You see, Zach and Brian were planning a short trip up to Cataloochie to ski for the evening. They had been talking about it for weeks, and with some recent cold weather and snowfall it seemed like this weekend was as good as any other.
Their plan was to leave around three-thirty in the afternoon, pick up a bite to eat and a friend along the way, and ski the twilight hours before heading back late Saturday night. That was THEIR plan.
My plan was to snuggle with my little one on the couch and introduce her early on to the term "chick flic". There may have been ice cream involved in my plan.
Three-fifteen and Zach is throwing some gear and a change of clothes in his gym bag, and he turns and says to me, "I wish you were coming." A slow nod from me, as in I wish this little one was older and we could all go. "Hey, why don't you come!?"
I couldn't possibly leave my two month old bundle of joy and charge off to a mountain, where I would most certainly meet my death on skies. But before I knew it, Grammy had agreed and we were in the car heading North. I might have shed a few tears at leaving her behind, but then again it could have been just a spec of dust.
And then, I might have had a blast skiing in the rain and sleet. We were soaked within minutes, and there is nothing graceful or attractive about my skills...but I was there. There are very few pictures from the night, which is probably a good thing.
Piper was just fine. I knew she would be. I came home to the same sleeping babe I had left just hours before, except I'm pretty sure she had grown an inch or two.
I am so grateful that my husband knew I needed to take that step. I am so thankful that our family is so close, and loves our little girl so much. And for the love of pete, how did I not break a leg on that mountain top!?
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