I think the thing about parenting that wears you down is the sheer unrelenting nature of it. When 7 and 9 year old meet, you live your life in a tinderbox with boys running around playing with Zippos. It usually takes all of 3 minutes for the sparks to fly. The youngest, ever on the lookout for the littlest slight to send him into a “my brudder hates me” funk, but all the time pushing Ri’s buttons for all he’s worth. The oldest, forever put out having to spend a moment with his sibling, unless it suits his needs (which it often does…a trip on his own into the scary downstairs usually does the trick even though that’s where they live their play lives).
We’re trekking back from skiing Park City. The boys spent two days in separate ski schools, having a blast. I knew on day three, when lessons ended, that skiing together would actually mean my dad would take one and I’d grab the other, and sure enough the few minutes they spent skiing together were in an all-out tuck to race to the bottom, the world, their safety and other skiers be damned.
Riley found a new friend in Shawn, a 10 year old from Rhode Island, where Ri begged me to go for our next vacation so he could see him. He seemed a bit unaware that he only knew a first name and no address, but whatever, he found someone to hang with and laugh.
Ky finished both days of ski school and asked if he could take a run with me or Grandpa. Hell yeah, little friend, hell yeah.
We all had a great time. The boys skied like champs and all day long without complaint, no “I’m tired” to spoil the fun. Ri got his poles which he refused to use on his first day, but did his second. I also learned that skiing green runs behind Ky is harder on my thighs than skiing double blacks in the bumps. Go figure. We went tubing, ate lots, and they were dead asleep each night by 8, even putting themselves to bed in their exhaustion. I could get used to that.
The biggest wet blanket was the never-ending homework for Riley. He complained with every new round, and I was right there with him. I think it stinks to do homework on vacation and every kid should get a one week pass to use during the school year. There’s more to learn on a trip like this than studying rock stratification and Spanish. Life lessons trump a book, no matter how you slice it. We never did finish it all, and I’ll defend him to school and take the blame. Who wants to spend an hour each precious day writing cursive essays about the Midwest, when you’re living the life on a mountain?
I’m also continually amazed to just sit and observe these two, and see the difference between them, and how they differ from me. On a plane, neither seems overly excited to stare out the window. Riley never even glances as we roar down the runway. After endless years of flying I still can’t help but watch each takeoff and landing, and I love to stare at the world going by. What’s going on in those heads? I’d like a quick visit to make sense of it all.
One more long flight from Denver to Pittsburgh. Bed will feel wonderful.
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