Column: What was I thinking?

“Did she just ‘mom’ you?” my oldest son said with a smirk.

Then my husband chimed in, “Seriously, though what were you thinking?”

Surely, they were concerned for my well-being, right? Mostly, but it was also a friendly reminder that people of my “advanced age” should think twice when a harebrained idea pops up.

It’s no secret our daughter rides horses. (You already know where this is going, right?)

She rides on a regular basis, learns from experienced trainers, is in the best shape of her young life and she “still bounces.” Meaning, when she hits the ground, she gets back up.

I, however, no longer ride horses consistently, nor do I train, and am definitely not in the best shape of my life. Turns out, I also do not bounce anymore.

Here comes the harebrained idea…and my fall from grace (well, Maverick if we’re being specific).

On a picture-perfect day, I thought a ride around the property on a young gelding was a good idea. What could go wrong?

I donned my courage (and stupidity), threw a saddle on the “cutest little horse ever” and paraded out into the sunshine.

The typically sweet little horse, though, was a little spicy. When he tried to walk away from the mounting block while I was half on, I should have taken him inside, but no. I decided to get on and make him mind because that is what we tell our daughter to do.

He walked a little faster than normal. He was looking around at everything.

“Oh my gosh! Is that a tree? Was it there before? Is it gonna eat me?” All things I assume he was thinking with his tiny brain.

He probably felt my excitement — er, anxiety — because horses — being preyed upon animals in the wild — are in tune to things like that.

Whatever it was he saw or felt (the breeze maybe?), he decided I needed to be ejected. And eject me he did.

I felt it coming and when it did, the world went into slow motion.

I was launched up onto his neck first.

“This is it, folks,” I thought. “This is how I die.”

That was quickly followed by, “Are my feet out of the stirrups and can I shift so I don’t fall on my face/head/neck?”

In fact, my feet were (thankfully) out of the stirrups and somehow, I managed to take the brunt of the impact with my backside.

I sat in the grass for a minute and stared up at the jack*** — I mean, horse — that had decided whatever was after him, was no longer a threat.

He just stared down at me as if wondering why I was sitting in the grass.

What is it I tell our daughter when this happens? Oh yes, “When you fall off, you just get back on.”

Well, instead, “do as I say, not as I do,” because I was not getting back on that horse.

I did a quick scan before trying to stand up am happy (thrilled, actually) to report that no major injuries were sustained, just bumps and bruises. My pride though is permanently damaged, and I have no aspirations to “get back in the saddle.”

For days now I have had to endure the lectures from our daughter — now acting adult — “You’re not mad at him, are you? Because you’re the one who decided to ride. Were you by yourself? You know better. You can’t just get on him and do that. He’s young. He has to work first. Blah, blah, blah…”

It was like looking in a mirror, “Do I sound like that?” So, I did what she does: rolled my eyes.

And — like her — I will never admit she is right.