What it Takes

Last Saturday we went up to Pennsylvania where Max and I went skiing with my friend Amy and her son, who is Max's age. It was a great day--the sky was a sunny and bright blue, the wind was low, my gloves were thick, and it was fantastic to have a kind of one-on-one time with Max. And, being there reminded me of how much I really, really love skiing. It's a fabulous sport: both physically and mentally challenging, but somehow graceful and relaxing at the same time. There's hardly anything more gorgeous or rejeuvinating than being in the mountains with snow (even if skiing in PA is more hill than mountain), and it's especially satisfying to get through an area that's technically difficult. Mostly, though, there's nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes from the combination of speed, slope, and snow. Everytime I'm there I wish that I could do it more often.

But before I start sounding like I'm something fabulous on the slopes, the other part of the reality is that to get me on a ski hill, Adam basically has to dress me, buckle my boots, and put me in line for the lift. This is because I also really, really hate skiing. Firstly, I hate HATE hate being cold, and I'm constantly worried that it will be windy, icy and bitterly cold and that I'll be utterly miserable. But I'm also afraid of just about everything else involved: irrational fears like falling off of the chair lift right before the unloading point, or more realistic fears, like falling down when unloading--as everytime I get off it feels like I'm not going to make it standing up off of the chair and balancing at the same time, all while steering myself away from the people nearby (and I've proved myself right multiple times, thank you). Then on the hill I feel as though I'm always just mere moments away from being completely out of control, especially when on anything even slightly technical. I can't turn well, I can't control my speed well, I stay away from bumps or particularly steep pitches, and I'm usually focusing on doing everything in my power to keep from falling. It's a terrible experience.

What's terrible is that I feel this way. Because, of course, at the end of the day, everything's worth it--pushing myself past my mental limits, the hard work it is for me to improve in technique, and just enjoying the experience for what it is--even if getting there is at times torturous.

Which makes me dread the day that we take Olivia skiing. When I recently described skiing to her, she said "oh, I don't want to do that." That didn't surprise me one bit. She is 5 1/2 and she won't do a sommersault. I've given her many safe opportunities in which to try, but she's very firmly and repeatedly told me "no" (even years ago) and that she'll do one when she's 7. Until then, no amount of cajoling, promises of gentle assistance, enormous bribery, or even force will get her to even lean down headfirst on a mat. I admit, I'm half really irritated by this behavior and I just want to force her head over heels, but the other half of me completely gets the internal torture that she experiences when even thinking about the idea of doing something physcially uncomfortable.

So I give her allowances....and part of me that says that it's ok that she doesn't do sommersaults, or she won't go down the slide on our playstructure, or jump from the edge of the pool into the water. And part of me says that sometimes someone just has to push you into it (or you have to push yourself) and you realize that it's not so bad, and actually pretty fun.

I don't know how it will go with her when we get to that point. However, when she does actually learn to ski, at least I can look forward to always having a skiing partner....or perhaps she'll learn to out-ski me both physically and mentally, and that will make me happy too.

Finally!

We have snow!!

Afterall, if it's going to routinely hover around 17 degrees outside, then there might as well be something to show for it.

Well, technically this isn't the first snow of the season as there was an earlier snow in November, but I have bitter feelings toward that one since it came down on my yard still full of leaves. Besides, it wasn't enough to do any serious snow playing--only make the job of raking up those leaves all the more unpleasant.



But this time it was enough to play on, and, better yet, even happened to coincide with MLK day and a day off from school. So the kids were happily bundled and outside to try out the sledding...which, since it wasn't a huge amount of snow, turns out was best done on the driveway and not the grass (it's a good thing we live on a dead-end road).





Happy Winter




p.s. I would just like to point out how I keeps it real by having a completely mismatched assortment of winter clothing for the kids. If only Isabel had been wearing her fuschia snowpants just to really prove the point.

Watching History

Last Saturday we got the chance to see Obama (again!) as his train from Philadelphia to DC made a stop in Wilmington to "pick up" Joe Biden and his family. It was pretty amazing and I feel really fortunate that we were able to do this. It's not often that you get to see a President of the United States, especially as part of the Inaugural celebrations. Add to that, with the energy and excitement about Barack Obama's election and his place in history, it was a very happy crowd for sure.
Best of all, Delaware pulled through for us again with the opportunity to participate in an incredibly historic event, but without all the madness and enormous crowds of major metropolitian areas, with a decently close spot in the crowd and a good view, while only having to walk 4 or so blocks from the parking lot to the event, and having to arrive only a measly 1 1/2 hours early. Hooray for being a small-pond!

The event started with a short program including a local childrens' singing/dancing group, then the Mayor of Wilmington spoke, the Governor-elect of Delaware, and some Amtrak official introduced Joe Biden (since ol' Joe has been commuting to DC via Amtrak for the last 30 years or whatever). And after Joe Biden spoke, Obama arrived with his wife (and girls, though they stayed on the train thanks to the cold). Obama gave a short speech with all the good stuff and giving a shout-out to all the things that Delawarians love, like Blue Hens and Blue Rocks and the historical convienence of being so close to Philadelphia that during the Constitutional Convention in 1787 it was easy for Ceaser Rodney to ride his horse home and get the state legislature to ratify the Consitution before any other state--phew! (As they say, "It's good to be first.")

the view of the stage and Obama from our spot in the crowd

We took only Max (and left the girls with sitters since I wasn't sure how they'd handle the cold) and went with our friend Jenn and her son Elliott. Adam also brought four of the Boy Scouts from the earlier night's campout.

Jenn buying some pins
crowds and vendors with Inaugural momentos

And, when I saw the pictures of yesterday's event on the Washington Mall with its 750,000 people, I was even more glad that we got to have this chance. Yeah, we didn't have the added bonus of seeing Bono or Beyonce perform, but probably 725,000 of the people at the event didn't actually see them either.

Temperature Readings

Right now the outdoor thermometer reads 12 degrees--and the night is still young. And right now, Adam is in our backyard setting up tents, the propane camping stove, and building a bonfire in a portable fire pit with eight of the Boy Scouts from the ward. (For various reasons they had to make a cancelation to the Klondike Derby and so our backyard is the substitute.)

And right now I'm reeeeaallly glad that I never had to be a Scout or ever endure any kind of winter camping. I am not a happy person when cold.

Suddenly the indoor house temp of 66 degrees feels perfectly warm (and practically balmy). I even took off my scarf.

This Girl, part II

This morning, as with most mornings, I asked Olivia to go and brush out the tangles in her hair and then pick a headband or clip to wear (a huge reason why I loooove her having short hair--she can do this herself now). Soon enough she brought me a comb and asked me to fix the part and help with the headband placement (it can be tricky). When we were finished she stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, then did a happy jump and exclaimed: I! LOOK! SO! CUTE! Mom, aren't I so beautiful and cute?!

This must be the gift of being 5 years old. May it never die.

Sadly, though, I know that there must be a day in the future when she's sobbing in front of a mirror because she's certain that she's not having a bad-hair day, but a bad-hair life. Or the day when she does something like taking a Sharpie and drawing an outline on her body (the pre-having-birthed multiple babies-and-therefore-without-sags-or-flab-or-dimpled-thigh body, no less!) that she wishes she could cut away in order to get a "perfect shape." If men, reportedly, are constantly thinking about sex, then I'm going to go out on a not-so-risky-limb and say that women spend even more time thinking about their appearance--and most of it's not positive either. We could have an entire discussion about who is to blame here: advertisers, celebrities, the fashion industry, the beauty industry, or (as the Church Lady would say) "could it be..... Satan?" Whatever the case, sometimes I want to be like those good fairies--Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather--who visit the infant Sleeping Beauty and bestow special gifts. Because if I could give gifts to my daughters, I would want one of them to be that they would have a healthy sense-of-self, knowing, with solid-iron certainty, that they are and will always be beautiful....and cute.

This Girl

Even though we took down the crib to much fanfare, gave her a "big-girl" bed, and then hung butterflies from the ceiling over the bed (since she recognized the inequity of Olivia having hanging butterflies), she is now insisting that she wants to sleep only on the floor.

So today, while she napped on the floor, this one decided that he might as well nap in a perfectly comfortable but unused bed.