On Being a Jealous Sister and Weekending in the Snow

My brother and I haven't always gotten along. I blame my parents for this. There I was, a perfectly content almost six-year-old only child, living the dream. No one to have to share toys with, no one to compete for my parents' attention with, no one to fight with. Those were some good times. Then suddenly my world was turned upside down by the birth of a behemoth baby boy, who clearly was not going to fit into the frilly pink dress I had chosen for my new sister.

Once he grew out of the wormy newborn phase and started to put on some pounds in his cheeks, I thought my baby brother was kind of cute. It was fun to dress him up in my doll clothes and parade him around the grocery store. I liked bringing him to school to show off, since none of my elementary school friends had actual babies living in their houses.

But then he started to crawl and get into my things. Soon he was toddling all over the place and nothing was out of the reach of his grimy little hands. But the worst thing about my brother was that he was just so goddamned adorable. He had the face of a cherub- golden curls, chubby pink cheeks, sparkly blue eyes, and a set of dimples that made strangers on the street fall all over themselves telling my mom how beautiful and angelic her baby was. Meanwhile I had reached that awkward stage of growth where my teeth were too big for my face and to make matters worse, stirrup pants came into style. No one oohed and aahed over toothy, gangly, stirrup pants-wearing eight-year-old me, that's for sure.

As he got older it became obvious that he had a natural athleticism and it seemed there was no sport he could not play. The kid had trophies lining his shelves and enough Kidsports t-shirts to clothe a small continent. Not only was he a star athlete, he was also so personable and quick to smile and easy going that people were drawn to him. I, on the other hand, grew to loathe him.

But then years passed and there came a time when I needed my brother, and he needed me, too. We leaned on each other and from our shared dark time we forged a new friendship which has more than made up for all of the fighting we did as kids. And then he brought home a girl who became like a sister to me and now when we plan a weekend getaway to the snow, they are the people we want to invite.

The roads were bare when we arrived in Sunriver, but we woke up the next morning to this:



We had planned a day of skiing and snowboarding at Bachelor, but after a treacherous, white-knuckled drive up to the mountain it was clear that Mother Nature had other things in mind for us. So we came home and took power naps while the blizzard raged on and then we ventured out to find a sledding hill and spent the afternoon shrieking and sledding and laughing and throwing snowballs.


Sawyer continues to struggle with the concept of keeping your gloves on to stay warm. I am hoping he figures this one out soon.

Does this seem like a bad idea? It probably was...


Nick tried over and over again to snowboard down the sledding hill on the disc. Brent just made it look so easy, but something about Nick's towering size made this an impossible feat for him. I laughed harder at this than I should have, but then again I did have to sit through all of those Kidsports games while the crowd cheered for my MVP brother.






After we said our goodbyes on Sunday morning we decided to swing by Willamette Pass on our way home and get in an afternoon of skiing. It was powdery perfection and sunshine all the way.


Are you going to ask about my hat?? I've had this hat since I was in elementary school and my mom knitted it for me. I am pretty sure I chose the color scheme. I love this hat- you can always spot me on the mountain.

I asked Brent to take this picture because, although I am not usually a fan of the posed photograph, I am often struck by the notion that this is a moment that defines who we are. This picture is how I want my kids to remember me. I'm at work a lot. Sometimes I am grouchy. I probably spend too much time cleaning my house. But then there are the days when we drop everything and ski. Those days deserve a photo.

Just like how my boys deserve a weekend in the snow with their Uncle Nick. Because all that charisma and athleticism means that he's pretty much the coolest person in the world to his nephews. Even if he was kind of a pain in the ass when he was a kid.

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Skis and Skates

"Let's go skiing!" I said to Brent on Friday night.

I was feeling frumpy and restless and wanted something NEW! and FUN! and EXCITING! to do with our weekend because laundry and grocery shopping just wasn't going to cut it. I've been feeling so over January ever since it started and I figured a wintery snow adventure just might carry us all right into February.

Jack is an experienced skier and we decided to go ahead and rent Sawyer a pair of skis because we figured we could afford an $8 show of equity.

Snacks, layers, books, lunches, sunglasses, gloves, knitting, blanky, etc.

And I smiled as I went to bed that night, because I just knew.

My alarm jolted me out of bed before dawn. While the three boys in my life slept on, I tiptoed around the kitchen making coffee and buttermilk oatmeal pancakes. I packed a bag with enough food to feed an army of preschoolers.

I knew I wasn't going to get to ski. I'd be applying sunscreen and wiping noses and finding fingers in gloves all day long. But I didn't care. I've had plenty of me days in my lifetime. This day was theirs.

There was a time when I thought it was kind of sad when people lived vicariously through their children. Then I had my own and now I see that you are living the moment when you stand beside your children and watch them take the steps that you took. Or the steps you wanted to take. Or maybe the steps that you never even knew about. There's nothing sad about that.

My mom saved these silly little books that I made when I was Jack's age. My protagonists were a pair of sisters named Threada and Bobbin and I can't remember much of the plot except that I think they lived in a tree in my front yard. In one of the stories, Threada or Bobbin gets lost and the other sister cries "I wish I had my sister back!"

I don't know what ever happened to those books. The pages were starting to yellow and the pencil marks were smeared because I had turned the pages and traced the words so many times. I wanted a sister of my own. I was living vicariously through Threada and Bobbin.

I chaperoned a middle school dance not too long ago and found myself watching two brothers interact in the goofy, inside jokey way that only brothers can. And I smiled because my boys have each other.

As the road curved up toward the mountain they chattered on about the snow and the chairlift and the very special ski helmets that they cradled in their laps. Brent and I spend a lot of time listening to them talk to each other these days. Jack has adopted a particularly charming habit of calling Sawyer "brother" as in "Brother, let me show you how to put your skis on."



And then days later we found ourselves at Skateworld and I inhaled the nostalgic smell of hot dogs and feet and cotton candy while my kids discovered the painful laws of gravity and the infectious quality of pop music.

Skating around that familiar blue rink reminded me of Saturday morning skating lessons during my elementary school years. Admittedly, I am not the most graceful person you will ever meet, but for some reason I convinced my parents to pay for lessons and at one point I even had my own skates and one of those weird skirted leotard outfits. I'm not sure I was ever particularly good at skating, but I did skate my little elementary school heart out, and it was Springfield in the 1980's so who really cares anyway.

(I did, actually. I remember crying in the Skateworld bathroom because I couldn't do the one maneuver that would have advanced me into the FOUR star class. Whatever. THREE star was cool, too.)

Around and around the rink I went with Jack gripping my hand and I wondered how many times I have circled that rink and if I held my mom's hand the first time I went around. Because it's been a long time and I don't remember anymore.

So I will keep on lugging that camera around with me, because someday we might forget who took Sawyer up the chairlift for the first time. And I know we will want to remember.

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The Snow Day That Wasn't

Around this time every year I start itching for a good old fashioned snow day to stave off those January blahs. There's just something about a day of freedom and the promise of sledding and snowmen and hot chocolate, and the tranquility and purity that a blanket of fresh white snow bestows upon us all.








We got our snow day, except that it was a holiday and so we all had the day off already, thus making it only slightly less thrilling. But our excitement waned by 10:30 when it all began to melt and my poor, snow deprived children had to tromp unceremoniously back into the house to shed their muddy layers. And then they demanded the hot chocolate. (That wasn't enough for my sweet tooth so we also made some epic hazelnut brownies.)

One of the nicer things about working in a rural district is that I'm not constantly running into students and parents. I always hate it when I make a tousle-haired beer run to Freddy's in my sweats and run into kids I know from school. Thankfully that doesn't happen often, because I live far enough away from their epicenter, and I'm not going to lie: I do make those runs to Freddy's on a regular basis.

But the best part about working out in the sticks is that sometimes I get a snow day when there's no snow at my house, which is exactly what happened on Tuesday. We slept in and ate pumpkin pancakes and I had an extra cup of coffee. I indulged Jack in his latest obsession: the Little House on the Prairie books. (Yes, I am WELL AWARE of the fact that I need a daughter- but the Little House books do kind of have a universal appeal, especially when Pa cleans his gun and skins deer and such.) I am telling you- this kid is a chapter book addict. We flew through the 2nd Harry Potter book and I'm stalling on #3 because it all gets so dark and sinister and I don't want to traumatize the little lad. Besides, those books will still be waiting for us when we finish the Little House series and maybe when he's five he'll be ready to read about Death Eaters. Or not. He's relentlessly badgered Brent into reading the Henry Huggins books and so now he's got each of us on a chapter book and so there is always someone to whine to about reading. PLEASE! JUST ONE CHAPTER, PLEASE! Yup, an addict I tell you.

Sawyer, on the other hand, detests the chapter books and demonstrates this by snatching them from my hands and throwing them across the room and/or turning off the lights while we are trying to read. Sigh.

We spent part of the morning at the open gym where I mingled with the stay at home mom crowd and watched my kids trampoline their little hearts out and then we came home to make chocolate chip M&M cookies. Why M&Ms? Because certain somebodies like to nibble on my baking supplies during the week and when you run short on chocolate chips, M&Ms will come through in a pinch.

So basically we did a whole lot of relaxing and nothing too noteworthy happened and I kind of wonder what the point is in sharing this drivel, but then again, a snow day is a snow day, even if there is no snow at all.

AND THEN! Then the sky opened up and let loose a deluge and the rivers swelled and the roads flooded over and ONCE MORE it pays to work out in the sticks because we got TWO MORE days off. Which was, of course, not cool at all when you watch the news and see people being evacuated from their homes. The people with livestock? Oh man.

And do I have anything blog worthy to report from those two days? Nope. But I will tell you that there was lots of reading by the fire and many cookies were eaten and we are all well-fed and rested. I probably have forgotten how to teach by now and next week is going to be a bitch, but right now the flood waters are receding and Brent and Jack are snuggled up on the couch with Henry and Ribsy. And Sawyer, our cowboy superhero, is sound asleep in his bed.


I think I'll go eat some more cookies. Or take a nap. Or both. Happy weekend!

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Picking Up the Spare

A little known and quite random fact about me is that I am actually kind of good at bowling.

"You know, it's weird that you're good at bowling 'cause you really don't seem like you would be," Brent told me after a recent ass-kicking at the bowling alley.

But I know what he means. I'm usually not good at things that involve physical coordination or strength. I do, however, have a bowling strategy: I pick up the spare.

I think most people aim for the strike right away, but that would never work for me. I almost never get strikes. But I do get spares, and that's how I win the game.








And since it's January and we're all setting those pesky resolutions for the new year, I think I'll just say right now that I plan to go for the spare rather than the strike this year. I struck out last year when I set the bar way too high by attempting to acknowledge your birthdays. I do that too much: expect great things of myself and then feel bad when I can't make it happen.

It turns out that there are a lot of things that I simply cannot make happen.

So I'm just going to be okay with that. That's my resolution: I'm giving myself a break.

Because when I make lists of five billion things to do on my days off, there's no time for this.



(Can you find Lulu?)





And although I'd love to keep enthralling you with my bowling metaphors, instead I am going to veg out on the couch with my man and hope for snowflakes tonight. Because there's no list for tomorrow and I am feeling pretty darn good about that.

In other words, I'm going to go enjoy my spare time.

(Sorry! Couldn't help myself.)

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