Last week was hectic. The baby was out of daycare for two days (sick-ish). Terry was getting sick. Terry's mom was visiting while she waited for a doctor appointment (underlying stress for all as we waited for CT Scan results... all excellent! Yay!). We all had a hard week at work and school. When Friday hit, we were pumped to drive 750 kms to the other side of the province to have a couple of days riding down snowy slopes.
We arrived after midnight and were on the hill by 10:00 a.m. Saturday. The first ride was a-ma-zing. We were feeling goooooddd. Hill two. Brittany passes me now. She flies down the hill like the skilled boarder she is. Terry is also much more skilled at skiing than I am at boarding. I've really lost my snowboarding ability since having a baby, but I digress..... so I'm taking little jumps as I completely enjoy my second ride and I'm killing it! I'm making it a few inches into the air!! Wooohoooo! I'm flying! *sarcasm* I see Terry stopped... waiting for me.... and there's a little pile of snow in front of him. I know exactly what to do (impress!). Swish... swoosh... bend the knees... lift... jump... fly.... PLOP! Or should I say BELLY FLOP! Sweet lord, the wind was knocked out of me. My brain shook. It took a good 5 minutes before I felt clear enough to make it the rest of the way down the hill.
And so the weekend began.
I spent the rest of the day struggling with the fact that I simply was not as skilled at snowboarding as I used to be. The day was still fantastic. The snow was fluffy. The air was fresh. My board didn't seem to want to keep moving on flat parts so I had to bend over and push myself until I reached a hill. Towards the end of the day, I had another fall. This time, backwards. Right on my butt. My neck whacked backwards and cracked and crunched. Now, I knowingly was to have sore muscles equally balanced on the back and front.
The day ended and we were all tired and refreshed and happy with our first day out for the season (albeit a tough one on the body!).
We were all asleep by 9 p.m. that night. And the baby slept until 6:45! Heaven.
Sunday's snow was even better than Saturday's! We managed to get on the hill by 9:30 a.m. This is a great feat for parents of a 1 1/2 year old.
I learned my lesson on Saturday though. I took it easy. I took breaks when I felt I needed to. I didn't try to keep up with Brittany and Terry. I enjoyed the scenery. AND... I listened to my music. Literally and figuratively. I was not 'there' on Saturday. I did not accept the fact that my skill level has declined and I had to slow down. But on Sunday, I plugged in my earphones, I practiced acceptance, and I enjoyed the ride.
It was bliss.
Of course, the weekend had to end. We had to pack it up and drive back 750 kms. As we pulled the cart of luggage (an amazing amount for two days) the baby bag tipped off and fell to the floor. We had two bottles of beer left over from our big party night (between three of us we drank 4 beer while we watched a TV show) the night before. In our last minute of fury packing, Terry poked them into the baby bag. And yes. They smashed in the baby bag when the bag fell to the floor. Crash.
Being beat up physically as well as by the ego, I was already primed to have a little freak-out. I had a short snap of unconsciousness. "Why did you put the beer in the baby bag? I said it wasn't a good idea." Oh, the self righteousness! I stewed for a good 10 minutes as we cleaned up the mess, threw all of the baby's food for the drive in the garbage, put her beer soaked clothes into a separate bag, and finished packing the car - now smelling a little beer-like.
A few breaths later and a few apologies from Terry... and a coffee.... we're having a grand chat and all is in the past. It was so not a big deal. And I so over-reacted. And I so apologized for it.
Anyway, we made it home.... and when the rock flicked up to our windshield and cracked it, Terry had a little stew of his own. Thankfully, I'm not the only human around here.
Namaste
