Adventures Away!

Last week, I did something I never thought I'd do. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't anything earth-shattering. I didn't sign up for a marathon. I didn't adopt a child. I didn't camp overnight in the wilderness, alone (or camp at all, for that matter). I simply took my boys on a day trip to play in the snow. All by myself.

Believe me when I say, that is huge. Sure, I may be a fun-loving, dirt-embracing, never-met-a-memory-she-doesn't-like kind of Mom, but adventurous I am not. Especially when it comes to taking my boys places alone, without a stroller, or a helper.

In fact, it completely terrifies me. And for good reason.

I'm not a good planner. I'm not the Mom who has a contingency plan already prepared for every possible emergency. I don't have a stash of cash hidden in my car, I cannot change a tire, I haven't a clue how to handle an open wound, and I quit carrying an extra change of clothing shortly after my boys passed the baby food stage. Even when I try to be prepared, it always seems I've overlooked some hugely obvious and essential thing.

I'm out numbered. There are two of them and just one of me. And I'm completely convinced that the only thing these brothers can agree on is that ganging up on Mommy is cool. We go for a walk and they sprint in opposite directions. I take them to the park and they want me to play with different things - at the same time. When I wipe one boy's hands, the other immediately buries his in dirt. As soon as I get one buckled in his seat for snack, the other decides he's no longer hungry and begs to be let down. No one wants me to hold him….until suddenly one does, which then means everyone now does. My head is on a constant swivel between the two of them, and it leaves me rather dizzy.

I'm tired. My boys are boundless buckets of energy. They're into anything and everything – and they do it all at warp speed and top volume. Keeping up with them is hard enough in my living room. Add in the excitement of a new experience and the temptation of untested boundaries and it becomes nearly impossible, especially on likely no more than five to six hours of interrupted sleep.

And frankly, I'm intimidated. Being responsible for two little lives is a big damn deal. I never considered myself a fearful or insecure person, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that motherhood has brought out a little of both in me. Despite my best efforts and the mountain of books on my nightstand, I'm not always confident my children will obey me in public and I worry the consequences will hurt more than just my pride. What if they don't listen to me and get in harm's way? What if it all falls apart at the worst possible moment and there is no one to help me?

All things considered, it was too much. And so I sat on the sidelines, waiting for a time when it gets easier. When they're bigger. When they're older. When my husband isn't in law school. When I'm better rested. When I'm in better shape. When it's not so hard.

But here's the thing, the fun isn't on the sidelines - it's out on the field. And I was tired of not having fun.  I was weary of waiting for a perfect tomorrow that may never come. I was fed up with letting my challenges become excuses and my fears become my captor.

So, on a random Tuesday morning, I left it all behind in search of adventure. With two boys in tow, a packed lunch, and a full tank of gas, I headed up Highway 80 with only caffeine and determination at my side.

A friend had given me a tip about a snow park she visited the day before, but I didn't have directions or a name - just a freeway exit. When we arrived, I didn't know where to go or where to park. It was freezing, windy, and there was actually a light snowfall. I wasn't sure where to dress the boys in their snow gear, so I shoved them into their pants, jackets, and mittens in the back of the car while their teeth chattered and people passing by gave me funny looks.

When we finally made it across the icy parking lot and found the pathway that led down to the snow, my heart sank. It was a sledding park. And we didn't have a sled. There didn't appear to be any way down to the fields below other than sliding down the hill. While it was no ski slope, it was too steep to walk down, especially carrying a toddler and a 50 lb. diaper bag.

I stood at the top of the hill staring down for a while.

I must have looked a little sad and odd, standing there shivering in jeans with a toddler in my arms and a rain boot clad preschooler by my side, because a few families standing next to me (yep, I was the only one crazy enough to do this solo!) glanced at me with pity. One kind stranger offered to loan us his sled, but I had no idea how to steer it and worried about crashing with the boys. And even if we made it down in one piece, I wasn't sure how we'd get back up. What if our cheap boots were too slippery to climb the hill? What if I couldn't carry them both back up? Heck, we could be stranded in the snow park basin 'til spring!

I wanted to run back to the car and call this stupid adventure off, but instead I just sat down. Right in the middle of everyone waiting to sled. It was just a stupid, tiny hill. And it wasn't going to defeat me. I hadn't come this far to be proven wrong by all my fears and what-ifs.

"MJ," I said confidently. "We're going down the hill on our butts."

"On our butts, Mommy?" He repeated, as the mother next to me raised her eyebrows while she fastened her child's perfectly fitting snow boots.

"Yes, we don't have a sled. But that's ok; we'll just sit down and slide. Come on, follow me."

The kind stranger, who could now be more accurately be described as a concerned stranger, once again offered to loan us our sled.

"No thanks," I said, a little too cheerfully, trying to convince MJ (and myself). "This will be fun! Come on buddy, let's go!"

With Evan on my lap and MJ behind me, we slid down the hill on our rear ends. I thought Evan or MJ might be scared, but they just laughed. And I did, too.

As it turned out, we could climb back up the hill. So we did. And we slid down together three more times before Evan decided he no longer liked the snow and my behind was too frozen to continue.

By this time, Evan was cold and crying. But MJ wasn't done. So we found a sunny hillside where MJ could climb and play on his own. I  claimed the only spot of dry concrete for myself and plopped down, wrapping Evan up in my jacket to shield his face from the wind. I sang to him and rocked him until he fell asleep in my arms, for the first time in well over a year.

On the way home, we stopped to eat our picnic lunch at a rest stop where we learned that my California boys won't eat if they're too cold and that rest stop restrooms don't have baby changing tables. After a backseat picnic, we headed home to some hot chocolate and a warm bath.

I'd love to say the trip was transformative and I'd been wrong all along, but that's not the case. It was hard, just like I thought it would be. But it was also a lot of fun and surprisingly energizing. And somehow, even in the middle of the snow with a crying little one, a frozen butt, and a daredevil preschooler leaping across icy rocks, it was peaceful. I was proud. And it felt right.

That's when I realized that the things that overwhelm, stress, and tire me won't change, but I will. And so a resolution was born: I will take my boys on one adventure a month in 2015. It will be hard, and probably more than a little bit crazy, but it will be worth it. For all of us.

I can't wait to see where the road leads next!