ski trip

We're back from skiing! We actually had some cold weather this time, with temps on Saturday night reaching about 10 F. Here is a picture of the kids as they were about to go out on Saturday night (this is the point at which I opted to stay in by myself and drink wine and knit and watch the Olympics. It was such a cozy couch potato moment.)



So now, as related to my wonderful email list of moms, I must share the saga of the ski lift.

We got to the ski resort at dinnertime on Friday so we set out to do some night skiing. It was great - not crowded at all, and the snow was a lot better than last time. Q got tired and wanted to go in before E and I did, so DH took him inside while we girls kept skiing.

Well, E was being particularly crabby this trip. She complained to me every time we got in the lift line that Q could go up by himself but I wouldn't let her do that. I told her I wouldn't even discuss this one. Q was 9 and she was 7. No choice. So she shifted her tactic. She complained that I *always* made her go first and sit on the right side of the lift. (This is so I can make sure she's in place and ready to go when the chair gets to us). I held my stance for a while but after incessant whining, I folded and told her I'd let her sit on the other side.
(*note to self*: do not ever compromise rules again. Ever. I have them for a reason).

So it was our turn and I zipped on out to the loading spot. As the chair came up to us, I glanced over at E and saw that she was not ready, not in the right spot, and was about to be knocked flat. (and at this point, the next 20 seconds stretched out to seem like 15 or 20 minutes, I swear). DH told me later that the next time this happens (as if I'm going to let this happen again), I should push her out of the way. And that makes complete logical sense. But you know that the mommy instinct is to grab your baby, which I did. And as the chair lift started up, I was leaning over, holding E almost totally with my left arm and as it KEPT going, I realized the operator didn't notice what was going on. So I started screaming and SCREAMING for him to stop. Seems like it took forever, but in reality it was 3-5 seconds (which really is a while). So there we were, with my holding E with my weakest arm as she dangled about - (and here I really don't know what the answer is. at the time it seemed to be 20 feet. After I dropped her it seemed to be 100 feet. After she was fine, it seemed 10 feet. The next morning it was probably 8-10 feet above the ground. Ok. Probably less than 8, but you know how mommyism is.)


I saw the operator running up to grab her, but before he could get there...I dropped her. And this is just killing me. I have always felt like mommy adrenaline could accomplish anything. That in a crisis, I would always be able to overcome *anything* and become superhuman and protect my kids. But I DROPPED her. And I knew before I dropped her that it was going to happen. I don't know if I made the choice to drop her, or if my arm sent my mind a message that it was spent, but in that split second before she fell, I went through all the possible outcomes in my mind. I heard a bunch of people in line gasp when she fell (this made me feel TERRIBLE), and she landed in a heap, and I could immediately see in her little face that she was not going to let herself cry, no matter how scared or hurt she was. She had that determined look...which, I took to be a good thing because then I knew she was OK. The operator took her back to the loading spot and an extremely beautiful and wonderful 18 year old girl jumped out of line and said she'd ride up with her, and spent the next few minutes chatting and laughing with Erin and getting her to feeling good again. I have no idea who this girl was, but if karma is around, she's going to have some really good things coming her way.

So we both made it to the top, skied down and went directly inside. I had a glass of wine, and E cuddled with me and I desperately tried not to imagine the "what ifs", like, "what if the operator didn't hear us and we went a few seconds more to where we really were 15 feet or more over the ground". Geez. And then my muscles in my left arm started to ache and ACHE and I realized that I *had* held on with superhuman (for me) strength. That I had given it my all, and that my all wasn't enough. This time, it was OK, but it is just haunting me that sometimes even mommybear adrenaline isn't going to be enough.