So now that the stiffness in body parts that I didn't know could be stiff (like my forearms) has abated, I think I can come back to blogging now. I can sit for periods of time without feeling like I'm 80 when I get up, and my forearms aren't so stiff.
Stiff forearms? From skiing? Who knew! Maybe it was from pushing myself uphill to the lodge when I stupidly got lost because I couldn't see where the hell I was going?!
As I coasted down a hill in the pouring rain, trying to blindly navigate through the cement like slush in front of me, I remember thinking, "This was easier when I was 18."
Anyhow after I thanked the weather Gods for so kindly letting us off the mountain and out of sleeping on the floor with 60+ damp, smelly, frustrated pre-teens, would you believe that the last three days have been sunny? I have no luck.
The hubs hasn't been able to resist rubbing it in.
"Gee honey, it would've been nice to ski today. Look how sunny it is! Last week was sunny too!"
Actually, I have to say that if there was any day that I was grateful that I went, it was the one where everything went wrong. Jake doesn't do so well in those situations. Especially when we were finally on our way down the mountain and there were about 100 people sandwiched together on a cement platform outside, waiting for the gondola to come to pick us up. We were all damp, tired, and hungry, the cold wind gusted now and then and made the crowd shiver. The crowd was close. So close that you couldn't move. Jake looked at me with wide eyes and his voice trembled,
"Mom...this is like Disneyland," meaning Disneyland during their fireworks, where he just about had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the park from sensory overload.
"You can do this," I took him in my arms, like a protective barrier shielding him from the other bodies. "Take a few deep breaths. We're almost there. It won't be long." Instinctively he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down, gripping my jacket like a life raft. We were herded onto the gondola, and he instinctively bolted for a window. Being near a window somehow gives him some comfort, and the panicked look left him almost immediately.
Kids who don't take being tired and hungry well have it rough enough, but kids who are sensory sensitive take it even less well. Throughout the rest of the trip home Jake would occasionally begin to spiral into hyper-ness and sensory overload, and I'd gently rein him back in. I know that without an adult there to calm him, make sure he'd eaten something and was in a quiet space, he very likely would've dissolved into an emotional mess that neither the teachers or other kids would've known how to deal with.
"Mom, I'm so glad you came." He buried his face in my jacket and hugged me hard.
"Me too, sweetie," I kissed his head. "Me too."