Inventory

I started thinking last night about my life inventory. And really it's all relative. The pros and cons of life's inventory. The good the bad and the ugly of what we have and what we don't. What we want and what we need are often two different things. Sometimes extreme ends of a spectrum. So the hope is that every day we bring these two ends closer together. Little by little, bit by bit. Until we make ends meet.

My best friend says "life is 10% what happens to you and 90% what you do about it." So today I'm choosing to do something about the proverbial "it."

Last week while taking my children to the mountains for some sledding I fell on my ass, hard. I slid about thirty feet down a bumpy icy slope on my tailbone without use of my hands, as I was protecting my two year old boy in my arms. The pain was excruciating, but he was fine, and we had driven two hours to have fun. So doggoneit we were going to have fun. Never you mind that the kids were miserable in their snow gear. Forget that they were hungry and nap time was approaching. There were cute pictures to take because we were "making memories."

The twins cried pretty much the entire time they were there, and I really wanted to cry from hearing their crying. I felt the stares of other mothers and read imaginary bubbles over their heads saying things like: "That is a bad mother." "Can't she tell those kids are miserable?" "Why is that little girl dressed like a pink Easter Peep. No wonder she's wailing." "And she's taking pictures?!"

At the end of a long miserable hour, we sat at the bottom of the slope exhausted from just being there. My big boy slid down on his new snow boogie only a couple of times and decided it was more fun to sword fight a defenseless melting snowman. My little boy stripped off his hat, mittens, boots and was working on his pants in revolt. Finally my little girl took my face in her snot filled mittens and demanded: "Mommy car NOW."

I fear more than memories I may have scarred my kids. What if they grow up fearing snow but not remembering why?We made our way slowly up the icy slope to the car and as we reached the top, my little boy literally threw his snow boot down the hill with a "take that you stupid hill" look on his face.

I seriously considered leaving the damn boot there. I thought about it all the way to the car. I thought about it some more as I changed diapers and stripped the kids down to dry comfy driving clothes. I talked myself through scenarios that included a littering citation while I gave them their lunch and sippy cups of milk. And then just as I was about to disrobe down to my comfy clothes... I could not do it. I could not leave that blue hand-me-down-from-cousins-in-Reno snow boot at the bottom of the hill all by itself. Alone. Without its mate. Left behind by some family who was just overwhelmed and way over their heads coming to the snow, when the mother is from Miami and shouldn't even be allowed to drive on mountain roads. So I left the kids in the warmth and safety of the car with the babysitter and set out to get that size 9 boot. Leaving it behind would've been almost like defeat. Almost.
 
I got back to the top of the hill and on my first step down my feet went out from under me and down I went again, but this time somehow dragging my right leg behind me. Until I hit a broken tree trunk with my shin. OUCH doesn't even begin to describe the pain. I suddenly felt queasy from the pain and started to feel faint when I was hit by an errant ice ball in the chest. A wake up call if you will. And I will. So I "cowgirled up," as my Reno brother-in-law would say, got the freaking boot and literally clawed my way up the freaking hill. By the time I got back to the car the kids were asleep in their seats looking so cute I wanted to wake them and hug them. Instead I took a mental picture.

Diagnosis: Fractured tailbone. Fractured tibia.


Lesson?

Learn to let go. Bought red-rubber-donut.