All My Egg in One Basket

I have two boys. I refer to them as “Irish Twins”… thought technically, they aren’t. I looked up the definition of “Irish Twins”. The children have to be born within the same calendar year to be considered as such. So mine aren’t, but before my older child turned one, I was already pregnant with the second one. I just like to use the term "Irish Twins" because I feel more justified about how busy and crazed my life feels most of the time. The early years were busy, and although my boys are able to buckle themselves into their car seats and carry their own back packs now, I am still incredibly busy, lots of tiny things, but especially Legos.
Why Legos? I’ll get to that later… bear with me.
My boys are very different children, with different passions (#1 trains) and (#2 perfection). They are close in age, so they are at different stages and places in life, but sometimes they hit milestones at the same time. For example, they both learned to ride their bike on the same day. Truly, I ran between both bikes, holding on to back of their little bike seats and as I let go, I watched them teeter away side by side. It was an amazing feeling and it was weird to have them both “get it” at the same time.
As a mom, I sometimes try to freeze and savor the moments. The moments pass by as quickly and as slowly (did that make sense?) as a child newly riding his bike in a superhero helmet; if you’re a mom, you understand and you know it’s true.
But I digress. Back to the point: this blog is called All My Egg in One basket, and I did mean egg… not eggs. Let me explain: For purpose of this blog, “egg” is a metaphor for motherhood. Yes, I have two children, but I am one person and the experience of mothering them is mine; it is my one chance at this. Mothering is rewarding and exhausting and I have to say that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have thrown myself into the experience from the moment they handed me my screaming oldest son. I’m doing my best 24/7.
However, there are moments when my best just isn’t good enough. Sometimes I need the support of others.
And it is all because of Legos.
Man, they are tiny. Have I mentioned that they are tiny? And of course there’s the fact that some of those Legos are TINY! And they bounce and they are important to 7 and 8 year old boys. Legos are good for developing/maintaining fine motor skills. They are great for working at visual/spatial mastery and creativity beyond the directions that come in the box. They are colorful, versatile, fun, and I like them too.
I really like them until an important piece gets lost. It happens a lot. Just yesterday, my son had brought his Lego creation to school. Somehow from the time he left class at the end of the day until we arrived at our van to leave, a tiny gun was missing from the side of the ship. The custodian was vacuuming so we knew our time for resolve was limited. We retraced our steps. We re-walked the entire school. Up and down the hall… in the gym, in his classroom, his brother’s classroom, my classroom. Nothing. No gun.
We had finally resolved ourselves to the loss. But then, our school cook noticed we were desperately scanning the ground for something.
“What’re you looking for?”
“A Lego gun.” My son said sadly.
“A tiny one.” I added, exhaustedly.
“Did you look over by that truck?” She asked.
“No.” My son was fighting back tears at this point.
“I saw you there earlier. You were flying your ship.” She happened to look out the kitchen window at the perfect time to see him spinning around in circles in the front of the school. She walked over to the truck and looked down and suddenly, SHE found the tiny black gun. That helped my evening go much smoother I have to say. Thanks Kristi!
We used to play with Mega Blocks when they were very young. They are too big to lose, but this past Christmas we took the major Lego Plunge. They come in boxes of 850 pieces or more (AND EVERY TINY PIECE IS IMPORTANT- IT’S A PUZZLE) with visual directions. And Legos can be found on EBAY too ($18.95 for “a lot” of 200 Batman and Star Wars Legos from someone in Texas). It arrived today and before dinner the “lot” became two ships. The boys were having a great time and enjoying playing with Lego Droids… side by side. Not fighting… mostly. It was grand… until…
Until one of the Lego ships was spinning around in the bathroom (I don’t know why, it’s the smallest most crowded room in the house), hit the toilet, and broke into pieces. Everything was found but the tiny, tiny, tiny, Droid Helmet. Some mothers would look for the helmet and others wouldn’t. I think it all depends on what is going on at the time of Lego loss.
We have lost other tiny things. My younger son lost his tooth at school and then LOST that same tooth in his grandparent’s car. That very tooth turned up about a week later! Can you believe that? My older son lost his tooth at school and then LOST that same tooth on the bus! The bus driver actually found it while sweeping the bus that afternoon. Can you believe that? A little girl in my kindergarten class lost her tooth and then lost that same TINY tooth near the classroom door when we were on our way home. I found the thing under the door frame and had to slide it out with an untwisted paper clip. Can you believe that? I can. I’ve lived these moments and remember them vividly because in the life of a young kid, it is a BIG deal. Therefore, to a nearby adult, it had to be a big deal too.
My husband lost his wedding band into a snow bank at Christmas (right around the time the chickens started laying eggs). After searching for his ring repeatedly with a metal detector, he found it on the FIRST DAY OF SPRING! He proudly wears two bands now: the original one that he found (thankfully) and the temporary one that my mother “loaned” him from her jewelry box. It bothered him a lot when he couldn’t find his wedding band. It was troubling to him. It was frustrating to him. It was annoying to know there was three feet of snow sitting on top of that TINY thing for the entire winter. But it was found after all. As the snow melted, it allowed itself to be found.
And now as I type, my younger son is deep asleep near another tiny lost tooth- one that he lost today (of all days). He is awaiting the arrival of the Tooth Fairy tonight. And I will capture the moment. Before I collapse into deep slumber myself, I will go up and steal his TINY tooth, replace it with a quarter, and kiss his warm forehead, for the days of losing teeth are numbered.
I noticed that baby teeth and Lego Droid helmets are the same size! To both of my kids, they are equally important.
So, as a mother, I feel I need to do the best I can to treat all the tiny things with respect as well. I feel the importance too. If it’s important to my child, it has to be important to me too.
But the experience of mothering with Legos around makes my nerves feel as fragile as the first egg that came out of my chickens.
If you have ever read any of my other blogs, you know that I have a chicken coop. I wanted fresh eggs and so I (we) built the coop and awaited the arrival of chickens. They arrived (if you build it, they will come). My friend gave me two hens (Thomasina, named by my son the train fan) and Susan Salari (named by my son who likes The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe) and then my neighbors added two more hens, (Odd Job and Plastic Bag II). Another two chickens came a few months later (Bob) and (Junior)... don't ask. So, we now have six chickens and they lay about two eggs a day. Perhaps one chicken is laying eggs, and other five are slackers.
-So I have to add here that just tonight I got three eggs… something must be wrong. They must have heard me blogging about their “slackerness!” (slakyness)? Oh, you know what I mean.
I remember the first ceremonial first egg; it came on the Winter Solstice (the shortest day of the year). This egg’s arrival cracked me up (sorry about the pun on the use of the words “crack” and “egg” in the same sentence). The picture you saw at the beginning at this blog is off that first egg. I held it with the almost the same wonder as a newborn. I gave it a bath and put it in a basket and took a photograph so I could remember what I was feeling.
This is what I do: I take the pictures. I freeze-frame the moments. Most of the moments are the ones you can capture on film, though some can’t be captured on film.
Take for example today. I wouldn’t have wanted to freeze-frame the moment I began to look for the Lego Droid’s helmet because I had to lie down on the bathroom floor and search. I took the baseboard off the wall. I swept dust bunnies. I shook out towels and rugs. I was ridiculous.
I typically pride myself on not being too obsessive about things. I don’t know what came over me today. Three years back, when everyone was flipping out about Thomas the Tank Engine and the fact that he had been painted with lead paint, do you think I worried? Nah. I actually knew people who put their entire train collection in boxes and shipped them off to have them completely replaced. I’m not that good; I’m not that on the ball. I just told my kids to keep the trains out of their mouths.
But with Legos, I get a little crazy. This past Christmas, we spent three days just working on Lego ships and Lego trains. I don’t even remember if we ate (kidding). But over vacation there was a day when two little neighbor girls came to visit, and when they came into the house, somehow the Legos went flying. I actually found the two TINY TINY TINY missing pieces. One was crammed in the cushion of the recliner and the other somehow ended up in the trash. Can you believe it? I don’t think I will ever understand how these things happen.
You can tell I’m into Legos. But I don’t take a picture of the structures that they make. Maybe I should start. I will probably forget the colors and shapes of the elaborate creations, and believe it or not, I will probably forget how it feels to step on a Lego in the middle of the night. Or I will forget how my sons can actually sit together and work for hours on one Star Wars ship and then proceed to playing an elaborate battle without actually arguing about how to fight.
But today, I had my favorite Lego moment. I just didn’t want to forget it, so I decided to sit down and write this blog.
I had been searching in the bathroom for about five minutes for the TINY Lego Droid helmet to no avail. I even called on Saint Anthony (patron saint of lost items) and I’m not even Catholic. Oddly enough, I managed to look behind the door and find the back of my earring I had lost at 7:30 this morning. All day, I used an eraser to hold the earring in place. That felt good. I ran my hand along beneath the baseboard. Nope. And then, I sat in the perfect position to locate the little black piece. Aha!
“I found it!”
“You found it?” My child asked. There was such gratitude and disbelief dripping from his voice.
“This is it, right?”
My son paused from flying his ship just long enough to wrap his arms around my neck and whisper into my ear, “You’re the best.”
I closed my eyes. I felt it. It felt good. I can be a good mom. I seek and I find.
I may not be able to get it together to box up poisonous trains and send them back to China, but I can crawl around on the floor and find TINY Lego Droid helmets. It’s all in a day’s work. It’s part of being a mom.

It’s the TINY things that count.

Two Roads

The Road Not Taken


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.






The Robert Frost Interpretive trail is close to my house in Vermont. I’ve walked the trail many times and read all of the posted poems that are along the way. In the forest where Robert walked and spent many hours writing, the trail is a treasure. If you are ever near Middlebury, Vermont with absolutely nothing else to do… check it out.
If you attended a high school English class, you probably participated in at least one session of interpretation of The Road Not Taken. What did your class decide? For the purpose of this blog, I’m going to revisit the long-ignored skill of poetry analysis. Come along with me; you can participate.
I think the most common thought on this poem is that Robert Frost was advising his readers to take the figurative road that is traveled less. In other words, march to your own band and beat your own drum. If everybody goes right… then, dear reader, go left.
The poem The Road Not Taken is displayed on the Robert Frost Interpretive trail after a bridge that crosses over a lovely brook. The first time I came upon it, I found it very funny because beneath the poem, there is a giant arrow pointing to the right. I actually laughed out loud at the arrow and turned left. I think Robert Frost would find it funny that most people come across the bridge, read the poem, and follow the arrow. This trail is a one-mile loop and in seven years of taking this trail, I have never seen anyone (but me and my family) walking the “wrong way”. In my opinion, in order to honor Robert Frost, there is no other way to do it.
I think the poem has another meaning, and in this blog, I will show you what I mean. I think Robert was looking at life in a linear way and saying that no matter which path he had decided to take in his life, he would have ended up exactly where he was supposed to anyway. I agree with him and I actually put this theory to the test. Like Robert, I couldn’t travel both roads, but I’ll describe for you how I tested this on one of my typical days.
The other day, I had many things on my list of “things to do.” I had to have an actual list that I wouldn’t forget anything. Most of the things on the list had to do with checking up on the well being of my oldest son because of… well, put it this way… a few nights before, he had an extremely bad day that ended with a trip to the emergency room. We had some follow-up appointments with his doctor (for his arm) and the dentist (for his tooth). Aside from appointments for him, I had to “squeeze in” (don’t mind the pun) a mammogram for me, swimming lessons, a lunch play-date, and grocery shopping. Did Robert Frost have busy days with lists as long as mine? Doubt it.
I am spoiled living here in Vermont. We don’t have to build any extra time into our day for traffic. Not many people live here, so the commute is simply the commute on a country mile. I build travel time into my day, but never consider that there will be anyone else on the road.
However, upon leaving home that morning for our appointments, my kids and I were suddenly stuck behind a slow car. Then we came to the stop sign that is about a mile from our home. The car ahead of us turned right and I began to think. If we went right, we would drive a paved road with a slow car in front of us, and make a trip through town. If we went left, we would drive a dirt road with no one in front of us and could avoid town.
Thinking of Robert Frost I made a decision to turn left.
Now this was July 13th. Historically, I haven’t always liked July 13th. It may sound weird, but I dread the day, and not because I have Triskaidekaphobia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triskaidekaphobia … I don’t. I’ve simply had two life/death/harrowing close calls on July 13th, so I don’t know why I scheduled anything on July 13th. I usually don’t leave the house on that day. It’s the one day during the summer that I like to stay very close to home. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking I guess. Enough said about that.
I guess I woke up that day kind of dreading what the day had in store… or –if you will- what travelling “the road” would bring for us. But back to the story… we were turning left…
About another mile up the road, we came upon a GIANT tractor mowing the sides of the road. It was moving slower than I walk! We could have parked, got out of the van, and walked the 13 miles to Randolph faster than this tractor! I gripped the wheel, thought of Robert Frost’s appreciation of nature and examined the lovely Maples on both sides of the road as we crawled along. Finally the tractor turned and we were on our way at a faster pace until…
We came upon what the locals call a “Vermont Board Meeting” (two pick-up trucks facing opposite directions, side-by-side, engines off, drivers talking).
Protocol at a “Vermont Board Meeting” is:
1. Pull up behind them.
2. Stop.
3. Wait until they finish their conversation.
4. Wait until they notice you.
5. Watch them start their trucks.
6. Smile and wave at the driver who finally drives past you going the other way.
7. Try not to curse and hold a grudge as the truck in front of you begins slowly.
8. Never pass the truck in front of you… that would be rude.
9. Drive behind the truck until (finally) one of you turns off the road.
I would say that by this point, I was in a pretty large hurry. (I use the pronoun “I” because my kids were oblivious to the situation). It was very hard on me that the person in front of me was driving slower than the speed limit. I wasn’t going to drive like a maniac, but when the truck FINALLY turned right onto Middle Hollow Road, I didn’t consider thinking about Robert Frost’s thoughts on views of ponds as I went left.
I never see cops on Bethel Mountain, but there was our constable parked at the top of the mountain. I wasn’t speeding, but he was a reminder to safely stay the course. I waved, maintained the speed limit, checked the digital clock, and plugged on. Until…
School bus!
Why would there be a school bus in the middle of the summer? Why would it be picking up children? Why would it be driving very slowly (in 1st gear) down the east side of Bethel Mountain?
I know why! Because I had appointments to keep, that’s why!
And then I thought of Robert Frost again and looked at the view. From the top of Bethel Mountain I could see all the way to New Hampshire. I reminded my kids of the beauty. I smiled, “You live in Vermont. You’re so lucky!” So, we were behind a school bus. We could be stuck in 3 lanes of busy traffic near a congested city. We weren’t. We could see many mountains far away and a blue sky decorated with clouds like cotton-candy. I held the wheel and down-shifted into first gear too.
Well, we made it to our first appointment with the doctor… late. But they were very forgiving and let us in anyway. Heck, I’ve had to wait for them on many occasions. The doctor discovered that my son’s collar bone had actually been broken! I’m glad we had a follow-up appointment. The ER doctor missed the fracture because my son’s collar bone and one of his ribs over-lapped and it was hard to see. We fitted him with a strap-on brace (that he’ll wear for two weeks) and headed to the drug-store for IBUProfen for relief from his pain. When I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, I saw my mother’s jeep parked there.
She had a doctor’s appointment the same day, and a dentist appointment too. Same doctor’s office. Same dentist office. Weird, eh? I suddenly wondered if they had made it on time. Probably. It occurred to me that they probably had turned right when the roads split; they had taken the road “more traveled”. They were always on time to appointments.
My kids and I spent a few minutes parked near the train tracks so we could watch the Amtrack train come in. Our timing was great; it zoomed by us with great vigor and my son with the broken collar bone felt great after that experience. Fortunately, we were able to make it to the pool on time because there were no mowers, trucks, or busses out and about. While at the pool, I casually mentioned to my friend Alyssa that I had a mammogram at 1:30 and was not looking forward to it.
“What are you doing with the kids while you’re having it done?”
“Oh, they’re coming with me.”
“To the hospital?”
“Yep. My mom would usually watch the kids for me, but she has a buncha’ appointments today too… so she can’t.”
“Leave them here at the pool with me. I’ll watch them.”
My day suddenly seemed easier.
On the way to my mammogram (back to the same doctor’s office I had been earlier in the morning), I saw my mother’s jeep again, driving the opposite direction. I beeped and waved, but they didn’t see me. It seemed funny to see her in Randolph… so far from home and our paths kept crossing. I thought of Robert Frost again as my mother took one road and I took another. My mother’s mouth would be wide open for her dentist ay 1:30, just as I my breasts were being squished for my radiologist.
And speaking of being squished… I have to comment on just how weird a mammogram is. Let me describe it for those of you who have never had the pleasure. The radiologist held the door open for me and I entered the tiny, overly feminine room. The breast squishing machine took up about half of the space. She immediately told me to remove my shirt and step up and place my breast on a little platform. She warned me that she would be pulling on me and to get ready for my “picture”. It all happened so fast. We had just barely said hello and suddenly she is grabbing one of my most tender parts of my body and pulling. I almost asked if she was a gardener, she was so talented at grabbing and pulling. I need her to go to my house and weed my flowerbeds. Then she made me grab onto the handrail and hold my breath. She went behind a small divider and said, “Hold your breath. Stand still.” I heard a BEEP. I was pinned there. Stuck, and incredibly uncomfortable, I tried to find beauty in the room like I know Robert Frost would have. I couldn’t. I could hardly stand.
“Okay.” The radiologist said abruptly, “hold your breath again.”
BEEP.
Then it occurred to me: What if the power went down in a hospital? Is there a generator that kicks on immediately? Would I be trapped there? Would I survive hours in that position if I had to? I could write a ton of poetry in that time, and I don’t write poetry.
Fortunately, the power did not go out. The radiologist released the machine’s grip on my flesh and handed me a bizarre pink shirt/shawl/cover-up. This perplexed me. Why should I cover myself considering she’s already seen my breasts and pulled them almost half-way across the room? Why bother?
She fussed with the “pictures” to be sure they were good enough. Then she made me slap my breast up there again.
We repeated this scenario over and over and over again until she had every possible angle of both breasts. I thought of my mother in the chair at the dentist’s office with her mouth gaping. Normally, I wouldn’t want to be at the dentist, but at that particular moment, I would have switched places with my mom gratefully.
It ended. I thanked the radiologist and asked her, “How many years have years have you had this job?” (I don’t know why I did that, but I suppose I didn’t want to be rude… you know… small talk).
“Twenty.” She said proudly.
“How many breasts would that be… times two?” I asked without thinking.
“Oh, God. I don’t know,” she smiled casually, “a lot… my boyfriend thinks I have the best job.”
“Does he realize that most of the breasts are over 40? That’s when they start to sag.”
“He doesn’t care, I guess. I’ve told him. He still is jealous of my job.”
My kids had splashed and swam the entire time and seemed quite happy (of course they were… they weren’t getting a mammogram). In fact, the one without the broken collar bone wanted to continue playing with Alyssa’s kids for the rest of the afternoon. Alyssa agreed to it and since we had another appointment with the dentist… my afternoon just got easier again. One kid grocery shopping and a one kid trip to the dentist would be much easier.
So, onward we went to the grocery store. Shopping with one child was a dream. My son seemed pretty tired from swimming and since he had a broken bone, I told him he could ride in the wheelchair cart. By the time we were done, the groceries were piled around him; he looked so content, like a cat in a pile of clean laundry.
We arrived at the dentist on time. Have I mentioned that this dentist is not our usual one? Our regular dentist was on vacation so we had to go to the only other dentist in town because of my son’s front tooth emergency. I stood at the counter and gave them ALL of our insurance information because it was as if we were first time clients. They needed to know EVERYTHING and that took time… 15 extra minutes of our time. I slid paperwork across to the administrative assistant at the dentist’s office.
“Fiske Road. Rochester. That address seems familiar.” She tapped her pen.
“My mom shares the same address.” I said rubbing the counter, “She was actually here today.” I told her my mother’s name and we shared a “Vermont is so small” moment.
“She was just here!” The woman laughed.
“Yes, and now she’s heading back to another doctor’s appointment in the same building where we had one earlier today.”
Probably humoring me, she seemed to find what I said to be interesting.
The dentist checked my son’s mouth (everything was AOK) and then spent a ton of time talking about trains with him. It was great because my son forgot about his collarbone for a few minutes. Distraction is fantastic, you know? I was relieved about his tooth.
We left the dentist’s office and went BACK to the hospital because my neighbor had been in the birth center that day. She had been in labor since the night before and so we figured perhaps the baby had been born. We wanted to meet our new neighbor if it was possible. My mother’s jeep was parked outside; she was still at her doctor’s appointment.
No baby had been born yet, but I had the honor of holding my neighbor’s hand while she had a few contractions. I thought of Robert Frost again. Had he ever seen a woman in labor? It was a lovely and mysterious experience. In the hall outside the room, my son’s face was priceless. He had never heard anything quite like that before. He told me his collarbone didn’t hurt as much as having a baby probably did. I wonder if he’s right. Apples and oranges I’ll bet…
Our list was complete. On our way out of the hospital, we stopped at a garden courtyard and sat for a few minutes on a bench. There was a fountain, some lovely flowers and birds chirping. We sat near a gorgeous yellow bird and listened to his song until my son was ready to go.
When we were on our way back to the car, I could see my mother’s jeep pulling out of the parking lot. They hadn’t seen us. I smiled to myself… timing… timing is so important. Our paths were not meant to cross that day. Oh well.
We headed for home with a plan; we would stop at Onion Flats Restaurant for an ice cream cone for my son. It had been an ice cream cone day. In his mind, ice cream =summer, and after all, he had a broken collar bone. Isn’t ice cream medicine for that? Onion Flats is an old fashioned drive-in restaurant where we have had many an upside-down meal… (ice cream first, meal later).
My mother had the same idea! She was already savoring a root beer float. I took the space behind her jeep and ran up to say hello. Our paths had finally crossed.
“How was your day?” I asked her.
“Crazy.” She sipped her straw. “We’ve been all over the place.”
“I know. I saw you. We were all over the place too.” I smiled.
No matter how we travel the road, we end up where we are supposed to. My mother took her path and we took ours, and although different, we converged at Onion Flats because we were supposed to. On a summer evening we shared both conversation and the road back over the mountain on the way home. The clouds were building toward a storm. Even my son noticed.
We came to the place in the road on the way home where a choice can be made on which way to go home… two roads in a wood. We can travel home either through town or country road.
I had to pick up my other son from his play-date so I turned toward town. My mother, on the other hand, took the road less traveled… and that made all the difference. I’m sure she got home first.

Around and Around

It’s been awhile since I have blogged… Why? Either I have not had anything ridiculous and laughable happen lately OR I have been too busy to take the time to write.

It’s both. I’ve had many laughable things happen AND I haven’t taken the time to write them down.

Until today.

Before I begin this tale, I need you to know that this is not the first time I have gone skiing this year (though it may seem that way after you hear my story).

This morning/afternoon, we went skiing at Pico http://www.picomountain.com/ . I woke up early to prepare for the day. Preparing means gathering skiis, boots, winter garb, and snacks for the kids and me. The snacks took the forefront of my thoughts because I didn’t want to have to purchase a $7.00 hot dog and drop it on the floor like we did last time. I am sure you understand that, right?

I filled a little backpack with a variety of treats and called our friend Norm (http://www.tfish.net/ ) to let him know that we would be heading out soon. We were planning on meeting at the ski shop at Pico Mountain. His son was going to hang out with us for the day while Norm ran some errands. (By the way, his turn will come tonight when he heads up the cub scout troop in making totem poles). My job sounds easier, doesn’t it? I believe so.

Anyway, we chatted.

Me: “I’m leaving in about 10 minutes.”

Him: “We’ll be leaving in about 15.” (They live closer).

Me: “See you up there.”

Famous last words.

We got in the van with all of our stuff and began the journey. The kids were fighting as I had the typical thoughts about the stove and whether or not I had turned it off… the door and whether or not I shut it tightly. The wood stove and whether or not I shut the chimney flew. Other people have thoughts like this, right? Am I neurotic?

I had made a thermos of hot chocolate right before we left. As I drove along, I thought about all the fun we were to have at the slope and how nice it would be to return to the van later in the day to have a warm cup of cocoa. Did I shut off the stove? I thought about the wonderful bunny slope and how it is just the right size for me to take three boys on my own because no matter where they are, I can see them at all times. I thought about how nice it is to live in Vermont and be able to get free passes because the kids are local school children who get good grades.

Free passes. Ooops.

Note to self. Next time you leave to go skiing, please try to remember the ski passes.

Around we go. We pulled into the Forest Service parking lot to turn around and head home. Round and round. Back to our house. Up into the mud room. Grab the ski passes. Call Norm’s wife Barb.

Me: “I forgot the passes and needed to come back. Can you call Norm and tell him we’re late?”

Barb: “I’ll call but he usually doesn’t turn on his cell phone.”

Me: "Okay... I'll just apologize when we get there."

Back out to the van. Hand the kids their passes. “Put these on!” Kids still fighting. Understandable. They really want to be on the slopes. But now we’re on our way. I drove about a mile before I thought to myself, “Did I check the stove?” Of course I shut it off. I always do. It is one of those automatic things I do without thinking about it. Right? Well, I am not turning around to check. This is ridiculous. I am being neurotic.

There was good music from my youth on the radio (80's) so the time passed pretty quickly. We got to the rental shop and met Norm and his son Chase there. They had obviously been waiting awhile so I apologized and got in line to rent equipment. I only needed skiis for my younger son because he has a wonderful pair of boots that Norm's family passed down to us. My older son had boots and skiis so I didn’t need anything for him. This should go quickly.

I got out of line to grab Norm and ask him to put boots on all the boys TO SAVE TIME. (ha ha)… I got back in line and waited behind every person from Massachusetts who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Finally, my turn. Okay… skiis for one 6 year old.

Me: “He has an academic pass. I can get the skiis for a cheaper rental rate, right?”

Her: “Yes. Do you have his pass?”

Me: “Uh…”

Upon getting the passes after driving back for them, you remember, I gave them to the boys. How handy. The passes were across the way in the lodge with the boys who were putting on their boots.

Clump clump clump… although it was about 30 degrees out I was already shedding layers. Leaving my gloves and coat in the care of Norm, I grabbed the ski pass and one of my son's boots (to size the skiis).

Waited in line again behind everyone from Connecticut who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday.

“Okay. Here is his pass.” (same lady…)

After paying the discounted rental rate I moved along to the next building to get my younger son some skiis. I had to fill out paperwork: weight, height, street shoe size, address, phone number etc. Okay. Wait in line behind everybody from Rhode Island who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Okay.

Funny-Hat-Kid who works at Pico: "How tall is he?"

Me: “How tall is he?” I held out my hand as if to pat my son's imaginary head. “This tall.”

“Uh…” The young man with the Killington ski jacket and unusual hat stared at me blankly. “About three feet?”

“Sure.” I smiled. “I like your hat.”

He gave me a polite smile and went to find skiis. He brought back two different pairs for me to pick the more appropriate size. Done.

Well… actually not… quite yet.... Norm showed up with all three boys. My younger son was hobbling along wearing one regular boot and one ski boot. My older son was unfortunately still wearing his regular boots.

Norm: “Uh… Donovan’s ski boots don’t fit.”

Me: “What?”

Norm: (of course repeated what he said above AND added “I don’t know why. Maybe you can help.”

Me: “They fit three days ago!” (upon hind sight, it was five days ago but nonetheless…)

Norm: “They did?” He smiled –probably wishing he had a mallet to knock me up-side the head-

Me: “YES!” I shouted.

Now you need more information… here is the background of my older son’s skiis. I just bought them last Saturday… or should I say RE-bought them. They had been his last year and in the summer when I was not thinking about snow, I donated them to our town's church for their Thrift Shop. I figured he wouldn’t fit them by wintertime, so I de-cluttered and un-complicated my life by getting rid of them. Well, at least I thought that was what I did. I may have de-cluttered, but I made my life more complicated actually. Read on to see just how untrue that really is.

Last Saturday, we were at the church's Thrift Shop and I discovered the skiis that we (I) had donated the previous summer. I had my older son try them on and they fit. I swear they fit. He put them on and walked around and everything. I found it funny at the time that I had to buy them back because I was the one who donated them in the first place. My friend Mary Beth was working there that day. I told her we had donated them originally. She tried to give them to me for free, but I insisted on buying them. She charged me a dollar. I was proud...
for five days. Now I am sort of ashamed.

Back to the ski slope. We moved across the way to the lodge again to fit boots on my boy.

I gave it my best shot! I acted like prince charming and tried to shove that boot onto his foot as if it were a glass slipper. But… alas to no avail. Norm was right. In less than a week, my son had outgrown his boots and I couldn’t make them fit. Even barefoot. Yes, I tried that too.

Okay… I grabbed both passes to go get boots for my older son. I walked away…

Norm: “Are they adjustable?”

Me: “What? These passes?”

Norm: “Are the skiis adjustable?” (again wishing for mallet)

Oh… right. If the boots I get are bigger, I needed bigger bindings, didn’t I?

Okay… so boot and skiis for my older son coming right up.

Sort of. I had to stop at the bathroom. Too much water this morning.

Of course there was a line because tons of people hydrated as well.

Back at the ski rental area, there was a line again behind everyone from New Hampshire who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Although it was practically Friday at this point… good God.

Okay… so I paid the discounted rate for a child of Vermont with the academic pass and ran (clump clump clump) to the lodge to get my son to come with me to the rental shop to get the boots AND skiis. I filled out the form height, weight, street shoe size, address, phone number. Waited in line… someone from another state cut in front of me (Flatlander accent)… and I finally got equipment with/for my older son.

Back to the lodge… clump, clump, clump…

On with his boots. On with MY boots… to the bathroom… again…

Now… were we ready to go and ski with these anxious boys.?

Not quite.

“Mom… where are my gloves?”

Me: “What?” (I heard him… but I didn’t like what I heard. )

Him: “My gloves.”

Me: “Okay. We were in the rental shop. Did you leave them there?”

I didn’t mention it earlier, but my other son lost a pair of sunglasses at some point, too. Oh well… he takes after his dad. He has owned 500 pairs of sunglasses - not exaggerating... (akthough I am the one who has forgotten everything today)...

Him: “Sorry mom.”

Me: “It’s okay. It happens.” (silent cursing…)

Norm checked the boy’s bathroom in case they were in there. Nope.

We all clumped back to the rental shop.

Nope!

Well, for some reason (I wonder why) I have extra mittens and gloves in the van. Later, Norm was to be taking his son’s car seat to our van. If need be, he could get the mittens then and bring them back to me on the slopes with the keys before he left to run errands.

Do you get why I call this blog AROUND AND AROUND? Are you dizzy yet?

We went back to the lodge to check one last time for gloves and found them on the fireplace hearth behind a man who was sitting there.

AHA…

So finally we were on our way to the slopes. Hooray! The boys carried skiis for a stretch until we were close to the lift and then they dropped them to the snow to put them on.

Did you notice I said the boys had their skiis?

Where were mine?

OMG! I left mine outside the lodge! (more silent cursing!!!)

Clump, clump, clump…

Tired yet? I was. I had not even got onto the slopes and I already felt like I had been going around and around for hours. And this was my vacation!

We finally started to ski. And it was fun. Around and around we went. Onto the lift. Down the slope. Onto the life. Down the slope. Around and around and around. They were smiling. They had a great time.

You ask, "Was it worth it?"

Absolutely.

It was great.

Didn't you have fun reading about it?