A Toast to the Skiing Years & Legacy Making

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There is a photo wall in my mother-in-law’s house of their family skiing. At the center are photos of Brett and his older brother Shawn learning to ski as toddlers in the 80s, when they donned sunglasses with a strap around the back instead of goggles, and fuzzy hats with a puffball on top instead of helmets. One of the photos is when Brett was maybe 8 or 9 years old and Shawn was 11 or 12. They are both wearing ski jackets hand-sewn by my mother-in-law, Karen.

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Young Love

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Conor ran into my grandparent’s house and immediately found my grandpa sitting in his rocking chair. He sprinted into the arms of the man he’s named after and declared, “I missed you!!” As my grandpa stood up, Conor noticed the string of a red cellophane balloon above him.

“I pway wif bawoon?!?!”

They brought the balloon to the living room and we took turns lifting Conor to reach the white string as he kept letting the balloon drift to the ceiling.

“Whose balloon is that?” Norah asked.

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Something Important

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“Hey Mom”, Norah asked as we sat at the table – one of us coloring and the other meal planning. It was a rare Sunday afternoon when the apartment was quiet while Conor took an extra long nap and Brett went for an extra long run, allowing for slow, uninterrupted conversations with my first grader. “I have a question for you. When I’m a mom someday, what if I want to have a job but I also don’t want to hire a nanny? What do I do with my kids?”

Apparently Norah wanted to bypass a couple decades of tough conversations and jump right into the mom guilt arena.

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The Storm

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The sky was emotional on that early July night last year. Like a mirror for my day.

The great expanse started calm and peaceful, content with its place. Visiting family back home in Montana, I started my day with a pedicure with my cousin and we caught up on life and love, teaching and moving.

Then the sky wanted to show off a bit. The sun turned more and more vibrant as it dipped over the mountains, leaving behind clouds tinged in pink against a purple-red sky. After getting my toes painted, I spent the rest of my day family hopping. My three-year-old daughter learned to play golf with her grandparents; she ran with bare feet through the grass with her cousins; we checked out the new brewery and listened to local music with our parents; and we made plans to go hiking the next day with my brother.

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Seeing Jerry

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A family of rhinos took my attention away from my daughter.  The parents were coaxing the two young ones to move along towards the next treat station.  They had to maneuver past several princesses, a clunky Thomas the Train, and our very own two-year-old little Statue of Liberty to reach the prized bowl of Twix bars.  The plaza at Lincoln Center offered only five candy stations, but the costume watching made it worth spending Halloween morning in the company of hundreds of other New York families. 

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