breeze - but there is always the sun. Weak and watery as it is right now, it never fails to make November simply delightful.

Cold but sunny evenings after school

es-Pot

It could have gone so horribly wrong. I had never bought a horse before, let alone a pony for my precious kids. But arriving in Mallorca over a year ago, I was impatient. We rented a house in the middle of the island with accidental stables and an arena to ride in. I say accidental, and I know you don't believe me - but it wasn't in the house description I promise you.

After a very stressful move from the UK, all our dreams and belongings in one lorry load, I wondered how long it was deemed acceptable before I went pony shopping.

In two weeks I had found him.

He was called Spot. Es-Pot, as the Spanish say. There is not one spot on his body, but I'm sure there would have been when he was young.

He stood, fatter than most, tied to a hitching rail looking bored and resigned. The sellers steered us to the more energetic looking ponies - ones with a heftier price tag as well.

"That one!" I pointed at Spot.

Ohhh, he don't jump so good.

Well I definitely want that one then. My kids wobbled round on this pure white pony and he looked after them, a week later he was in our home.

He has been worth every euro since, every-flipping centimos. This pony makes every day worth waking up for, he is the most honest, genuine, kind, loving, patient, fun and food-obsessed horse I have ever known.

He has taught teenagers to ride, adults to smile, a 3 year old to hang on and grown men to laugh. He is my daughters first real love.

You are with us forever Spot. And you know it.

With his girlfriend, and boss, Kira

The Grinch

The most loved pony in Mallorca

Oh, and he can jump!