Winter!

Back in early December, before the boys and I found out that this winter would shape up to be the wimpiest in all of our lifetimes, we decided that we would give Jon a day of downhill skiing for Christmas.  But then the snow never arrived, and even though we knew that downhill areas were making their own, it kept falling off our radar.  But then a quiet 4 day weekend rolled into town, and after relaxing through Friday we made last minute plans to make a run to Duluth on Saturday for a 24 hour getaway. 
We planned to try xc skiing at Snowflake just north of Duluth Saturday afternoon and as we drove onto their land we were sure that their website that proclaimed "great skiing!" was perhaps updated last in 2011.  Brown everywhere.  Except for the 4 foot wide trail through the woods.  Would never have guessed that I would agree with their web proclamation.  It was great, even once you factored in the bump up in rating for just being out on skis this dumb old winter.  The sun was out, the jackets came off, and we cruised through a rolling 5k in that golden glow that happens just before sunset on a winter afternoon. 
After skiing we repaired to our favorite Duluth lodging- the home of the Oachs that is perched right up for the great lake.  We had a lovely evening of food, conversation, and games with these lovely Duluthians.  The next day promised a great forecast for downhill- temps in the 30's, lots of sun, and most importantly for a ski hill that faces Lake Superior- no wind.  Theo went to bed a little unsure of his commitment level and was looking for alternatives.  Something must have been worked out in his dreams, because he woke up ready for the challenge.
After gearing up and forking over a whole lot of cash the four of us headed out to the bunny hill.  After a couple trips down I admit I was dreading the day, thinking that it would be the longest day of my entire life.  Theo was not at all interested in learning any of the subtleties of control.  Once he got up the nerve to point his skis downhill he was off, without an attempt to turn or slow.  Somehow everyone else on the hill avoided him for several turns, but I knew that luck could not hold.  Eli is a heck of a snowplower, so control is not his issue.  His problem is falling.  Or rather, getting back up once he falls.  He flailed around in the snow at my feet, frustrated with his skis, the hill, himself, and me, the evil mom who would not lend a hand.  This was one of those sink or swim moments I felt.  He had to figure out how to get up.  I'm sure I was judged by other parents around me as they watched me watch my son suffer.  Eventually I did have to give in and offer a pole for him to use for support.  He hauled himself up and got back on the treadmill thingy, casting dirty looks at me over his shoulder.  I caught Jon's eye and mouthed "merry christmas". 
But then we decided to ditch the bunny hill and try our luck elsewhere.  The hills at Spirit mountain are long for Minnesota standards.  The green we chose was not overly steep, but given the length I figured Theo could get up to some body-damaging speeds if he kept up with his no turn/no plow/no stop ways.  I pointed to a ridge partway down and said, "It is imperative that you stop at that spot.  Fall down if nothing else."  He nodded, knees shaking, real fear in his eyes.  Eli took off in his snow plow and made slow progress toward the designated spot.  Theo tried to follow but chickened out.  Girded his loins and tried again.  Nope.  Couldn't get himself to turn his skis downhill.  We coaxed and prodded and eventually he started traversing the hill sideways.  This was going to take awhile.  So I skied over to Eli and knocked him over.  Figured he would have plenty of time to get back up. I'm not as evil as I sound- I knocked him over on a steep-ish slope and I knew he'd be able to get on his feet with the help of the slope.  And he did.  Was kind of proud.  So I pushed him down again.  And again.  I like to think he appreciated it.  By the time he popped up for the fourth time Theo was approaching at this snail's pace.  I didn't mind the snail action- he was helmet-less and  I really really like his head so this pace was working for me better than the bunnyhill bombing.
By the time we got down to the bottom of the second hill both boys had cracked the code of skiing in their own way.  Eli's snowplow was just a touch looser, he was still 105% in control, but had found a way to get a bit of speed.  Theo somehow figured out how to carve back and forth across the slopes like a real skier.  His grin was huge and he was starting to keep an eye out for 'jumps'.  He felt like he was getting some air, and the upper part of his body was, so we found no reason to tell him that his skis were really not leaving the ground.  I'm always ok with perceived danger stepping in for real danger when it comes to my little risk-taker. 
In the end we had to force Theo off the hill hours after we had first intended to leave.  He would have shut down the place if we had let him.  All four of us ended up enjoying Jon's gift a great deal.  The pleasure of watching your boys grow in confidence and power and skill while also basking in some sweet late winter sunshine is a gift indeed.

Successful library run

When you can't even pause to take off your jacket after returning from the library- that's a sign of a successful outing.  Apparently he didn't want to take the time to actually sit in the chair, either.

Christmas competitions

Christmas just isn't christmas at my parents' house if there isn't some sort of competition.  Sometimes its sled races, or snow ball fights.  Often it's a pingpong tournament.  This year the weather was not suited for sledding, but with it being 45 and sunny, we were able to have a great game of kickball.  Or it was great, until my husband pegged my mom with the kickball.  In the face. And they were on the same team. Although, for the record, she did kind of deserve it.  She was supposed to be fielding, but was too busy taking pictures to put her hands out to catch the ball.  She took it well, laughed it off, and we went back to the game. 

Once we got kickball out of our system we retired inside for the pingpong tournament.  I started out the first round by taking on my 81 year old great uncle.  Now, he's tough.  Growing up, his sons used to school us, and then he would come downstairs and make mincemeat out of his sons.  I haven't played him in years, but I knew it wouldn't be easy.  Although he is 81.  Well, I had a great victory in game one.  Then he was warmed up.  I did put up a bit of a fight, but he finished me off rather quickly.  I think he could have been the overall tournament winner.  Only he had to go up to take a nap.  Do I take that as a compliment?  Or does that make my loss even more embarassing? 

Post pingpong we started a new tradition- the dance competition.  Turns out no one could compete after watching Pete and Jay dance to a Katy Perry song.  We were too weak with laughter.  We will let them take the dance title for this year.  I will admit that I am practicing in the privacy of my own home so that I am ready for next year's dance-off.  Wonder how good of a dancer Uncle Bill is?

Bucket brigade

So the boys went back to school two days ago.  And today both of them are home sick.  It started off with only one home, but Eli had the unfortunate luck to be upstairs right before school when his brother was throwing up. It's never easy being around a person who is dealing with intestinal issues, but Eli is another case altogether.  He started humming loudly to try to drown out the noise.  I helped Theo get cleaned up and then pushed Eli out the door.  He went, with backwards glances that were meant to show me just how damaged he was from having to witness Theo not at his prime.  But to school he went.  A short while later I got a call from the nurse.  Eli was lying down in her office, complaining of a stomach ache.  Eli has never been to the nurse's office before, so she was taking him seriously.  I helped Theo through one more round of issues and then knew I had a clean 20 minutes to fetch Eli before Theo might start feeling cruddy again.  So I rushed down to get him.  There he was, looking pale, and somehow self-righteous at the same time.  I brought him home and he set himself up in a chair in front of the TV with a bucket.  Before long he was asking me for lunch.  Which he ate heartily, with a bucket by his feet.  Right now he's playing a pretty active game on the wii, bucket nearby.  He feels fine.  But he is now linked to that bucket for at least 24 hours.  Last time he threw up I think he carried that bucket around the house for 48 hours.  This time he hasn't actually been ill, so we might be able to pry it out of his hands within a day or so.  Sheesh.  What a kid.

Bike Vistas

With last weekends snow and ice, my biking season has come to a close.  I don't risk it.  Jon has very nicely set my bike up on his trainer in the basement, so that I can continue to use biking as a workout without trudging off to the Y.  And it has been nice and convenient.  But about 20 minutes into my morning ride today I looked up and was struck by my vista.  Or lack of one.  My head's up in the rafters, surrounded by rusty pipes and dusty cobwebs, two feet in front of me hangs yesterday's laundry I have been meaning to collect, and my ipod rests precariously on a shelf full of stuff that really needs to go to goodwill.  Not soul expanding surroundings, to be sure.  Luckily this is just for the shoulder season, when the roads are icy and the wind is chill, but there's not enough snow to get out into the woods on skies.  I can't wait to be released from the basement and out into the woods where the vistas, even if only of the local golf course, help my workout refresh my soul as well as my body.

Bike musings

Our Minnesota fall was an excellent one for bike commuting.  The weather was perfect- the only problem was the darkness that encrouched on both ends of my ride by mid-October.  Luckily my trusty old Dutch commuter bike comes with a generator, so I always have a headlight- no worries about leaving anything on and batteries dying during the day.  The problem with the generator is that it makes peddaling even harder.  And it comes with a soundtrack of this busy buzzing noise.  If I'm on the flats or going downhill, the buzzing is highpitched, fast and furious.  It makes me feel like I am really whizzing through the night.  But any uphill segment of my commute comes with a corresponding slowing of the buzz and a dimming of the light.  At one point in my trudge up Pelham I come to near silence, as well as only the dimmest shadow of a light.  It is quite discouraging.  It is an all too honest indicator of my effort level.  I've found myself amused to think about how we would react if our entire lives had such a buzzing in the background.  Anytime things are going well, are easy, we had this whizzing sound in the back of our heads.  But as things slowed down, got bogged, were difficult, the whizzing got lower and slower, a visceral signal of our increased effort.  I don't know if it would change how we lived our lives.  I do know, however, that about 3/4 of the way up the Pelham hill, when my generator is nearly strangling, hardly making a peep or giving off a flicker of light, I do regroup and double my efforts.  It usually means standing up on my pedals and really kicking it into gear.  But by the time I reach the top, the buzz is geared right up and my way is once again brightly illuminated. 

I owe the therapy jar some loose change

This past weekend I kept walking around piles of the boys cast-off toys and books.  Everytime I had to make my way around one of the piles I would urge the kids to pick them up.  After about my forty-first detour around the small toys on the living room floor I snapped.  I gave the boys (who were happily reading by the new fireplace) one more chance to get up and pick them up.  Getting no response, I created one of my own.  In dramatic glory, I scooped up all the toys I could fit into my arms, declared loudly that they were headed for the trash, and then stomped up the stairs.  I admit that I couldn't bring myself to throw them into the gross trash can under the sink that has all manner of foodscraps in it, and instead went to Eli's nearly empty bin in his room.  But throw them I did.  The boys, finally roused from their reading stupor by my glorious tantrum, rushed up behind me and stood in the doorway, aghast at my actions.  I informed them that they could, should they desire, rescue anything they wanted from the trashcan, but from this point forward any toys left unclaimed on floors or tables or radiators could be found filed away in the trash. 

The whole time I was having this tantrum, a part of me was detached and watching from above.  This mini-me was amazed, impressed, and only a little embarassed.   I watched myself dust off my hands, and prance off to the privacy of my own room.  I will let you know that I took great pleasure from the sounds of the boys hastily shoving toys into drawers as I hid in my room, waiting for my cool to return. Jon then sidled by and sweetly asked me to cough up some loose change for the therapy jar. He may have a point.