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January 20, 2015

Winter Games

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:






Dear Cooper

**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


January 12, 2015

Sisterhood and the Selfie

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.