After a Saturday of questionable parenting, I was really looking forward to an opportunity on Sunday to turn things around. The weather in Minnesota has been erratic this year, to say the least. We’ve endured some serious negative temperatures (-27° wind chills) this year already, and by most accounts, we aren’t done yet. So when Sunday soared to 35°, it felt like shorts and t-shirt weather and we decided to get out and enjoy it.

When we were stationed in the mountains, winter was our favorite season. We had annual ski passes to Copper Mountain and Monarch, and went skiing and snowboarding every single available weekend and even a few weeknights. After you’ve experienced 11,000 ft of mountain bowls, it is very difficult to get excited for skiing in Minnesota. (No offense, Mt. Kato, but really, it’s not the same.) So we’ve spent our winters largely indoors up until now.

Aaron has some friends who are really into ice fishing. While I love to fish, the idea of fishing on a frozen lake doesn’t exactly appeal to me. First, I like to be comfortable when I fish. That includes flip flops, shorts, a tank top and probably a beverage or two. I can’t really picture being comfortable in base layers, a parka and mittens.

Then there’s the whole fear of breaking through the ice thing. I know that people drive their trucks out on the lake and set up an entire ice fishing village out there, but that is pretty much the last thing in the world that makes sense to me. So I have avoided this activity like the plague.

But Aaron’s into it – and his wonderful friends have offered to share their stuff until we get our own. So thanks, guys, for that.

In all seriousness, Aaron’s friends are the most generous people; we feel really lucky to count them as friends. And Sunday was really a beautiful day, so….let’s go ice fishing.

There’s not a magical moment to share this time; no pivotal life truth to draw from this one. We just had our first real experience at what I can predict will be Aaron’s next passion. He’s already asking around about buying some gear to get started. I’m going to hold out for one of those 3 bed, 2 bath ice house models…dang! Some people really live it up out there!

Just a few pictures from our latest adventure:

**The following blog post is a little different from what I usually write. I know that a lot of people read my blog, and I usually edit my posts to include information that I don’t mind sharing publicly. This time, however, I have something very personal to say to my son. My flaws are on display, something I generally try to keep to myself. I’d be fine with you all just moving on, and not reading this one. I still want it on the blog, because ultimately these are for my children to read someday. I wavered back and forth on posting this one, I admit. I’m not proud of some of it. But I am trying to be okay with being vulnerable in front of people; I am trying to believe that strength (not just embarrassment) can come from making mistakes and admitting them. If you do read on, try not to hold it against me.**

Dear Cooper,

This weekend was a pretty significant weekend in your young life. Maybe you won’t remember it in great detail, and I’m only imagining that it was significant. Or maybe it’s one of those weekends that will somehow stick with you in unnatural detail for eternity – I’m not sure. But it felt significant to me, so I’m going to have to write you a letter so your grown-up self can hear what maybe your 7-year old self can’t.

Little man, it is no secret that your mother is crazy about you. I know you know, because when I whisper at night “Love you, Coop” you always nod and say “I know, Mama.” Because I’m so crazy about you, I sometimes lose perspective; there is a fierceness in this love – hard to describe, really. I get downright FIERCE about it. Anyway – that’s something to remember, please, as this letter goes on.

When you started wrestling last year, I had a mix of emotion; in some ways you seem too small to have other boys throwing you around on the wrestling mat. I didn’t like it. I half-hoped YOU wouldn’t like it. But your dad, he was the kind of wrestler that doesn’t come along every day, and I tried pretty hard to swallow my fear because I thought that this would be something you and he might have together, and I did not want to ruin it.

I don’t know a dang thing about wrestling, and I admit I’ve enjoyed learning from you and I have taken extreme pride in watching your dad work with you on the mat. I love him in that role. And okay, selfishly I will admit something else. I have kind of hoped that his status as a champion on the mat might someday extend to you. I know your dad has some secrets about how champions are made. Your mother, well, she wasn’t a champion at anything, really. She participated in lots of things, had lots of passion and a million irons in a million fires, but it was more important at that time for her to be part of lots of things, than to be really excellent at just one. So I don’t really know what it takes to be a champion. Your dad, does, though. And maybe there’s a little part of me that wanted to be a little part of that champion thing, since I never did that.

So I got whole-heartedly behind this wrestling thing, waiting for the glory days that are almost sure to come. I wasn’t really listening to your dad when he kept telling me, “this might not be his thing.” I thought he was being modest. When he said, “I’ve seen it before – kids quit because they get a little beat up too soon and it isn’t fun for them” – I was sure he was talking about other kids. Last year went well, but this year has been a bit of a bumpy road.

You haven’t loved practice the way you used to love it. You’re not all that excited about the meets. You really HATE that you can’t inhale pancakes and waffles on the mornings of weigh-ins. And let’s be honest – you are a teeny tiny little thing right now. You may be tall, but the boys at your weight class are stronger, and that hasn’t always been great for you on the mat.

Through it all, I offered encouragement. Just keep going, keep at it, you have to work at something to become good at it. And I THOUGHT your dad would be right behind me, saying the same thing. He wasn’t, though. He hung back and just watched you. And it was making me CRAZY. I would say to him, “Go help him! He needs your help.” and he would just shake his head, sit down, and watch. I felt like he was somehow withholding the magic words; intentionally leaving you to flounder, while he hoarded all the answers to life on the sidelines. I was frustrated by that – but as usual, your father was just waiting and watching for a reason.

When you are in a match, you give it your all, and you are trying REALLY hard, Coop, I can tell. But it isn’t coming easily to you yet, and you’re not really having a whole lot of fun. This weekend, we tried the Team Tournament in Blue Earth. You were crabby from the second I pulled you out of bed to the second you stepped on the scale for weigh-ins. The happiest part of the morning for you was the breakfast you ate at McDonald’s. You tried to tell me, about 5 times, that you did not feel like wrestling today and you wanted to go home.

You know what I was thinking? Honestly? I was thinking, “Oh no, we can’t go home. Your grandparents are here. We already signed up. We paid our fee, we took someone’s spot on the team, and we are in BLUE EARTH for crying out loud! Aaron Gudahl’s son cannot possibly walk out of THIS gym and prefer to go home and play video games, for crying out loud!” That’s what I was thinking. (I am writing in tears, I want you to know. I am not proud of that, but that is what I was thinking.) I covered it up with some spiel about how “we don’t quit, and we follow through on our commitments” but in all honesty it was just my foolish pride that wouldn’t let you pack it in and go home. That is the truth. When I sent you down on to the mat anyway, there were tears in your eyes. And iron in my heart. (And I am feeling terrible as I write this down, I just want you to know that.)

As you wiped your eyes on your tee shirt and headed down the stairs, your dad finally spoke up. He turned to me and said “No. This is not how it goes. He does not wrestle in tears. That’s not how this goes.” And he went down and picked you up and brought you back to the stands. He was ready to pull you out, and I was a wreck, and you were upset and overall the whole thing just SUCKED. There, can I say that? It sucked.

And you did the bravest thing. You said, “Dad, I want to wrestle.” And you wiped your eyes again and sniffed and walked over to the team. After you left to join the team, I breathed a sigh of relief and chalked it up to growing pains.

But here’s the conversation you didn’t hear – your dad had a few things to say to me, in private, and I want you to know what they were. I’ll try to summarize – but believe me, I heard every word. He said, “Sara, if he learns to hate this, I will never forgive myself. He has to WANT to be here. He has to LIKE it. We don’t push, we don’t decide. HE decides. Right now, this isn’t fun for him. He’s not strong enough to win consistently, and that might be enough right there to sour him. You know how much he likes to win.”

(And that’s true – you’re very competitive. Once, I accidentally killed off all your Skylanders when I was trying to learn that video game and you didn’t talk to me for a whole day.)

Anyway, your dad continued, “It doesn’t matter to me if he ever wrestles. I know you think that matters to me, Sara, but it really doesn’t. I had great experiences, I did a lot of things that other people never got a chance to do, but those were mine. I don’t need him to have those same experiences – I had mine already. He might have all new experiences. And that’s okay. Let’s just find what he loves and get behind it.”

Oh. Okay.

And I felt just humbled by that. And if I could love your dad any more than I already do, that conversation right there would be why.

And then…you wrestled. It was finally your turn, your mood had brightened and you were ready to go. Approximately 18 seconds into the first period, you took a knee to the nose, and blood like I have never seen spurted everywhere. Shawn Ehrich was reffing, he stopped the match and turned right to us in the stands and motioned us over. Coach Luke was with you in seconds and the amount of blood running down his arms almost made me sick.

And I thought, “This is what I get. This is MY fault.” It took 20 minutes to stop bleeding, we had to pack it, and you were done for the day. (Maybe done for life, who knows?)

That evening turned out to be the bright spot of the night; Double Play with the Nesbits and their families – by then you were shooting pool and throwing darts and eating pizza and actually joking about the nose. So it’s true that kids are resilient – you sure bounced back fast. And I might have been tempted to think, “all’s well that ends well,”

But here comes the part that I want your grown-up self to hear, in case your 7-year-old self missed it. I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sorry for my ambition, that might have pushed you into a place you weren’t ready for. I love you so much, and how much I love you has absolutely nothing to do with whether you are ever a star athlete or not. I don’t care, I swear I really don’t. And your dad doesn’t care – we’ll get behind whatever you choose to do or not do.

You are the boy who can name every dinosaur that ever walked the earth, AND distinguish what period he lived in. You are the boy who builds amazing creations out of Legos and K’nex. The boy who has mastered Mario Kart and Super Mario Bros, who has an impressive collection of Pokemon cards and who still falls asleep on my lap sometimes before bed. You’re the boy who will ride his bike and jump on the trampoline for hours, the boy who reads Harry Potter at age 7 and who loves his Mama just as fiercely as she loves him. It’s enough – you’re enough. Whatever you want, or don’t want, will be just right for me.

Okay, I’m crying in earnest now, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I pride myself on having a good head on my shoulders – I like to think I am reasonable and logical and always have your best interests at heart. I think I didn’t handle it well this weekend, and I resolve to do better. Thank goodness for your dad…(not the first time I’ve thought that.) And I hope you can forgive my pride. I’m working on that.

Love,
Mom

Over break this year, I had the rare opportunity to spend nearly 24 hours in a row with just my girls. Emma had a basketball camp up in Mankato in the morning, and the three of us were attending the Gopher Women’s game that night up in the cities. So we loaded up the suburban at 6:45 am and embarked on  a day trip together.

When I’m playing the role of Mama, I’m usually busy watching what they eat, monitoring their behavior, and keeping them organized and on-task. I love being their Mama, that’s for sure. But there was something special in the air that day – maybe it was just the deliciousness of being together on an adventure – that let me be something else. I felt like saying “yes” to everything, instead of defaulting to “no.” The air was crisp and cold, but the sun was shining, the sky was the bluest blue, and when “American Girl” came on the radio, both girls began singing along, bright-eyed in the back seat. There was no trace of sleep in their eyes, even though it was 6:45 on a Saturday morning. I got caught up in their free spirit and found myself singing along. Suddenly it felt more like a Sisterhood and less like the dictatorship that it sometimes defaults to when I have to be the Mom.

 I learned a few fun things that day:
1.) Saying “yes” is more fun than saying “no.”
2.) Saying “yes” opens doors to experiences we might not have had otherwise.
3.) My GPS is not infallible.
4.) Parking Ramp Attendants can be the most wonderful humans in the world.
5.) There is a direct correlation between the location of a venue and the cost of a Coca-Cola.
6.) There is a mysterious pathology behind the phenomenon of the “selfie.”

Let me tell you first about saying yes. We usually can’t drive past a gas station without someone asking me if I need gas. That sounds odd, probably, but the immediate follow-up question to that is always “And if we stop for gas, can I get a snack?” As you may have guessed, my default answer is “No”. Today, on a whim, I just said…”Yes.” There was a surprised silence in the backseat. Then both girls dashed headlong into the store to pick something out before I changed my mind. They made terrible choices, of course, (Pop-Tarts and Bottle Caps) but there was something about they way they looked at me – with shining eyes, almost – that made me throw my good judgement out the window and just go with it.

That first yes set the stage for the rest – I got caught up in their incredulous spirit and took my own delight in surprising them with my answers.
“Will you buy me another MSU t-shirt?”
“Yes.”
“Can we go to Noodles for lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get pop to drink?”
“Yes.”
“Can we go shopping?”
“Yes.”
“Can we stop at Coldstone?”
“Yes.”
I became almost drunk on their happiness, and something new began to form. Being their mom carries a responsibility to make sure they are healthy and well-taken care of; that often translates into having to be the fun police. I don’t think I’ve been letting go enough; I haven’t been as carefree as I could be, and as I let go of the tightly-held reins, I felt something new developing between us. Something that I usually only feel when I’m with my friends. Sisterhood.

And that brings me to #2: saying yes led to some new experiences. While Emma was at camp, Carys and I and went shopping together. We don’t have enough time to spend alone together anymore, and I will admit that it delighted me to no end when she slipped her hand inside mine and snuggled up next to me as we walked into the mall. She’s still so little, in some ways, and I am so grateful for these stolen hours of time together. She had Christmas money to spend, and was quite a little spendthrift as we wandered the mall. Nothing seemed to be good enough to spend her money on, though she did spend a lot of time browsing and showing me interesting toys. She was most excited about visiting Justice, where she declared, “I think I might die of sparkles in this store.” We easily spent an hour there, trying on clothes and sifting through jewelry. She had $100 to spend, so I told her to have at it. But when it was time to break out her wallet, she just couldn’t do it. The pile on the counter reached $68, but she put things back on the shelves until she had it down to a mere $16.50. Who knew that she would be so careful with her money?

We picked Emma up from camp around noon, went out to eat at Noodles & Co. with some friends, and then it was Emma’s turn to shop. She had one store only in mind: Barnes and Noble. She hemmed and hawed over new stories or owning old favorites. She must have asked me a hundred times to tell her what she should do. (Red flag for me…I think I control things just a little too much, wouldn’t you say?) But with my new approach, I just said, “Get whatever you want!” She would stare at me for a minute, then mutter to herself as she walked away to ponder. I think it was unsettling for both of us, actually.

Both girls slept all the way up there, which allowed me to listen to the radio and contemplate our arrival at Williams Arena. I know the way, generally, so I was pretty sure I had set my GPS correctly. I planned to follow a few simple turns and arrive safely at The Barn in plenty of time for the game. Which brings me to #3.

I can’t really explain where I went wrong, because honestly, I have no idea. I was just blindly following the little arrows for turns on the GPS, and paying only minimal attention to the signage. I do recall exactly when I realized there was a problem. The GPS said “Turn right at Exit 18.” I looked up, and saw no sign for Exit 18.
And the highway had suspiciously narrowed.
Into what looked alarmingly like regular streets.
And then I saw a sign that I have never seen before in my life. It read: End Of Freeway.
For real.
I had reached the actual END of 35W. Highways are sort of an abstract concept in my mind; they go on forever into the hazy distance, and I just glibly exit them at random intervals. It hadn’t occurred to me that I would ever see the END of one. It was kind of like finding the actual bottom of a rainbow.

But I digress. So I found the mythological end of 35W and suddenly I’m at the crossroads of 5th St. and 10th Ave, and it’s dark outside and I don’t recognize any landmarks and I have absolutely no idea where I am.

Downtown Minneapolis is all about the one-way streets, too, so that makes it extra fun when you’re lost. I was able to pull over and re-calibrate the GPS, thank goodness, but I found myself wishing I had driven our little Prius instead of the gigantic, hulking suburban. It would not be the first time I wished for that, just to give you a little foreshadowing.

My GPS calculated my new location and issued a new set of directions. This is the part where I needed my girls to help me out a little. It was getting dark and the heavy traffic, one-way streets, and sheer size of the suburban were starting to make me a little edgy. I asked if they could help me look for street signs. Carys said, “I can’t read those words” and Emma said, “I forgot my glasses.” And I was thinking, “Well super.”

I could elaborate further on the adventure that followed, but in the interest of saving time, I will just say it took another 7 turns and twice around the block at Williams to find my way into the parking ramp. The mood of the day had not dissipated, however. I had felt all day that we were in it together, and I still felt that. The weight of responsibility hadn’t invaded my psyche; I was edgy, perhaps, but not overly so. I knew eventually we would get there, and get there we did.

When we pulled into the parking ramp, I breathed a deep sigh and the girls popped up in the back, absolutely thrilled about the next part of the adventure. I’ve never taken them to a Gopher game before, and I’m sure they had imagined all sorts of wonderful things. As we were organizing our gear into pockets and purses, Carys suddenly said, “Mom! Let’s take a selfie!”

Until now, the strange phenomenon of the selfie has been largely wasted on me; in my experience, it is a much younger generation filling up newsfeeds with photos of themselves in random places. I take a million pictures OF my kids; I have very few pictures WITH my kids. But that Sisterhood feeling was still crackling through the air, and suddenly a selfie seemed totally appropriate. We all climbed into position and began snapping away. In the darkness of the parking garage, all we could manage was a grainy shot of the three of us, but the giggles that ensued as we scanned back through them only added to the giddiness of the moment.

I checked the time: 5:40pm. Perfect. We bundled up into all our warm clothes (it was -15 degrees in Minneapolis) and began heading across the street to the arena. That’s when I noticed that the Arena looked suspiciously dark. I hastily pulled out my tickets and checked the game time. *GASP*
8:00pm! We turned around and headed back to the warmth of the suburban. On the way back, I paused to ask the parking attendant, “What time will the arena open tonight?” He said, “7:00.”

In the warmth of the truck, I contemplated our options. We could hang out in the truck for an hour and a half, or I could once again brave the streets of downtown Minneapolis in this enormous vehicle, after dark, alone with two girls who can’t read the street signs. Hmmm.

After a quick search on my phone, I discovered a McDonald’s about 8 blocks away. I mapped out the directions in my mind and decided we would give it a try. I looked at my parking pass, which stated that the ticket was good for 24 hours, so I drove down the ramp to leave. The parking attendant looked puzzled when he asked for my ticket. He’d given it to me only a few moments before. I hesitated, and explained that we would be back, I just needed to get the girls something to eat. He patiently explained that while my parking pass was good for 24 hours, it became void the moment I left the parking ramp, and I would have to pay for it again.

Maybe Carys’ unwillingness to part with money comes from me, because I promptly decided that I didn’t want to spend another $10. I told him I had changed my mind about leaving, and then asked if he would let me drive back in. He paused, looked at me with a truly sympathetic expression and said, “No, but if you want to stay, I can back you up the ramp to a parking space.”

Ummm….what? BACK me UP into a parking space? Have you seen this thing? I kind of laughed and said, “Seriously?” And he grinned and said, “Yep. C’mon.”

I wish I had security camera footage to insert here. I am supremely happy that there was no one at all behind us in the ramp. He carefully and patiently directed me as I inched my Suburban behemoth backwards UP the parking ramp. He asked me what I planned to do for the next hour, and expressed genuine concern about me walking my girls to McDonald’s in the cold weather. He pointed out a Buffalo Wild Wings only a couple of blocks away, and even helped wrap a scarf around Carys’ head as we prepared to go out a second time. What a super young man he was; that ordeal could have gone an entirely different direction.

Instead, my girls and I are half-skipping, half-running down the street to BW3. As we entered the bar, Emma leaned over and whispered, “Mom! Are we allowed to be in here?” I grinned and said, “Yep, as long as you’re with me!” The place was packed, and there was nothing but Gopher Maroon and Gold as far as the eye could see. The waitress found us a seat, handed the girls a grown-up menu, and treated them like rock stars. The mood of the day amplified and I heard them order cherry cokes like they did that every day of their life, instead of waiting for apple juice in kids’ glasses like they get at so many restaurants.

Carys ordered something called “Naked Tenders” which made her giggle so hard she could barely say the words without falling off her chair. Emma sauced up her wings like a pro and everything was just perfectly perfectly perfect. All this Sisterhood produced more photo ops:

Game time was upon us, so we headed to over to Williams. Now, when I got these tickets, I chose them only because the date happened to work out for our schedule. I didn’t know that this was the Big 10 opener. I didn’t know we were playing Nebraska. And I definitely didn’t know that Lynx phenom, former Gopher standout Lindsay Whalen would not only be in attendance, but would be signing autographs at a meet-and-greet.

What good fortune! We got to the arena the second the doors opened, and were about 40 people back in the line to meet Lindsay. Emma had a Gopher tee, Carys had a Gopher hat, and Lindsay talked personally to every single girl that walked through the line. She paused for pictures, and was pretty much the most awesome famous person ever.

The game itself was uneventful in the first half. Nebraska was handling the Gophers pretty well, but honestly, my girls were more focused on getting up on the Jumbotron than they were about anything else. They waved at Goldie, they danced in the aisles, they cheered on command, and soaked up the full experience. And, of course, posed for selfie after selfie.

See the autograph on Carys’ hat? She wouldn’t take it off!

Somewhere around the end of the first half, Emma asked if she could get something to drink. Now, I’d been saying yes to everything all day, so I didn’t hesitate to walk them down to the concession stand to get something. I already know that it costs an arm and leg for food at these kind of places, so it wasn’t like I was surprised or anything by the $5 it cost for a 12oz pop. But a day of saying yes had been hard on the pocketbook. I’d withdrawn $200 in cash for the day, and when I pulled out my wallet, I found $8. I double-checked and triple-checked all the pockets, but $8 was all I found. I actually had to break out the debit card so I could buy a few snacks…whoa. Suddenly a $5 Coke seemed a little extravagant. But whatever – Sisterhood!

I admit that after halftime I was itching to go home; I still had a long drive back, and we’d been out and about for 15 hours already. But the girls still hadn’t made it on the elusive Jumbotron, and they were committed to the cause.

It’s a good thing, too. Because our beloved Gophs came from a 17 point deficit in the last 5 minutes to win the game! The arena was crackling with excitement, and the girls were screaming their heads off, and in general it was one of my favorite arena experiences of all time.

We were in the truck and heading home when I had my first moments to reflect on the day. Both girls were out cold by the outskirts of Minneapolis, and with the radio playing in the background and the light of the moon guiding me home, I pondered on this new thing we found together. Sisterhood. And a selfie.

When I somehow managed to produce 3 children in 4 years, I thought my life was pretty busy. I can remember trying to break my day into 30-minute intervals, and setting a goal of just trying to survive them one interval at a time. I had a 3 year-old, a 10 month-old, and a newborn. The bottom two were offset in their feeding schedules by 45 minutes; which meant that I was perpetually feeding someone round the clock. The 3-year old was in her most exasperating stage of getting into Every. Single. Thing. within her grasp and calling for my attention in the most aggravating ways. (Baby powder bottles emptied on carpets, etc.)

I remember looking fervently ahead to the future and fantasizing about the days when they could go to the bathroom on their own, feed themselves, buckle their car seats, dress themselves. I remember thinking that life was going to get infinitely easier, and my time would be mine again.

Ah, what a fanciful world I lived in.

Because fast-forward seven years. (What? Seven years?) They are 10, 8, and 7. They can go to the bathroom on their own (though the girls prefer to go at the same time and talk to each other while they take care of business), they can feed themselves (and mostly not spill anything), they can buckle their own car seats (after they finish a UFC-worthy brawl over who sits where ), and they can dress themselves (in mostly matching outfits except for the socks, which I am told is a fashion thing now.) All that bliss, and guess what? I have ZERO time for myself. ZERO.

Because of all the things.

I mean, I guess I knew there were things – I actually went looking for things, and I even paid for the things. But I never really knew just exactly what the things were going to mean for my LIFE.

Let me elaborate: Emma participates in Basketball, Soccer, and Softball. She plays the cello and the french horn and sings in the choir. She helps with youth CER programs and is pressing me hard to let her add summer gymnastics to her already packed summer schedule. Carys is in Gymnastics, Soccer, Softball and Basketball. She wants piano lessons to start yesterday, and wonders why “Emma gets to do everything.” Cooper is in Wrestling, Soccer & Baseball, plans to start Football next year, and thinks that his skills at Minecraft should qualify him for an Olympic medal.

I may not be warming bottles and changing diapers and finding the correct pattern of rocking/bouncing/walking for each individual child’s comfort, but instead I am coaching teams, watching games/meets/matches, signing off on practice minutes, working concession stands, selling fundraising items, attending concerts, shopping for cleats, sneakers, leotards, gloves, helmets, bats, rosin, cello strings, music stands, & shin guards and driving all over southern Minnesota all day, every day.

There are days when I am just over it. Seriously OVER it. I want to stay home and sit on the couch and eat chips. And watch terrible daytime television.

But here’s one of those ways that it is both frustrating and awesome to be married to my husband. I’m a joiner and a do-er, that is for sure. But when I reach my tipping point, but husband reminds me that it is NOT about me. It’s not about how tired I am, how many miles I have put on the Prius in the last year, how I think if I have to eat another meal of hot dogs/pizza/popcorn I might actually die of malnutrition.

When I go over the dark side, I have made it all about me, and that’s where he becomes the family hero. Well, first he points it out to me, how I’ve made it all about me – and that’s the frustrating part. If I could just swallow my pride for ten seconds, I would see that he’s right. (It almost killed me to write that last part, just so you know.)

But he IS right, I try to do it all myself. I have terrible control issues. I like to have my hands in everything all the time, especially when it comes to my kids. I want to facilitate every opportunity, and then when I realize I’ve overdone it, I just poop out, for lack of a better term.

Aaron is always, always, always able to pick up my tattered and fraying ends and get our balls rolling in the right direction once more. He reminds me that my tired does not equal their tired. My sick of driving does not equal their missing a practice or a game. It IS, actually, all about them, and if I could learn to let him do more along the way, I might not reach the brick wall quite as fast or often as I seem to do these days.

And the truth is, the older they get, it has the potential to get even more busy. He asked me to combine our several calendars into one master calendar so he could more accurately pinpoint where he is needed and when. I finally managed to get one together, and I was rather horrified to discover that no monthly calendar was big enough. Our level of involvement has exceeded every monthly template that Microsoft Office has to offer. I had to take a deep breath and download a weekly calendar, just for the space.

Someone out there is going to tell me that we are doing too much, sacrificing family time in favor of activities and hurting more than helping by being so active. And to that I respectfully say: No Sir. We still have family time; some of our best conversations happen while driving somewhere. We still eat meals together, often picnic-style near someone’s concession stand. I say that it’s not WHERE or HOW we are together, it is simply that we are TOGETHER. My kids will know that at every single thing that is important to them, we will be there, showing up, doing whatever it takes to say “I saw you do something amazing today” even if that something amazing is ingesting sunflower seeds in an alarming quantity or figuring out how to make those dang softball cleats stay tied, already.

What are they learning from those activities? They are learning that they can do new things. They can do hard things. They can be pretty good at something, and they can struggle with something too. They are learning to win with integrity; to lose with grace. To support each other, to be part of a team. Their music education is helping unfold the corners of their minds and making life richer and more beautiful.

Along the way we get to become part of dozens of new families, and all of them have their own special dynamic. Each sport brings us in contact with new families, who are passionate and funny and friendly and boisterous and proud. At the orchestra concert the other night, my tough tomboy wore concert black, a sequined skirt, had her hair piled on her head, and with the stature of a queen stated that orchestra made her feel professional and important.

Someday, they may have to give something up; they may have to choose, or whittle down their options. I want them to be able to to say that they tried everything they ever wanted to try. I’m going to make it possible for them to find whatever it is that sets the rhythm of their hearts.

I have some close friends who have already closed this chapter in their lives; their kids are grown and gone. Every single last one of them looks back on these crazy-busy years with fondness and gratitude. They tell me every day to savor it, to enjoy the chaos. I will. We will.

I will still admit, however, that the three big empty boxes on the calendar in December (only three, by the way) give me quite a little thrill. Three whole days of nowhere to go, nothing to do? I’m giddy.

40 is upon me. I haven’t been looking forward to this milestone; I think when the big numbers approach, we tend to take inventory of our lives, and too often people find them lacking. It’s easy to think about all the things we haven’t done yet, all the places we haven’t been, or the people we haven’t become. I was about to wallow in my own melancholy, but when I got to school today one of my students asked, “Hey Ms. Gudahl, what have you done in your first 40 years?”

Sometimes I’m not the teacher; I still have a few things to learn, and I love it when a student does the honors.

I hadn’t been looking at 40 that way. And now that I’m thinking about it, my first 40 years have been pretty amazing. I waited a long time to settle into a family life and routine, and spent much of my youth having one adventure after another. I decided that rather than create a bucket list of all the things I haven’t done yet, I would celebrate my fortieth year by making my “Been There, Done That” list. I think instead of feeling anxious about all the living left to do, I’ll rest easy in the contentment of all the things I’ve already done, good/bad and otherwise.

Let’s see…

* I have lived in 10 different cities, in 4 different states and 2 different countries.

* I’ve pitched a tent in a sandbar on the side of a river and watched the sun come up over the Continental Divide.

* I’ve loved and lost a Jessie dog, and will probably never get over it.

* I broke a wrist and got a concussion snowboarding down a mountain bowl at 12,000 ft.

* I climbed to the top of Blarney Castle in Ireland and bent over backwards (literally) to kiss the Blarney Stone.

* I hiked to the top of Mount Princeton and notched my first fourteener.

* I ate lunch in an abandoned mine shaft on the top of a mountain.

* I took a train to Seattle, and stayed a week with people I met on the internet. (Great people, actually, but holy cow that was a big risk. How invincible we feel in our twenties…)

* I camped in a snowbank in -10 degree weather on the banks of a lake in Kansas with a Brittany spaniel tucked into my sleeping bag to keep me warm.

* I competed on a trap team in Colorado; I was the youngest member of the team by almost 40 years.

* I spent four hours eating a meal at a restaurant in Florence, Italy with complete strangers.

* I ran a half-marathon – the Bolder Boulder – without walking and finished under my goal time.

* I was robbed in Salzburg, Austria, and had to panhandle and work for money to make my way home.

* I can perform an amazing card trick, thanks to my friend Doug Rachac who spent about a zillion hours trying to teach it to me.

* I watched a glassblower in Venice make a glass penguin for me.

* I wrapped an inflatable kayak on Raft Ripper at the bottom of the Brown’s Canyon Run and needed a private boat and about 10 people to help me get it out.

* I’ve had the privilege of mentoring more kids than I can count in my classroom each year for the last 15 years. Some of them have become lifelong friends.

* I learned how to live an (almost) sustainable life; how to raise animals, grow my own food, and even prepare it in a way that is better than average.

* I’ve made it to 40 without a single traffic ticket, although I have experienced 2 car accidents.

* I gave birth to 3 babies in 3 states in 4 years.

* When we were still young and reckless, Aaron and I used to ride his motorcycle all over the countryside, at questionable speeds. (Sorry, Mom!)

* I’ve eaten a picnic lunch in the bed of a pickup truck in the back of a cornfield.

* I’ve been a lifeguard, a dispatcher, a waitress, a secretary, a coach and a teacher.

* I won $75 once on a scratch off ticket.

* I’ve been to 19 country music concerts, 4 pop concerts, 1 Lilith Fair and 1 Widespread Panic concert. (That last one was enough to last me another 40 years, I think – holy cow. WP at Red Rocks. Need I say more?)

* I’ve eaten a hot dog at Target Field.

* I touched the Vietnam Memorial.

* I have had my heart broken. I have broken someone’s heart.

* I can bait a hook, light a campfire, mow a lawn and run a garden tiller.

* I can make an owie feel better with kisses and lovies.

* Three years in a row, I cut down my own Christmas tree, dragged it down the mountain, chopped off the bottom and put it up in my living room. (Okay, Aaron helped a little bit, but it was still pretty cool!)

* I talked to Justin Timberlake’s grandmother on the phone.

* I watched a veterinarian perform an autopsy on a cow, effectively ending my dreams of becoming a veterinarian.

* I’ve been a frequent visitor of amusement parks: I like rollercoasters in particular.

* I’ve rocked a karaoke mic a few times. (Usually with a little liquid courage, I have to admit.)

* I’ve gotten a four-wheeler stuck in a mud hole on a country road so badly that by the time I got home there wasn’t a square inch of me anywhere that wasn’t splattered in mud.

* I’ve buried people I love.

* I spent Y2K in a mountain cabin drinking Dom Perignon out of coffee cups and waiting for the end of the civilized world.

* I have a few friends who would do almost anything for me.

* I have known love, of the deepest kind: steady, reliable and true.

I think if I wanted to keep going, I could probably keep going. Maybe I could be here all night, even. And that’s what I’m taking with me, when I usher in this new decade of my life. I’ve lived, quite a lot. And I have a lot of living left to do…I can’t wait to see what the next forty look like.

It is only fitting that we end the summer with a series of firsts. We spent our free moments this summer, every one of them, at the lake or at the pool, and by the end of the summer we tackled some pretty amazing milestones.

1. The first summer that Carys went tubing faster than 0.0004 mph – and liked it!

2. The first summer that Emma went wakeboarding!

3. The first time that Cooper did a back flip off the diving board!

It also marked the first time I was able to watch my children do the above activities and not be on the verge of a nervous breakdown the entire time. 🙂

How can I begin to talk about my trip back to Colorado this summer?

Every sentence I try to write is the wrong sentence. I should be able to produce a long wordy sentence filled with metaphoric imagery that accurately captures the feeling in my soul when the plane touched down on the runway at DIA. But alas, there is no such sentence. So here’s the best I can do:

I went home. That’s all. The plane touched down and I got off the plane like I had done a hundred times before. I got my baggage, got in my town car (Thank you, Matt, for that – best ride I have ever had coming home from the airport!) and my driver drove me through the city. I watched the exit signs on the highway pass by me like old friends: Wadsworth, Kipling, Colfax. I waited for Matt and Erin at a restaurant, and watched the parking lot with an odd detachment. I had already been traveling for 8 hours, and I had expected to feel a giddy anticipation waiting for them to get there, but instead I felt still and calm and completely emotionless. I guess looking back on it now, I think I felt so completely at ease that it was impossible to feel anything except complete ease.

After they arrived and we got settled in the truck, we still had a 3 hour drive up the mountain to Buena Vista, and you would think, after 8 years away, that it would be a nonstop chattering of two long-lost friends, wouldn’t you? How do I explain that it was the most absolutely normal level of conversation you could imagine? I’ve thought about that so many times since I came back to Minnesota; I traveled a million miles to talk to Erin like I talk to her every week. I may have been a long time away from Colorado, but I’m really never far from her and our friendship.

And THAT, made coming home feel even more like home.

I kept expecting there to be some crescendo of emotion; some moment that would bring me to tears. Instead, I felt so much myself – so much MORE myself than I have felt in years – that I could have walked into McGinnis Middle School the next morning and started teaching 6th grade Language Arts like I had never left.

I discovered the next morning just how at home I really was. Of course I would forget to bring my toothbrush and toothpaste – of COURSE I would. So I dropped Erin off for work and stopped by City Market to pick up a new one. In less than 10 seconds, I bump into Jamie Page. Who, God bless her, says “hey Sara.” In that easy way she always has. Not with a double-take, not with one of those “is that really who I think it is” glances. Like I’m not about 25 lbs. heavier and certainly older and been gone for a million years. God bless Jamie Page. And THEN, as I’m checking out, the cashier says to me, “Hey, you look kind of familiar. I feel like you might have been one of my kids’ teachers.”

Swear to God, that happened. And I HAD been his kid’s teacher. So we spent a couple of minutes catching up on good old Ethan Adamek – boy Ethan, your dad sure is proud of you, wherever you are.

And my days went just like that, moment by moment. My coming home caused no big panic or joyful celebration – I saw my people, and we spent time together as if my being there was exactly how it was supposed to be.

And now I have to admit something. I left my kids in Minnesota, and I was very disoriented without them – I am conditioned to monitoring their every move. So for 24 hours I was constantly checking my phone wondering and worrying. But gradually that eased, and a couple of times I caught myself remembering that I even HAD children. *yikes* Now, to be fair, I didn’t have my kids when I lived in BV. (Well, I did have Emma, but she was just a little peanut at 2 – and the other 6 years I was there childless kind of cancelled that out, I’m afraid.)

The town, thank heaven, looked almost exactly the same. A couple of new businesses, a name change here or there, but BV was still BV. Oh – except for the South Main project. I didn’t really like that, actually, and I sincerely hope I am not offending anyone by saying that. But seriously, it looks like someone cut out 6 blocks of Breckenridge or Estes Park or something and pasted it on to the edge of BV, and it was just weird. And wrong, somehow. That’s just one opinion, though. Oh – and also the re-painting of the city signs with red and yellow instead of green and white. It looks like McDonald’s came through town with a paintbrush. But other than THAT, the town was practically perfect.

My first afternoon home was reserved for Linda, the Queen, because if I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna do it right. Linda is my reason for ever getting to be in that dang place to begin with, and in case you’re wondering, the center of the known universe is actually in her kitchen. The path to enlightenment starts on Shady Lane and ends with a chocolate no-bake cookie. It took her approximately two hours to return me to my center and all the uncertainty and stress I had accumulated over the last 8 years was washed away and I felt whole again. I suspect that she is the bright light in a lot of people’s worlds…I hope she knows that.

Here’s a picture of Linda and me at the Rope (The Lariat, for everyone who isn’t local) having lunch:

Do you see that smile on my face? That is the most genuine smile I’ve had since I can’t remember when. That’s me, for real, no painted-on sunshine or anything – just the real me.

On days 2-3 I checked in with old friends, ate food at all my favorite places, even visited my old classroom. It was nice, but not revolutionary – I think because it still felt pretty normal. Like a comfortable shoe, I guess. I will say that the one pang I felt the strongest was missing my husband, Aaron. Every single Colorado second was his and mine together, and it did feel very odd to be there without him. I kept taking pictures of favorite things – the menu at the Evergreen, for one – and sending them to him at home.

On day 4, Erin and I were getting ready to head back up to Denver. God knew I was leaving BV and sent this to me in the morning when I woke up:

Wow. Wouldn’t you love for this to be your view when you leave the house to start your day?

Anyway…we had tickets to see the Indigo Girls, who happen to write the soundtrack to my entire life, and they were performing at Red Rocks Amphitheater. In case you don’t know, Red Rocks is the best place to see a concert ever in the world. Ever. I have seen some amazing concerts there, and to see Amy & Emily perform on that stage was sort of a bucket list item, so to speak.

I won’t say anything more about the concert; I don’t possess the words anyway to do it justice. It was the Moment of Moments, though, when the Colorado Symphony began the first bars of “Ghost” and there I was, at home, with my best friend, listening to the song that is MY song, being sung by my songwriting heroes and I am not ashamed to say I cried my eyes out through the whole entire song.

I was ready to come back to Minnesota the next day. I was really missing my husband, and really missing my kids, so it felt just right to get back on the plane. But I really needed to go home this summer – I didn’t even really know just how much I needed it. And it was just exactly how it was supposed to be.

**Update**
Hey, guess what? You Tube is amazing – somebody at the same concert recorded some of Amy & Emily’s set. Now I can relive it over and over – the internet is amazing. The videographer doesn’t have the steadiest hand, and of course it isn’t quite the same as being there, but still. If you don’t know the IG, you need to get to know them. This is Closer to Fine – Erin’s favorite.

I’ve been neglecting the blog lately – sorry about that. Somewhere around mid-May I developed a terrible case of Too Much On My Plate and in an effort to regain my sanity, I spent much of my writing time writing creatively, rather than recording my family adventures. Mostly because my real life was too busy and I had too much stress, so I escaped into writing fiction for a little while. But here it is July already, and I realize that I skipped a couple of months of family life on here. So I’ll try to catch up a little over the next couple of weeks.

This year we are experiencing the Summer of Extremes. We don’t have “just a little bit” of anything around here. The weather has been too rainy, the garden is growing too fast, my kids are involved in too much, and the mosquitoes here in Minnesota are OUT OF HAND. It must be all the damp weather, I would guess, that makes it impossible for us to be outside and enjoy ourselves. One step outside after dusk and you are nearly devoured by them. I haven’t even prepared our outdoor patio this year because I know we can’t be out there anyway.

Let’s start with the kiddos and the summer of too many activities. So far this summer, I have shuttled my children through basketball camps, softball practices and games, baseball practices and games, swimming lessons, cello lessons, summer reading programs at the library, and soccer camps. The girls are both playing fast pitch softball, on the same team. It has been really fun to watch them play together two nights a week. Cooper started baseball this year, and he plays on two different nights a week. That only leaves 3 days each week where we get to be home in the evenings eating real food. The rest of the time we are subsisting on hot dogs, popcorn and fast food restaurants. My cooking skills are practically dormant, and I should probably start buying stock in sunflower seeds.

Ball wraps up this weekend, and then we will have a few precious days together before the soccer season starts. I love watching my kids be active, and I am hoping they will use these opportunities to gain some of the skills I can’t teach them myself at home. How to be part of a collective team, how to lose gracefully, how to handle disappointments, and how to win with integrity. It also keeps their little bodies healthy, and keeps them sleeping soundly through the night, so hey – it’s a win for all of us!

You know this wouldn’t be a typical Gudahl blog post, though, without a few parenting adventure stories.I have a couple of notable moments to recount. Let’s see… on the mild end of things, Emma drove the golf through the garage door. So that was awesome. On the more extreme end of things, we had a close encounter of the head lice kind this summer. Let me tell you, you have not truly LIVED as a parent, until you’ve treated your children for head lice.

**Side Note**
Before I continue, I must stand on my soap box and shout to the rooftops: Can we please change the stigma surrounding head lice?! PLEASE? There is some dark and terrible connotation attached to this malady – people feel shame that they have it, and keep quiet about it. That’s why it keeps spreading, people! If we all just admitted it, notified people promptly when we’ve possibly shared it, and treated it fast, we could overcome this very common yet totally time-consuming problem.

There, got that out of my system. God bless the parent who notified our softball team when her little munchkin came home with it. Because we all share helmets on the softball team. And almost all of us got it. Thank goodness for that awesome mom, because if she hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have noticed it in my girls until it was really bad. I truly thought it would be easy to spot, and easy to figure out if you’d picked it up. I was wrong! Aaron and I checked our girls a couple of times and didn’t see anything concerning. However, I was looking for actual critters, and you aren’t likely to SEE actual critters. Turns out both my girls had picked it up, so we began The Process. The good thing is, once a few of us admitted we had it, more were willing to admit it too, and all night long we were texting each other pictures of all of us in our kitchens, eyes watering from chemical shampoos, glum looking girls on chairs, metal combs in hand. It was kind of nice to go through it together – you don’t feel quite so alone. Also, God bless my parents. Because when I found out we had it, I went straight to their house armed with $100 worth of lice treatment. My mom stayed up for hours upon hours, helping me treat my girls, treating me just in case, and letting us sleep there for 3 days. (If I had any lice in my house, they die after 48 hours of no human contact, so I needed a place to stay until I could be sure they were all dead.) When most people would recoil at the news, my mother just took a breath and said, come on over, let’s get this done. Aaron and Cooper took the easy road…it’s called a razor with no guard. Coop didn’t really mind – except for having to use sunscreen on his head for a couple of weeks.

As for vacations, we decided this summer to stay close to home for the most part. We spent four days on the 4th camping at the Yacht Club where we have a summer membership. It was nice to be able to be interchangeably on our boat, in the pool, by the fire or in the camper pretty easily. The kids got their fill of kneeboarding, tubing and swimming. Aaron got his fill of wakeboarding and eating s’mores. I got my fill of reading good books and having time to socialize with our friends. We ALL got our fill of mosquitoes – did I tell you how bad they are this summer? Seriously!

I have one last summer adventure to look forward to. I turn forty this year, (ugh) and my early birthday present is to take a 5 day vacation with my best friend from Colorado. Yay! I get to go back to the mountains, and all by my lonesome for a change. We have all sorts of adventures planned, and I’m practically giddy with anticipation. I don’t know quite what I will do without a family to cook for, to shuttle around, to cheer for from the stands. Just thinking about getting to choose a restaurant without first looking at the kids menu is pretty exciting. I don’t quite remember what that is like, but I’m sure I’ll be writing all about it when I get home.

About a month ago my friend Erin called to tell me there were rumblings about a possible opening for an English teaching position in Buena Vista. I must say right off that we considered this seriously. I went so far as to order transcripts, secure recommendations, apply officially, accept an interview, and begin entertaining buyers for the farm. We went to great lengths to make this a possible option; in the end we made the decision not to go. Please forgive me that I can’t go into all the specifics this time – I can’t tell you the details and walk you through it; I simply cannot relive it.

It is no mystery to anyone that I am homesick something awful for Colorado. People often ask me what it is about that place that I love so much, and I just can’t tie it up in a neat little summary for them. I would have to spend a couple of hours telling stories and giving examples; that town is so much more than just a sum of its parts, and it requires more than mere words to paint that picture.

For a couple of weeks I fought a fierce internal battle, and on any given day I could be found leaning one way or the other. Aaron and I spent hours going through the pros and cons…sorting out housing issues, school issues, moving issues, family issues, etc. But in the end, the decision was made through circumstances I could not control…one by one, each carefully placed plan fell through, and it became very clear that I am not meant to go.

I think when I saw the open position, I became swept up in the memory of BV…it has a powerful hold on me. But the Universe is wise, and God is good, and you know what they say about unanswered prayers. This is where we are, and where we are is good. We made a life for our family that is good. More than good, maybe, as Erin reminds me every single time we talk.

On the day I sent the email declining my interview, my heart was broken anew. It felt like I had very nearly grasped my bliss, and here it was, slipping slowly through my fingers. And on that day, when I was at my lowest, I got a note from my friend Angie in Blue Earth. (I bet you don’t even know, Ang, how timely it was.) Out of the clear blue sky, she sent me a message about a song she liked that she thought I would like too. The song is called “A Life That’s Good” from the Nashville soundtrack. As I listened, the words solidified for me that the life we have here, the life we have made HERE, is good. (I can’t tell you, Ang, how much I needed that – needed it right then. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re out on the boat together this summer.)

It gave me a sense of peace. I have to share it, so you can feel it too, in case peace is what you’re really needing right now. Thank heaven for my friends. For Erin, whose strength keeps me grounded and Holly who stands beside me always and Melinda who makes my wish list look possible, and Kathy whose heart is just like mine and sends Maisy when I need her, and for Angie Loge who has absolutely no idea that she saved me. And for everyone everyone (you know who you are, you wonderful people – holy cow, if I get going I might be writing for days) everyone, who makes it bearable to live in sub-Arctic conditions 9 months out of the year. Love to you.

And to God, who knows the plan…hopefully. Just kidding, God, I know you got this.