And then there was snow

Now if only I could find a couple of frozen cheeseballs to go play in it.

Mamas Gone Wild*

*Author has taken creative liberties with the definition of the word “wild”. Though comparatively speaking, what you’re about to read is quite rowdy Mama behavior. 
I’ve been reclaimed by my captors and have been placed in a maximum security wing of the prison to discourage any further attempts to break free. They can chain me to the stove, but they can’t take away my memories. Nope, I have them locked away in my over-fatigued brain—oh and I also have them in full color pixilation for you to view as well. Of course, they were all taken with my iPhone because—surprise, surprise—my camera battery was dead. But better low quality, than none at all, right? As you’re looking at these pictures, please let me know if you pick up on any overriding themes. (hint: we like to eat. a lot.)

After having a tasty lunch at Coastal Flats, we rushed to the theater in time to catch Dear Channing Tatum You Are Sooo Fine. No wait, that’s not right. I think it was called Dear Nicholas Sparks Why Do You Always Make Me Cry? Or something like that anyway.
We had a delectable dinner at a French Steakhouse which was an odd combo I thought, but delicious right down to that chocolate tarte I consumed in 3.5 seconds. After all of that food consumption, someone had the bright idea to try ice skating for the first time ever. I think it might have been me. Why do I do these things? I mean I didn’t think that I had a death wish, but apparently I do. 

Sure it was all giggle and laughs getting our skates on and watching the zamboni, but then reality came sliding in to remind me that ice skating involves razor thin blades of terror on a sheet of rock hard, freezing cold ice. Teresa was the lucky one—being pregnant and all she had an airtight alibi for her lack of participation. I had nothing to get me out of harm’s way but a railing and the grace of a higher power.

Sam and Molly had to be show offs and take to the ice like little Sasha Cohen clones. I  swear, I think I saw Sam complete a triple axel as I was clutching desperately to the rail. But what I lacked in balance and skill, I made up for in congeniality by making several new friends as I warned them that I might at anytime run them over, trip over them or pull them down with me as I fall. I had at least four concerned skaters who’d give me pointers as they glided by me. Of course since most of the advice involved moving away from the safety of the rail, I ignored it. Let go?? And people say I’m nuts.
Before heading back to the hotel, we made a late night stop at Harris Teeter to pick up necessities. Of course, what can be deemed a midnight necessity is up for interpretation.
Sam and Molly: baby food and sippy cups. I mean come on girls! We don’t have kids anymore—we’re free, free, free! Well, until the next morning anyway.
 
Teresa: Krispy Kremes and a whisk. I understand the pastries, I means she is pregnant and those glazed doughnuts are heaven on earth. But the whisk? We don’t cook on girls’ weekend Teresa. In fact, I’m currently working on a return treaty that would bar us from cooking ever again. I just need it ratified by four husbands; I’m sure that won’t be a problem at all.


Now this is what I’m talking about ladies. This:
 
is a necessity. So necessary in fact that the entire six pack is sitting unopened in my fridge as I type this. Apparently, you can take the Mama out of the house, but she’s still too tired at 1AM to be doing anything but laying in bed watching Channing Tatum kick some Cobra behind. Go Joe!
I’m sorry that I don’t have pictures of all of the shopping we did. Well no, I’m not really as that’s a detail probably better kept off Drew’s radar. I plan on being on my best behavior so I might earn a weekend pass for a future trip. You’ll put in a good word for me, right? Or at the very least, try not to mention the stuff about Channing.

Why did I try skiing? Because I can’t sing or dance.

I am not athletically inclined. At all. To say I lack grace is being kind. I’m really just an all around klutz. I have no rhythm, no balance, no innate understanding of how the body should move in order to accomplish a set goal. In short, I am the last person who should put herself on skis and attempt to slide herself down a snow covered hill expecting to remain all in one piece. But I did. And what’s more shocking is that I still have all of my limbs firmly attached.
I’d been skiing once before in high school. That time, I thought I would be golden since all of the people I went with knew how to ski thus I would be in good hands. I’d be mastering the slopes in no time. Wrong. It was awful. First the boots hurt my extremely wide feet. From the moment I had put them on, my poor fat dogs were screaming for mercy. Second, I couldn’t get the hang of the rope tow contraption because my skis kept crossing causing me to fall down. Third, I was not dressed appropriately and so all that falling down made me really cold. Finally, I felt awful making my experienced skier friends hang out on the bunny slope while I snow plowed every time I began to catch any speed at all. So I went ahead and agreed to go down the easiest trail. It took me an hour. I’m not joking. I’d start to go fast, get scared and fall down. I finally told everyone to go ahead without me and I’d catch them at the bottom. I think I was lapped 3 times. Five year olds laughed and pointed at me as they flew down the mountain. Is it really any surprise that it took me 15 years to give the sport another try?
But when you own a house at Deep Creek, you start to feel like you’re obligated to partake in the festivities at Wisp. Now that I think about it, I believe there was a clause to that effect somewhere in the buyer’s contract.  So after four years, Drew and I finally gave it a shot. But I was adamant that things were going to be different this time. First, we signed up for a private lesson with an instructor. That helped. Second, I wore winter appropriate attire including thermal underoos and goggles. Now I was warm and toasty and at the very least looked like someone who could pass for a skier.  The boots still hurt my feet, but when you have duck feet, you feel odd if a shoe isn’t pinching somewhere or giving you blisters. Finally, the bunny slope now had a magic carpet to the top instead of the pulley mess that they used to have. No more falling down on the way up the hill that I just planned to fall right back down.
After an hour with the instructor, I was starting to get the hang of going down the hill. As long as I didn’t have to turn or go too fast. The hardest part was getting the boots locked into the skis since we took them off before getting on the magic carpet—we’re certainly not skilled enough to fandango ourselves up the thing while having five foot, slippery planks attached to our feet. I’ll probably never want to even try going up it with skis on since I watched at least 7 people fall down trying to do it. Not when they have to stop the ride so everyone can laugh and point at you as you try to stand up again.
Up and down we went. Like last time, I got lapped repeatedly by children. In this case, it was a little girl—maybe five years old. That little bugger had no fear. She’d fly down the hill while her mom tried to keep up. The problem was that she had no more control than I did, she just didn’t care. Once, while I was in the middle of the hill trying to get my boots into the skis, I looked up to find her flying toward me. I had just enough time to do a little half scoot backwards to avoid her slamming into me. She ran over the front of my skis instead and then tumbled 10 feet further down the hill before finally coming to a stop with her legs in the air. I apologized to her mom as she skied past, but she just laughed and told me not to worry—her daughter was clearly at fault and would probably take out a few more people before the day was over. I don’t doubt it because she was right back at it before I had that stupid boot locked back into my ski. Oh to be young and have no fear of broken bones and concussions.
After much practice, I finally conquered the bunny slope. Or at least the bottom 3/4 of it. Jan told me she heard the Rocky theme playing when she saw this picture and well that’s a pretty good description of how I felt. Flying high now…

“Yo Andrew! I did it!”
    Maybe next time, I’ll learn how to turn? 

I’m Snover It

The snowpocalypse that first dumped 32” on us last weekend is now back for more. The last time I bothered listening to the talking head weather people, I think the expected totals were another 10-20”. This morning, I heard Drew mumbling something about a blizzard warning. Looking out the window I can barely make out the 4 ft high piles of snow through the white out of blowing flakes, so perhaps the mumbler knows what he’s talking about. Well today anyway.

To say I have cabin fever would be equivalent to saying that New Orleans is pleased to have won the Super Bowl. These kids are driving me bananas. Chase with his near constant repetition of the phrase, “What are we going to do now?” and Amaya with her finely-tuned trouble locating SONAR activated. Plus, I’m getting kind of bored ya’ll.
Which is why I went to the trouble of making Amaya’s lunch all pretty the other day. I was trying to entertain my brain a bit instead of just slapping the sandwich down on a paper towel per my usual habit.

I know a lot of moms do bento boxes for their kids because it makes the food more enticing for little finicky eaters. I’m all for exerting the effort if it means you can get a picky kid to consume food without that pesky knock down, drag out fight. Of course when it comes to my daughter, that just isn’t necessary. Child is a bottomless pit. 

And that’s not just opinion, I have facts to back it up. Facts that were acquired at her 18 month well baby visit. The appointment that required I have the harrowing experience of driving on winter roads that varied from bare blacktop to slush field to arctic tundra while Chase was in the backseat endlessly practicing his single sentence monologue. Picture it: “What are we going to do now, Chase? Well we’re going to try to make it home alive, that’s what we’re going to do. And if we do survive, we’re going to put the keys to the cars away where they won’t be seen again until spring. That’s what we’re going to do now.”  White knuckles is just the tip of that unnavigable iceberg.

You see then how important these numbers are to me, right?
Height: 33.5”, 90%
Weight: 30.1lbs, 96%
I kid you not—she weighs the same as her brother who is two years older. Which isn’t surprising when you consider that no amount of food fandangoing I do will convince Chase to eat anything other than waffles, fruit snacks and chocolate milk. Then factor in the calories he burns questioning me about the day’s agenda and you get a kid destined to be on the scrawny side. The plus to this is that our snowed-in food rations will last longer. How’s that for a silver lining?

Holy Snow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evidence Exhibits A, B, & C

The crime? Overdosing on fun while playing in the snow.



Clearly guilty as charged. The Mama rests.

Snowface Chase

He works hard for the money

Chase helped Daddy shovel the sidewalk this afternoon. Poor little urchin had no snowsuit and mismatched mittens. Woefully unprepared were we for the appearance of the white flaky stuff. Little guy suffered through it though to carry out his snow duties with finesse.




Then after his job was complete, he was too tired to walk. So, Daddy had to give him a lift.




Amaya was not too sure about the wet, white stuff. She didn't have to work at all and she had a snowsuit, so she really has no validation for her complaints. Next year will be a different story.

Hey, what's this cold white stuff?

Do I like it?

Not sure yet...

Oh yea, it's fun when Dad throws snow balls.

Even more fun when they hit my pants.



Tastes like chicken? No!

Not so fun when you start to get cold.