The longest 11 days

18 days ago Jason left for India. On day two, I woke up and my laptop wouldn’t let me log in. What ensued was craziness. Jason is my tech support in all things, and he wasn’t here. My brother did his best remotely and my computer limped along for a few days, but with each day it got worse. Luckily my blackberry, a tiny little thing I can put in the pocket of my jeans, connected me to the world.

I still had email, I could text, and Jason could call me if the time was right. It still boggles my mind that on day three I sat at Noah’s baseball practice on a sunny Sunday and talked to my husband on the other side of the world like he was down the street. Pretty cool. But he wasn’t down the street. He was on the other side of the world, and somewhere in between, on day six, a volcano in Iceland decided to erupt. Excuse me?

After a long week of being the single parent, on day eight, our phone rang at seven in the morning and it was Jason telling me what we had feared. He was stuck. The plane he had hoped to get on later in the day was grounded in Germany. He was in the corporate travel office where three Indian employees were all working frantically to find flights home for Jason and two colleagues. One would be sent the other direction around the globe, through the Far East to the west coast, whereas the Jason and his boss would try to avoid the volcanic ash by going further south through Dubai, then over to Washington, DC. If all went as planned, he would get home two days late, on my 39th birthday. Day eleven.

I prepared for another weekend alone with the kids, and my sister came up to spend time with us. She took us out for a birthday lunch a day early, day ten. She even made sure the kids had a card for me, and that the waiters and waitresses sang to me. It still wasn’t right though.

On day eleven, I woke up alone and a year older. Alanya did her best reminding me over and over “You aren’t old, you’re young!” Somehow she didn’t convince me. Since Friday I had been dealing with the realization that no matter what we did, Jason was stuck on the other side of the world. It wasn’t a very good feeling. And until he came home, or at least was talking to me from American soil, I wouldn’t be happy.

First an email from Washington, DC, but they missed their connection. Then, an email from Boston. Finally, a phone call from the car. 2pm on my birthday I walked into the house to find a freshly showered, utterly exhausted husband, and it was the best birthday present ever.

All in all he was gone eleven days, but I can’t remember the last time we were apart that long. Too long. Reminds me of the summer he lived in Chicago and I was in Tunisia for nearly three months. Back then, Skype was only on the Jetsons, email was non-existent, and calling was still “long distance.” After that summer, we said never again, and we were engaged weeks later. Although I’m happy Jason had this experience to go to India, and I was happy to have the time with the kids, it served as a reminder of why we entered this marriage in the first place. We don’t want to spend another day apart from one another.

Meet my "motorcycle"

Back in November, a friend of mine asked me if I skied. I had difficulty answering. Did I ski? Technically, no. Not in eleven years. Once when Noah was about six months old my mom watched him while Jason and I went skiing. It seemed like a whole lot of planning, worry and aching boobs in need of being nursed for us to enjoy it. We never went back. Two more babies, and forget it. A decade goes by.

Can I ski? Yes. I liked to think I was pretty good in my day. When I was in seventh grade I joined the ski club in middle school where once a week I climbed on a bus to a a mountain about an hour away, took a lesson and skied with my friends. It wasn't easy learning, but thanks to a very patient friend who skied with me every week and taught me to have confidence, I became a "skier". I did ski club at school for six years and continued skiing through college when I could.

Why was my friend asking? She had just gotten new skis and was determined to use them. Regularly. There are a few mountains within an hour from here and she convinced me we could get in a good day of skiing before beating the school bus home. I was game. Jason and I talked about it and decided that rental fees for the handful of outings would still be less than buying, so I would rent. I did, however, cave and buy a helmet as the thought of lice ruining a perfectly good skiing day turned my stomach.

One Sunday in January, Jason and I decided to take the kids skiing for the first time to see how they liked it. Despite the temperature being below 10 degrees, all three of them did awesome and have been asking to go back. Jason and I had a little over an hour to ski by ourselves while the kids were in lessons and once we got the cobwebs out of our knees it all came back to us. The rest of the day was on the bunny hill with the kids though.

A few days later Ski Buddy (SB) and I packed up early, both dads agreeing to get the kids on the bus, and headed to the slopes. After our first run, I was nearly giddy at how much fun it was, and how wrong it felt. The kids in school, Jason at work, and I was having an absolute ball flying down the mountain. Too luxurious. I felt like I was cheating on my husband.

By the following week, SB and I were more comfortable with each other's skill levels, took more chances and had a ball. This was not going to be a one time thing. I was itching to get equipment. This was my "motorcycle", a selfish luxury that was all about me and made me happy.

SB and I skied at least 5 or 6 times this year. Each time a great day. We'd sit on the chair, analyze our runs, how well we did, laugh over almost wiping out. We'd sometimes sit in the lodge and eat our lunch and sip on hot chocolate, just having a good time not being home, or volunteering at school, or running around crazy. Our last day it was about 65 degrees and the most spectacular sunny day ever. A great day to finish our season. Thanks SB!

Today, Jason and I went to a ski shop and I got the best early birthday gift ever. My own motorcycle. I can't wait for next year.

This week's chuckle

A few weeks ago a local grocery store had their warehouse distribution people go on strike. Every day there are guys standing there with their signs, trying to convince people to not shop there. I truly feel for these guys, and even stopped to talk with them one day. They just want a good wage and enough to feed their families. After the conversation I actually turned around and left without going in. I was so torn.

Since then, I'm ashamed to admit it, I have shopped there. I'm trying to feed my family too. The concept of striking is obviously hard for kids to grasp, or so I thought. When checking Alanya's spelling sentence homework this week it read

"My mom hurries through the picket line at the grocery store."