Mom Sledding

“Mom, mom, mommy! Can we PLEASE go now?” echoes loudly from the mudroom. The sound of rifling through the mixed bin of hats, scarves, and gloves is loudly distracting as I try to sip the last remnants of my morning coffee. The first snow fall of the season is exciting after all. I stare out the window and see only tranquility. A blanket of white covers everything. It is calm. Peaceful. Nothing like the chaos ensuing 100 feet away behind the mudroom wall. Ashley is rummaging through the unorganized mess that was left behind many months ago when winter was leaving. I can hear last year’s snow pants being pulled on and off. Every piece being tried on discarded across the room in frustration. The third of my daughters has grown, or should I say outgrown quickly all her snow gear. “ATHENA!,” she yells hoping her oldest sister can solve this minute's problem. Dotingly, Athena appears and saves the day. Bundling her up head to toe. My savior. My lifeline. My extra 2 minutes to take a deep breath and muster up the energy to take on this painstaking task. A snow day. A snow day as a mom of 4 little girls. All of whom are eager and excited to stomp through the even coated bright blanket of pure peace. Sigh. “Ok, yes” I say in my most honest attempt to sound happy. Now is as good a time as any. Together they pass all last year’s snow boots down to the next in-line. Poor Athena left to wrapping her boots in plastic shopping bags. Whoops. “Alexa, add snow boots, size 3 to my shopping list.” And off we go. 

The five of us pile high into the car. The baby climbing over the many bookbags and sweaters left behind by her sisters. After several whines, screeches and carrying-on they all find their seats and buckle. Phew. I swear leaving the house is the hardest part of every day. But they’re in the car, buckled, safe. I run back in through the garage door and attempt to find gloves that may just fit my hands. I dig through the coat closet in hopes of finding some old snow boots that were left forgotten under the pile of flip flops and sneakers. Nope. Where on earth could they be? Up the stairs I run and sift to the back of the master closet. There they are, phew. I find yesterday’s socks and shove my feet in them. Take a glance in the mirror before finding a hat, sighing at the tired aging face I see. Gray. Gray hair everywhere. Throw on a little blush and mascara to feel a bit normal and descend the stairs. Oh! A jacket. I grab my North Face hubby bought me for my birthday three years ago when I was at my skinniest. Pre-baby #4. Nope, can’t zip it, but I guess it’s better than nothing. I go down the basement stairs and grab the sleds. We will have fun today if it kills me. I will whisper this to myself all day.  

As I put the sleds into the back of my mom SUV, I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with thoughts of how my brothers and I would play for hours outside in the snow. We would make snow angels and throw snowballs. All the normal antics you’d expect. How it used to snow so much when I was a kid. It doesn’t snow like that anymore.

“Mom! Can we go Now please!” I hear and shake the memories from my head. Yes, yes. Let’s go. 

We drive six minutes down the road to the elementary school. Athena and Addy grab the sleds out of the trunk while I unbuckle the baby. Ashley screams from her car seat begging to be released from the straps. I quickly try to calm her bark and insist that I’ll be right there. Four-year-old patience only lasts so long. I watch the three of them take off for the hill two sleds in hand.  

“Athena, keep an eye on your sisters, share nicely you three”, I shout as I watch them head to the crest of the hill laughing. Laughing. I do love to hear that sound. The baby and I make our way over to where the other parents are standing. I plop her down in the snow next to Lenard, her birthday buddy, and his sand toys. My dear friend always remembers to grab something to entertain these two. Thank god. There must be fifteen kids all running up the hill and sledding back down over and over. Every so often I see my three come up and go down. Peace.  

“Lindsey?,” I hear. “Is that you?” I turn around and find a person standing there I used to know. I suppose that is the risk you run living in the town you grew up in and literally standing on your own elementary school playground.  

“Hi!” I say in a voice that does not even sound like my own. “Wow, how are you?” I say with a hug. Thinking how on earth, why on earth, is this really earth, all simultaneously. No one, and I do mean no one, wants to see their ex-soul mate on the elementary school playground with three day ago washed hair. Almost immediately I hear the baby screeching. The sand toy Armageddon has begun between the two babes. We always hope they’ll sit and play for more than 15 minutes at a time, but nope. Untimely, Ashley comes screaming up the hill and I am sure the problem is Addy taking too many turns on the sled. The fifteen minutes of peace comes to halt and the pressure of the world of all four of my girls falls upon my shoulders while standing face to face with the one human I had hoped I would never have the privilege of seeing again. Is this Murphy’s law or something? What anti-karma thing did I do this week to deserve this stress sweat inducing moment. I feel it dripping. Sliding down my back in waves. Suddenly the cold of the snow disappears, and I can feel all the eyes on me. This one is screeching, that one is screaming, the third one is it tattling and the oldest is protesting all simultaneously while the seams of my once very broken heart all come undone. In the ultimate power friend move, my bestie swoops up the baby and hisses the older three back to their hill.  

“Five more minutes kiddos,” she says in her sweetest Disney but I’m in control voice. It’s a skill. All Moms should have this skill.  

I take a deep breath and turn. My brain very calmly says you have two choices here. Shut it down quickly or take the dive down a rabbit hole you’ll never be able to escape. It’s as if Rocky Balboa and Alice from Wonderland are going toe to toe in the ring and I’m the referee.  

Rocky jabs and uppercuts Alice right into the corner she belongs in. My life is good. My husband works a lot. Sure, I’m alone morning to bedtime seven days a week. But I am loved. The kids are loved. Alice swings back strong with a huge dose of romance and what could have been. No, Rocky pushes back with a he cheated. He chose. I make a terrible referee. It amazes me how many thoughts one person can have in the time it takes to turn around and say “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Tennessee?”. 

I knew it was only a matter of minutes before the loot of kids my bestie and I brought to the hill were frozen and ready for the endless mess of hot chocolate that will be. 

“I did,” he said. “My sister is getting married this weekend so I’m in town. She asked if I could take Shiloh to the hill to sled while she wrote out table cards.” What an odd coincidence. As I take a deep breath and look out at the snow-covered school grounds where we walked once upon a time and think, this is when we get a snow sufficient to come to the hill? This is the week of the wedding? This is the day I chose not to put-on clean pants or do my hair? “Oh,” I say. “How nice.”  

All in the same second, my girls are at my feet, again. All with the same “Mom, who is this?” look in their eyes. As I take in the moment and really think about it, I immediately wonder what boys will chase them around this playground. What boys have already chased them around this playground. Who will be their soulmate? Will any of those boys leave the scars that I have.  With a gentle smile I accurately tell them “this is a boy I once loved, before I met your father.”

“It was great running into you,” I lie as I grab the baby from my bestie and scoop up the hand of Ashley.  

"Do you think we can get a drink later I’d really like to catch up,” he says.  

“Oh, will your wife be joining us?” I spit out without even thinking and blush at the same time.  

“No, ah, um, we’re separated.” He married the girl he cheated on me with, I remind myself. Instantly the dramatic scene of the entire summer of me, then her, then me, then her flashes before my brain. He chose her. I chose going back to college. 

I manage to give a halfhearted smile and begin to drag my kids toward the car. And without shedding a single tear, load them all up, sleds included. After the 6 minutes ride home and the 26-minute effort of stripping them and hanging their wet clothes, we sit and have hot chocolate.

As we sip together, and they tell me over and over about their trips up and down the hill I think of how proud I am. Proud that I spent enough time with my first child that she knows how to nurture and help with her siblings. Proud that I pick friends who support and uplift me. Proud that I have four kids with the ultimate “I’m cold, can we leave now” timing. Proud I can come home to a warm and beautiful house filled with love and honesty. Proud of the life of chaos I have even in the most peaceful of seasons.