Is it all uphill or down?

Sitting on top of a mountain, all by myself, a couple weeks ago, I realized how rarely I am truly alone these days. Unless I am driving in my car to or from work or to get the kids... I usually have someone with me at all times.

Being by yourself is empowering and humbling at the same time. I could hear my own thoughts and was able to slow the beat of my life down to enjoy all that was around me. The little details that I take for granted while I rush through each day. Instead of wake up, shower, get kids dressed and teeth brushed, fix breakfast, drop at school, head to work, go to lunch, pick kids up from school, make dinner, take baths, brush teeth, say prayers, tuck in bed.... Rinse. Repeat. I was breathing in the cold, unpolluted and refreshing air that you can only get while being transported on a ski lift. Trees and snow surrounded me. I could hear the hum of the machine that cranks out the artificial snow and the laughter of snowboarders below me. But even with that background noise... it was so quiet and peaceful.

Here on the mountainside, there were no calls of "Mom! He hit me!" or "Miranda, can you call ____ and check on _____." No events to plan. No deadlines. No homework to check. Just snow. Quiet. Peace. Calm. --- Not to say I didn't miss the kids. A part of me was wishing they were there, as I knew they would have loved playing in the snow and even learning to ski along side me. But I needed this little vacation from life. From motherhood. From my everyday.

This was my first time skiing. I am 33 years old and I had 3 year olds zipping around me when I got off the lift. But that's okay. I was not intimidated. I took my time. I got the feel for the ice and snow under my ski's. I learned the subtle turns and slices to slow down or speed up.

I never truly made it off the bunny slopes.... well okay, I admit that my boyfriend talked me into a green run. Once. It was at the end of a very successful day on the bunny slopes... I only fell twice. So I was feeling supremely confident. After a brief Starbucks break (what we deemed the nectar of the snow gods), I donned my gear and headed towards my first green run. AT NIGHT.

Yes, that is right... this was NIGHT skiing. If it wasn't for the football stadium-sized lights, you wouldn't be able to see the lifts or the runs... and you could NOT see where the path wound around to. Sometimes it felt like you would fall off the edge of the mountain as you came around a steep turn. I screamed the entire way down. Entire. WAY. Down. Lots of screaming.

I managed to stop by falling at the end of each steep hill . When I was afraid of going any faster, I'd just throw myself onto the snow sideways and skid to a stop - snow and ice flying around me. It felt like it took HOURS to get through that run, but it was probably only 15 minutes.

When we got back on the lift to go back to the top of the mountain (we were at an upside down resort... meaning the resort is at the top of the mountain, instead of the bottom like normal)... my heart was HAMMERING in my chest, I was out of breath.... BUT I was exhilarated. I conquered a huge fear and did it without killing myself OR breaking anything. Seriously. I am so not kidding. I felt really and truly accomplished by stepping out of my comfort area and doing something risky and thrilling. It's so not my typical style. I live my life in a fog of anxiety and fear and worry... rarely taking risks. This was a HUGE step for me.

The guys yelled "Ready to do it again Miranda?"... I smiled widely at both of them... "You really loved it didn't you? You did a great job!" said my very supportive guy. "Let's go," he said skiing off back towards the run enthusiastically.

But instead of following, my skis stayed firmly planted... turning almost of their own accord back towards the lodge. My breath was not evening out as I expected it to and my heart was beating more wildly than when we made it down the run. I could feel perspiration beading on my forehead.

Feeling dizzy, I gripped my ski poles and said "um, guys, I can't." They both looked at me like I was crazy. I mean... I JUST DID IT. I proved I could ski and with practice would only get better. But my legs would NOT move. My heart was gripped by panic and my head was pounding.

Yep, I was having a full-blown panic attack.

Great. God only knows why? I mean it was just tiny little green run... not like I just did a double black diamond or anything. But there it was, the familiar tightening of my chest and the overwhelming feeling that I would pass out or vomit or both.

I knew myself well enough, having suffered from anxiety for several years, that my best bet was to call it a night and let the guys go finish up the evening doing their kamikaze stunts down a black diamond. I had a warm bubble bath and glass of wine eagerly calling my name. I knew when to accept my limitations and call it a night.

Later that evening, glass of wine in hand, I relaxed in the room alone and reflected on the day. I had went from never having been on ski's to running head first down a mountain, at night no less.

Despite the panic attack, I was proud of myself and felt like it was a learning experience for me. And even though I only skied for 2 days total - and was terrified for most of it - I am excited to go back someday soon and learn more and get better. I am not done with skiing yet my friends.

The next day was our last day and I just wanted to enjoy the mountainside with nothing better to do than take some pictures, do a little shopping for the kids, and find a nice place to have some coffee... by a fireplace maybe... you know, the whole "Hallmark" moment that everyone dreams of when skiing for the first time.

So I sent the guys off in search of a few more manly thrills down an advanced ski run. (I am certain they were relieved to rid of the amateur and not stuck with me again for the day... and I was relieved to have some more valuable ALONE time).

Do I regret not facing my fears on that last day or even the night before and honing my newly found confidence on the slopes? No. Not really. I found what I needed to find on that snowy mountain... I found confidence in myself again. I knew that no matter what I wanted in life... I was not to old or stubborn or scared to face it. No need to tempt fate any further than that for the time being.

Who is this child?

Something I want to be sure to do more of is writing down some of the conversations my kids have. Their intelligence, wit and intuition never fails to astound, impress and amuse me.

For example, Jenna's conversation with her father on the phone last night.

Jenna: Sorry I didn't get to go to your wedding Daddy - even though you PROMISED I could. (insert slight dramatic pout).

the ex: That's okay Jenna. I tried, I really did, but it didn't work out.

Jenna: Yeah, you stole Nate from school and got in trouble. I understand. (with a tone of resignation and matter of factness).

the ex: (long pause)

Jenna: Daddy?

the ex: Well I didn't steal him, I just borrowed him. I was going to put him back when I was done. (teasing tone).

Jenna: (giggle) He's not a toy to be borrowed and put away daddy.

the ex: I know. (sigh)

Learning. Loving. Living.

Do you ever miss being a kid? I'll admit that I really don't think about it much. My childhood was fun and full of drama at the same time. Interspersed with the happy moments of playing with my friends until dark and drawing hopscotch on the sidewalk, is the memories of my mom sitting in a corner of a dark room crying and having potato soup every night for a week because there wasn't enough to eat in our house.

Childhood was somewhat bittersweet for me. I grew up not knowing my real dad. I fell madly in love with my mom's first husband, who eventually cheated on her, got mixed up in drugs, and died a homeless vet roaming the city streets - hardly father of the year. And then I spent my pre-pubescent years scowling at my mom's second husband and picking fights with him throughout high school. I took all my resentment out on him, and although sometimes he deserved it, most of the time he didn't.

But I also remember holding all-day dance contests in my cousin's front yard, complete with a sheet of cardboard to "break-dance" on to the tunes coming out of our "boombox". Fun times. And sitting on the back patio in the scorching sun eating a popsicle, feeling it drip down my arms and onto my bare legs and then jumping in the pool to rinse it all off. While inside the house my family was falling apart.

For a kid with a childhood like that... the good memories were a lifeboat to happiness.

The resilience of children has never been more clear to me than when I became a mom. Wiping tears from faces that just got skinned from falling off a bike, kissing a papercut that has already begun to heal but needs a batman bandaid, well just because it feels better, and playing barbies with my daughter because she had a fight with her best friend --- these are the moments when my heart breaks because more than anything I want to protect my children from any pain. But then five minutes later they are up and running and laughing again... whatever hurt received quickly forgotten. And that makes me smile.

I realized tonight that I am doing a good job of protecting them and encouraging happiness, because despite being involved in a nasty custody dispute with their father, my children are oblivious to it. I fill their days with activity and stories and love and kisses and hugs - tucking them warmly into bed at night, so that they don't doubt for one second that they are loved and cared for. They don't have to worry about whether mommy is sad again or whether there will be something new on the dinner table tomorrow night. They have the security to know that their every need will be met.

Does their mom sit in a corner and cry? I'll admit that sometimes I do, but it's when they aren't around to see or worry about it. Have I worried about where I'll find food to put on the table? Since becoming a single mom, yes I have been there a time or two as well. But it's not something they ever see or realize. I protect them so that they can do what kids are suppose to do... play and learn and experience the wonders of our world.

And somehow, through them, I am getting to experience my childhood over again - well at least the good parts. That's my reward for being their mom.

Weeeee!

Is there anything more free than this?

Jenna doing what she does best

Congestion

Can a upper respiratory illness cause writers block?

I am home sick today. Fuzzy bathrobe snug around me, hot tea with honey and lemon cooling... I thought "What a perfect time to catch up on my blogging."

But what to write about?

...

...

...

Being sick? God, no one wants to read about that.

Kids? Nate did start a new school yesterday and because they teach Spanish there he keeps asking me when we can go on vacation to Mexico, convinced he'll be fluent after a week I imagine. Jenna has a complicated friendship with three little girls that is causing her equal joy and frustration.

I could use my experiences with both of them to write an article. How to transition a little one into a new school in a healthy way, as it worked well for us. Or write a piece on the dynamics of friendships that carry over from childhood into our adult lives.

Somehow there are thousands of ideas and possibilities swirling around in my head, but I can't seem to formulate one of them into words that I can type.

It reminds me of driving in dowtown Dallas traffic on Monday morning. Inevitably you are going to hit traffic and it's usually caused by some city planning committee who thought it would be great to take the four lane highway and expand it to six to ease traffic - but not taking into account the length of time and resources needed to complete the improvement would include shutting the four lanes into one as the development is being done. So what you have is four lanes of traffic being merged into only one - causing traffic congestion.

That's what is happening with my head. Congestion. And I am not talking about the extensive amount of snot making my nasal passages throb. I am talking about a congestion of words and thoughts and ideas... they are there in my head and all of them want out at once.

But where to start?

I can't just hold a tissue to it and "blow" the way we direct toddlers to do when they haven't figured out how to do so yet.

Or can I?

A friend once told me that writers don't get "blocked"... they get lazy and scared. A real writer never stops writing... even if the topic is overdone or mundane. Just do it. (thanks Nike for the most recognized tag line of my generation). JUST. DO. IT.

So instead of staring at the computer screen and being too scared to write... being too lazy to start... I have one new year's resolution for 2009. To rid myself of the congestion of ideas by writing about them everyday. Just stick my hand in the pot and pick one and go with it. I might just find that with one good "blow", the words will come flowing again.

Dear Santa - mom needs a new job...

I was cleaning out her backpack this morning and found this letter, addressed to Mr. C. (Santa Claus). I will let you attempt to read it first and then translate it in a second...




LMAO

Here is the translation:

Dear Mr C - I hope that I am on the nice list. I would love that. I would be
good. P.S. Jenna P.P.S. So will you put me on the nice list? And Mr. C, I love
you. Oh and I hope that you love this letter. Oh and Mr. C, will you let my mom
be a elf working at your work? Cause I would love that. From Jenna to You.

Now I am not sure if this is because she thinks Santa needs some more effective marketing and I am just the person to do it, or she just hopes that me being an elf working there will score her some better Christmas presents. LOL.