i am a womn with obstucted use of her hnds

tricia, why are you typing like a womn with obstucted use of her hands?

red onn.  i have humbly decided nit to chafe any of my mistakes,

we were sledding. itwas great.
because i try desperately toob ea fun mom.
andwe were having fun.
the scenery aline was incredible,


tyler, canm i rde wth you?

sure mommy bt thujs wont end well.

i chise to ridenwith tuck, who had far more confidence in me.
we sailed dow the hull, and would yu believe,
we were headed straigt for the only man-made obstacle on the mountain.
an 8inchn ramp.

I kew, midair, if i lad on my back or may tailbone, the comforot of lifeas i know it will change.
so we hit the ramo and i sifted my weight to land wnywhere bt on the central core of my bodyl.
remember, i was sharng a sledm with tuck.

i dont really know what happened im the enxt few moments.
there was an explosing in my hand
and a scraping of my fac e over ice,
some oart of e landed on tucker,
bashng his head into the ice,
ice. not anow.
nothung powdery abiut it.

and this ended the fun.
off tothe hospital.
does tucj have a concussion.’
is tricias ha d brken,
and whats with all thus blood on her face?

xrays. poking. prodding.
hardcore pan meds that sent me into a fit of giggles that has been documented for pisterity,

it’s not broken.
honestly, i was slightlyh disappoited.
its likem when i went tothe hospital because contractions were four minutes aart and intense, and she said “no, honey. this isnt the real thing.”

the n what is the purpose of all thispain>?

its swverely spraied. and i a to see my doctor in the net fie days if the pain contiues, since there are some small bones i hte hand that can;t shiw that they are fractured until sweeling goes down andpeoiple tink they’re ready tp get back to ther lives.

this. is miservable. its enought to make a gir question the value of having fun in the fist place.


Hot Cocoa made of Chocolate Bars

In the evening, Vail Village is like Disneyworld after-hours. White lights, cobblestone streets, smoking chimneys, and heaps of charm.

We were on a shuttle to Vail Village, and it was standing-room only. Kids on laps, four people squished into a row for three, and yet nobody was unhappy or crowded. After all, we were all on our way to Vail Village. (See above.)

My dad held Tyler on his lap, and he said, “Tyler, let’s pretend we’re on the Polar Express.”

Tyler said, “We can pretend they dancing waiters are serving hot chocolate.”

And just like that, one of the men did a faux tap dance down the aisle, spinning and twirling, pretending to balance a tray above his shoulder. Children began to cheer, and grownups cried, “Wait! My ticket! I’ve lost my ticket!”

I love fun people.

One More Fist Bump, Baby.

I meant to wake up at 6:30. That was the plan. But the sound of my alarm wove itself right into my dream, and I slept right through it, as if this were any old day – not The Day we had been waiting for. I got up at 7:15. Not a travesty in the realm of preparedness, but not what I had planned.


And so began our day of travel.


Robb was a very timely, punctual, efficient man. Efficient in every way. Efficiency was a hobby of his, I’m pretty sure. And traveling was a science, the ultimate test in organization and efficiency. If he told me the plan was to leave at 8:00, I eventually learned that the top secret plan, revealed for security clearance only, was to leave at 7:45.


Best to be early. (I never was.)


Turns out, I’m raising his son, and the morning was very reminiscent of traveling with Robb. Tucker was irate over the delayed schedule.


“Mommy, why? Why did you sleep in?”

“I didn’t mean to, buddy.”

“Why didn’t you wake up the first time you heard the alarm?”

“I meant to. That was the plan. And then it just didn’t happen.”

“Why did you stay up all night?”

“I didn’t. I went to bed right after you did.”

“Then why didn’t you wake up?”

“Oh, Tuck, just because I didn’t. It’s called oversleeping.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“I know.”


We raced around the house. Scratch that. I raced around the house. Tucker followed me with a moment-by-moment update on what time it was and how late we were and how narrow our margin had become.


I sit here on the plane, absolutely incredulous that we made it here in three hours. Everyone took their medication(s), we took Max to his version of Puppy Camp, navigated airport traffic, and traveled through security like total professionals at this traveling gig, as if this isn’t our maiden voyage in the world of traveling with Mom on a business trip. We even had time for pancakes and Sprites at McDonalds.


(The idea of pancakes and Sprite makes my mouth tingle a little bit, but whatever. I choose my battles.)


The only thing I forgot are headphones. So, a big fat kudos to the people around me who are allowing minimal volume in our row as the boys watch Tom & Jerry and The Three Stooges. No, seriously. Thank you.


2 boys.

1 mom.

1 nanny *extraordinaire.* (G.)

4 suitcases.

4 backpacks.

1 Nikon.

2 laptops.

4 movies.

6 iProducts.

7 items of reading material.

732 snacks.

Boarded and ready for lift-off.


An unbelievably smooth transition. A complete success. G and I keep reaching across the aisle to give each other victorious fist bumps. Seriously, give me another bump, G. We kicked it.


You would think we just won the Amazing Race.


We kind of did.


It Was Fun Until It Wasn’t.

Tyler and I were having so much fun on the Alpine Slide.  We’ve ridden together every summer since he was three, or maybe two, and we love it. We make a great pair.


One year, he shouted, as we raced down the mountain, “Mommmmmyyyyyyy!  Be careful with me!”  As if, for all of my days, I can imagine doing anything else.


This time, at age six, he was in charge of the brake.  (That was my mistake, and the place where I accept fault for the situation that ensued.)  The first time, we sailed down the mountain with the wind in our hair and the wheels on the track.  It was glorious freedom.


The second time, we were having so much fun – just so very much fun – until suddenly we weren’t.


The track veered to the left, the cart banked up on the right, we fell off, and our knees and elbows took the heat for several feet until we were ejected from the track.


(“Did you scream?”  No, because my most vivid memory is my view of Tyler’s head smashed into the side of the track.  I was fully mom in that moment, and very honestly, nothing on me hurt.  Yet.)


We were halfway down the mountain when we crashed, so our choices were to get back on the slide and coast to the bottom (with the knowledge of riders barrelling quickly behind us), or to traipse our tattered selves down the half-mile, dragging the sled behind us.


We rode down.  Slower this time.


When we got to the bottom, Tyler had his eyes on Tucker’s track, ironically the faster one than ours.  Tuck was riding on his own, and he would arrive at any moment.   As he slid into the safety zone, Tyler was right there to tell him, “We crashed, Tuck.”


And it was only then that Tyler started to cry, after he had told his brother.  There’s something deeply beautiful about that to me, though I can’t name exactly what it is.  But it is compassion and courage and love and concern, under the umbrella of brothers.


Now that all my babies were with me, I asked for help.  “Please, help us.  We’re a little … we crashed.”  They took us to the first aid clinic on site, a legitimate medical station with six gurneys and lots of things that will sterilize, disinfect, and bandage.


Tyler was super brave while the nurse cleaned his scrapes.


And then it was my turn.  I think I was brave, too.  But my brave called for an oxygen mask and glasses of water and “Ma’am, please lie down.”


My elbow is peeled like an apple, my friends.  We’re talking big white patch of sadness.  There were shards of fiberglass from the slide embedded in me.  But all of that paled to my awareness that my children were in the room, I was both mother and patient, there was no other adult they belonged to, we were at the top of the mountain, and we were a gondola ride and two hours from home.


Two camp counselors came to take the boys to the Bounce House so I could be effectively treated.  The wound was superficial, but the panic was mounting.  The nurse said, “I think there’s something else going on here.  This isn’t about the scrape.”


You are right.  Here’s my phone.  Call someone on the starred list.  They speak for me in moments like this.


Robb’s family was the closest on the scene at their mountain home.  As I have always known they would, Craig and Jay came to our rescue, and Robb’s dad looked so much like his son at my bedside that I can’t really tell you about that right now.


We made it home with the help of Robb’s family and mine.


It has been two days and both of us are okay. Tyler is striped with Band-Aid residue, and if I had the stamina, I’d have him soaking in the bath tub to take care of that mess.


I’ve been to the doctor, where they unwrapped, cleaned, rewrapped, and topped me off with a Tetanus shot for good measure.  I’m a little worked over.


We are learning the common factors of fault and accident.  Tyler said, “Mommy, I know your bandage is bigger, but I think my pain is worse.”


Let’s not compare, kiddo.  Let’s just get through this.