It’s snowing. It’s about time really. It’s January, for Pete’s sake, and this is the first real snow we’ve had in Iowa. There was a little spattering of winter at some point in late 2019, but it was unmemorable, only because it melted the next day. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count. But this weekend…it rained all evening, hard enough that I went down to check the sump pump a couple of times. (Which really doesn’t mean anything. My boys are at Notre Dame this weekend for hockey and basketball games. When I say “boys”, I’m including my husband in there because often I feel like a single mom with three children. Anyway, if there had actually been a sump pump emergency, I would’ve just said, “huh. Well, that sucks,” and I would’ve come back upstairs and closed the basement door. Last year when they went on their annual trip, it snowed about 9 inches and I looked out the window and said, “huh. That sucks,” and I went back to binge watching Parks & Recreation.) Back to last night- the rain turned to ice and now there is a beautiful coat of the slippery stuff all over everything, which is now being buried under a layer of snow- a deadly combo for someone like myself who can’t walk properly on a sidewalk on a sunny day, much less an ice and snow-covered one.
There was a time that I really looked forward to winter weather. I used to go outside and make snow angels and then come inside and drink hot cocoa. Now, I fear winter. First, hot cocoa gives me heartburn. Second, with one partial knee replacement completed and one coming up in February, I now act like a senior citizen and I refuse to go anywhere when the weather is bad. On top of that, my knee surgeon told me not to fall. What’s wrong with this guy? Doesn’t he know that I’m going to fall just because he told me not to? I’ve fallen four times since he said it. Luckily for me, most people don’t want to go see houses on days like today, so I guess I have the luxury of watching it from inside the house.
This week, our nineteen-year-old, John, told Scott and I that we are boring. I quickly informed him that we used to be fun. We used to stay up late! We used to close the bar! We went out with friends! But then, twenty years ago, we got pregnant and after having two children that sucked our will to live, we are now in bed before ten. (And ten is a stretch. Usually I want to go to bed at six, but I can’t because I have these ridiculous, adult-y responsibilities and I can’t get them done by then.) Someday, twenty years from now, if I’m still alive, I expect a phone call from that young man, telling me I was right and that he’s tired and likes to go to bed early.
It got me to thinking about how I was as a young mom. It’s amazing, really, how much energy we have back then, even though we don’t think we do. What I mean is, when I think about that time in my life, I remember being so tired all the time, but I did stuff anyway. I worked full-time and I kept the house up and I made meals and did laundry and still took time to read stories at bedtime and play with the boys. In fact, I was happy to bundle them up on a day like today and take them out to enjoy the snow. There was one particular incident though, that may have just earned me the “Most Fun and Bravest Mom Ever” award and apparently John has forgotten all about it.
This story begins on one of the snowiest days of the year when John was 5, which means Sam was 2. The storm was moving through slowly and dropping enormous, heavy, wet flakes. John was so excited- he wanted to go sledding in the worst way. Sam, on the other hand, who was afraid of grass in the summer and leaves blowing across the sidewalk in the fall, was slightly more apprehensive of the changes in season and wasn’t completely sold on the idea of playing in the snow just yet. But we had a whole day to do whatever we wanted, and since I was in love with winter and cold and snow at the time, I was totally game for a day of sledding.
We spent the better part of the next hour getting dressed. When I say “we”, I mean I spent the next hour dressing us. I wrapped, bundled, stuffed, packed, muffled and restrained both children in their warmest winter gear- layers and layers of it. Because, let’s face it, sledding is only fun if you’re warm. Even if it means you lose circulation to the extent that you need a limb amputated or you simply can no longer walk because of the heaviness of the layers, it’s necessary. Otherwise, you’re one trip down the hill and ready to go home and warm up. Dressing is key.
After expanding the car seat restraints to adjust for all the extra layers, I piled the boys and the sled into the van. At the time, we lived in Galesburg, Illinois. I had not grown up in Galesburg, and it wasn’t until I was in search of a hill for sledding purposes that I learned just how un-hilly Galesburg is. After driving around for a while, I decided we needed to travel, despite the wintry weather. That’s when I had an idea…
We were only about 40 minutes from my hometown, so I pointed the van in that direction and off we went into the abyss of white wonder! Remember, I’m Super-Mom! Ambitious and unafraid! I knew exactly the hill that would be perfect for a sledding adventure. Soon, the boys and I were parked in the tennis court parking lot behind my old high school, standing at the top of the most amazing hill (cliff) and staring down at the bottom (death). Now those of you who grew up with me, know what hill I’m talking about. It overlooks (or did- maybe the landscape has changed like everything else) the football field. At the base of the hill, encompassing the football field, was a cinder track. It had metal rims all the way around it on the inside and the outside of the track, that rose about 4 inches from the ground, to keep the cinders in, I suppose, or perhaps for sled-launching purposes, as you will soon discover. It was like standing at the Grand Canyon, except it was covered in white and there were no signs to keep the stupid people from running down the cliffs.
John looked at me nervously and asked, “Is this the football field hill?” “Oh yeah,” I said, with a look in my eye similar to the one Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation has when he finds the tree out in the middle of nowhere and decides that despite its enormous stature of about about 25 feet high, it’s going in their living room. I turn to John and say, “you’re not chicken, are ya?” His reply was, “let’s do it.” That’s my boy.
This is where being Super Mom can be a dangerous thing. My kids at their young, impressionable ages, think I can do anything. They’ve seen me use power tools, they watched me flip my husband over my shoulder once after he jokingly put me in a headlock, they think I can fix anything and do anything, and they completely trust me and rely on me for their protection. My five-year-old has just placed the lives of him and his two-year-old brother completely into my hands, trusting that Mom would never do anything to jeopardize their health and safety.
Now the first struggle was getting us all into the sled- not because we wouldn’t all fit, but because there are white posts at the top of the hill to stop cars from plunging to their destruction below. The hill immediately drops off after the posts, so it required a bit of a balancing act on my part to hold the sled while positioning the kids on it, without prematurely sending them down the hill, sled-less. Then, there was the process of determining the seating order. If I sat in back, I could hold the kids onto the sled with my legs. John put on a brave face and got in front and we wedged little Sam in between us, certain that he wouldn’t be able to fall out. I could not have been more wrong about that scenario, or a million others I had imagined when I haphazardly created this plan.
At this point we are all in the sled and I am clinging to one of the white posts to keep us from sliding until we are completely ready. I wasn’t worried at this point. In fact, I was completely exhilarated! The danger! The speed! The wind in our faces! It was going to be an exciting ride, no doubt! It’s possible that this outlook comes from my dad, who at times, was a not a “safety first” kinda guy. But that’s another post. And a hilarious one.
Now, it’s possible you have heard me tell this story in person, and if you have, it’s much more animated and hilarious. But for now, I will do my best to describe the following events as best as possible in order to give you the most accurate visual image.
I let go of the post and immediately threw my arms around both kids. John let out a scream of what really should’ve been excitement and laughter but sounded more like a piercing shriek of terror. Sam remained silent, probably because he was suffocating. But also, because he couldn’t see what John and I could see.
Because I was so tightly wrapped in the layers of clothing, I wasn’t able to turn around and look behind us, but I’m certain there were flames coming out of the back of the sled. We flew down the 90-degree hill at approximately the speed of an Amtrak train moving cross-country while bits of icy snow were flying in our wake. The ride was completely breathtaking. And I mean that literally. We hit the bottom of the hill and then flew forward just slightly before hitting the first of the metal track rims. Upon hitting the rim, the sled went airborne. If I had had a chance to look down at that point, I’m sure the view would’ve mimicked that of the view from a window seat in a 747 at 50,000 feet. But before I had a chance to enjoy the view, we landed and hit the second of the rims, which sent all three of us flying out of the sled. Maybe launched is a better word here. We were launched from the sled and came down on our backs, somewhere near the long jump pit inside the track.
We hit the ground with three crunchy thuds. I had no idea snow could make a thud sound. None of us uttered a noise. The only thing we could hear was the wind in the park trees and the enormous flakes falling to the earth. I stared at the white sky, wondering if I was alive, or if I had died and was slipping into “the light”. But then I started laughing. Immediately, John followed suit and yelled, “THAT WAS AWESOME!” I laughed and asked if he wanted to do it again and he enthusiastically (and probably stupidly) agreed to Round 2. We stood up and realized that Sam was stuck in the snow…crying. In a joint effort, we unstuck him (he left one hell of an imprint) and I picked him up. I tried my best to console him, but I was laughing too hard. I carried him and the sled back up the hill, which was no small feat, mind you. Coming down was a hell of a lot faster. Going up felt like it should require mountain-climbing equipment.
We reached the top and John and I prepared for the second launch. I reached for Sam, but he clung to the post for dear life and shook his head. I told him to wait for us at the top off the hill- it would only take us a second (probably less than that going down, if I’m being honest). John and I replayed the incident but this time, when we hit the first metal rim, the sled disintegrated into several plastic shards and left us on the track. We laughed all the way to the top of the hill, and I loaded them into the van. Yep, two rips down the hill and we were done. We headed to my parents to be spoiled with hot chocolate and popcorn and snuggles on the couch under warm blankets. When we headed back to Galesburg later that day, the boys slept in the backseat while I laughed the entire trip home thinking about our day.
I didn’t win any “Mother of the Year” awards from Sam that year and I’m sure someday there’s a psychologist out there who is going to make a fortune off that kid when he realizes what I put him through. Ironically, though, he is my risk-taker and John has become our cautious one. Not sure what to make of that, but the therapists will have an answer, I’m sure.
In a way, I miss those days. Not just because the boys were younger, but because I was younger. It’s hard to imagine myself doing those things now, in my late forties, with all my broken parts. At what point in my life did I become less fun and more afraid? These days, the most dangerous thing I do is drink hot cocoa, knowing we’re out of Tums. Funny how twenty years can make all the difference. I suddenly feel brave, though, now that I’ve told you this story. Maybe I’m still kind of a Super Mom! Maybe I’ll do something crazy tonight while no one is here!
Maybe I’ll stay up until 11.