Parenting is a very two steps forward, three steps back kind of enterprise. Sometimes you lead, sometimes your child does. Very often,  it’s a bit like dancing: you kind of feel your way to where you are supposed to be.

Last month, we had a pretty, scary experience on a sledding hill near our house. While we weren’t shaken to our cores or anything dramatic like that, we were a little bruised by the incident. Normally, in the relatively mild climate we live in, we would have a solid year before we ever had to even hope for thoughts of slopes again. This would have given us plenty of time to get our full confidence back. But blame yet another indignity on the Polar Vortex, we were not given our moment of grace. We have had snow piling up around us in steady drifts since Old Man Winter arrived on the scene, and it didn’t stop just because we could have used a little time to lick our wounds.

We might have taken the sleds back out to the shed after the first storm. Then we might have rationalized that it was just too cold to take them back out after the second storm. But as we had storm after storm depositing the lovely flakes at our doorstep, we couldn’t really deny what needed to happen. We needed to get back on that horse.

We liked sledding after all. After the hot chocolate and the cute clothes, sledding is probably the best thing about winter. We have some mack daddy sleds that never even made it out of hibernation last year. It seemed such a waste to leave them collecting cobwebs with the pool noodles and lawn mower.

To be frank, we were also driving each other a little batty. We had built all the forts a family NOT under siege needed, and we had assembled a veritable arsenal of snowballs. There are only so many board games, science experiments, and craft projects you can do on your snow days before you want to hot glue gun your brother’s lips shut or plot your sister’s demise by tiger in Parcheesi. It was time to get the heck out of the house and back on the sleds again.

I myself hadn’t been in any hurry to get us back to our hill, but when my friend sent me the text to meet her at the park, I figured it was probably as good a day as any. I probably wouldn’t have chosen to go back to the hill where it all happened, but this was not my gig and I am never one to challenge another mother’s mojo.

It was time to put my dancing shoes on though, because this wasn’t gonna be as easy as “hey, kids, grab the sleds and pile in the minivan.” This was gonna take a little finesse and some of my finer moves. Each boy pushed back with the full power of his age and stage. The 12 year old gave me the international tween signal that it wasn’t happening: he feigned deafness. The 10 year old employed the old deflection tactic of not being able to find a single piece of his winter clothing. His hats, mittens, socks, and boots vanished like a black hole had opened up in our garage. The 6 year old began asking rapid fire questions.

Two steps forward. Three steps back. We were going back to those slopes. Even as I saw the mercury dropping and the light fading, THIS was happening, and today was the day.

That’s right. It was 14 degrees that day. Once we made the decision to get back out there, no sub-freezing temps were gonna get in our way. My feet were ultimately unhappy with this decision, but I stand by it 100%.

The van ride there was quiet with a capital Q. Silence is a mother’s barometer, so I knew their hearts were troubled, their minds distracted.  The boys were muted to the extent that I could almost touch each boy’s anxiety, feel the weight of their restrained concern, see their tension take shape in the air around us.

Pulling into the parking lot didn’t pop the tension bubble at all, so I carried their sleds, and I NEVER carry sleds. I saw the 12 year old stop for a second as he crossed the point on the hill where the ranger had run towards us with warning. It was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. One foot in front of the other, son.

At the crest of the hill, the boys were still holding their breath a little. I handed each one a sled, looked each boy in the eye for the non-verbal OK, and pushed. Hard.

I don’t know when they exhaled on the long, sloping ride to the bottom, but the energy was different when they came back up the hill. They were looser, more open, unfurled.

The rest of the day was as it should be. Uneventful. Fun. Normal.

Despite the bitter cold, it couldn’t have been a lovelier day.  We were grateful for beautiful clear skies, good friends, and even the cold, crisp air. We were thankful for this moment to get back in the saddle.  It may not have been pretty or graceful or even noteworthy to anyone else, but we had found our old footing.  Together. Two steps forward at least for now. Cue the jazz hands.

 -Erin