Rocky Mountain Mama

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Well, internet, we have arrived in beautiful Colorado. And can I just say how much I have missed the mountains? I grew up surrounded by mountains, and even though it's been a good 14 years since I've lived in their shadow, I will never get over the sheer majesty and beauty of them. Waking up this morning and looking out the window just brought a lump to my throat. I felt a little piece of my soul restored.

I am a mountain woman.

Though, I am definitely not to be confused with those crazy people zooming down the mountain at perilous speeds on two tiny, little wooden sticks, just begging for death.

A skier, I am not.

I tried it once and absolutely hated it. Might have had something to do with the fact that a slightly-less-than-patient Husband was my instructor. And after watching me fall, laugh hysterically at my own predicament, and be unable to get back up, he retired his ski teaching position for the betterment of our marriage.

I may give it a try another year with a proper instructor, but have decided to happily sit this round out.

Don't spend too much time feeling sorry for me though. I have the lovely staff of the Ritz Carlton at my disposal, a stack of very good books to read, a large, comfy bed for napping in, and a spa masseuse just waiting to pamper my chubby self.

We left the kids in the very capable hands of their Oma, and so far they have not worn her out completely or turned all Lord of the Flies on her.

The night she arrived, I had to laugh at the sight of this in my kitchen:



Technology, much?

Looks like it's going to be a fantastic weekend for everyone.

Contentment

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I was watching my kids play in the snow last week. I watched their red cheeks, stretched tight with cold and laughter. The snow balls flew through the air, and their bodies pressed angel-shaped into the snow-covered grass. Confetti clouds of white were tossed against the bright, blue sky. Shrieks of bubbly laughter surrounded them like a thick blanket.

And then the question creeped into my mind, ever so softly.

When exactly did I grow up?



I don't remember it happening. I just know that it has.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to pinpoint the moment that dipping my face into the snow sounded less like an adventure and more like torture. When did I decide that a snowball in the face is not the least bit funny? When did it grow so cold out that I chose to watch instead of play?

I think it happened so gradually that I hardly noticed it.

There was a time that I was the one with frostbitten fingers, tossing snowballs at my brothers' knitted caps. I was the one who donned moon boots and a striped coat, and stayed outside for hours -- returning to the house only for lunch or a quick cup of cocoa. I was once the one who made snow angels and tossed confetti clouds of white against the sky.

My days now are filled with schedules, carpools, laundry, and dishes. I have bills that I pay. I have a car that I maintain, and a house that I own. I have worries, stored up in a tired mind, that always seem to unleash themselves the minute my head hits the pillow.

I am the one who locks up the house at night, and climbs into bed in the dark. Nobody checks my closet for monsters or tucks me in with a kiss.

I am now the grown up.



Every once in a while, I miss the little girl who liked to have that kind of fun. But mostly, I sit content with myself now. Watching over my little snow babies from the warmth and security of a soft chair by the window. Looking up from my book now and then to laugh with them. Hurrying to ready a warm cup of cocoa when I hear their boots stomping in the garage.

Because the little girl I once was? She never knew what it felt like to warm the hands of her babies, listen to their laughter, and find that she loves them so much it hurts.

If she had, I'm afraid she might have been in a much bigger hurry to grow up.

A most unexpected, perfect day

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Well, no sense denying it any longer. Winter is here. In all her white, windy, wind-chill glory. Got the call from the school district late last night that the impending storm would be enough to close school for the day. (I tried not to laugh as I thought of my youth spent in Utah without a single snow day. Like ever.)

But I promptly ran through the house and turned off all the little people's alarm clocks. Left a note on the banister informing them of the good news (and included a warning for them to not wake the mama in the morning). I slept in until almost nine and woke up with a smile on my face and a deep sense of satisfaction in my soul.

There's nothing I like more than sleeping in.

Well, maybe I can think of a few things, but it's definitely in the top five.

After a late breakfast, a family workout, and a round of showers, we headed out the door. We have some fabulous friends who just so happened to buy a house around the corner, and we joined them to break in their new backyard.

Clearly, it was a chore for some of us:



They've got a pond in their backyard that is nestled so nicely between two large hills - the perfect combination for skating and sledding on a wintry day.



And thanks to the arctic clippers that keep making their way through St. Louis, the sub-freezing temperatures have worked their magic on the pond - rendering it frozen solid. This is pretty unusual around these parts - we tend to get much more reasonable temperatures in the wintertime.



The day was full of smiles, sleds, and snow boots.



Not even a few crashes on the way down could dampen the fun. It was kid heaven.



And the pristine, perfect day was topped off by rounds of hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches. I watched it all - the laughter in the beautiful kitchen. The smiles all around the table. Their rosy, red cheeks. The piles of soggy gloves and boots.

And I said a silent prayer of thanks for this unexpected gift of a day.


My only fear is that their hearts will break when they have to get on the bus and head back to school tomorrow.