When I thought we were only going to be here a year I made sure I got off my duff and experienced as much as we could--hiking every trail, touring farms and museums, planning fun driving trips to places like Montreal. I even faced my nemesis—Greek Peak—the ski mountain where I spent more time going up an ancient rickety lift in wind chill close to zero than I did zooming down an icy slope, begging my son to please make turns.
When we decided to extend our stay at least another year, something like a drug addict must feel after they finally get that needle into their arm flooded through my veins. I could stay in bed on Saturday morning if I wanted to, refuse invitations if I felt over committed, and ignore pumpkin and apple festivals.
I started leaving the field trips to the Professor again. He is the best at getting the boys out the door on weekends, leaving me to write or read or take a yoga class. I only feel mild pangs of regret when they come home, full of details about the glass blowing or maple tapping.
My better half is in Vegas this weekend, so it’s up to me to plan something special or we’ll end up staying in our pajamas the whole weekend, listening to Christmas carols and making rum cakes. It's not over til the fat lady sings.
I caught the local news last night and guess where we're headed? Ithaca Ice Wars Ice Carving Competition downtown on the Commons. Watching Friday night's report, it reminded me of how when we lived in California and the boys were really little, I always meant to take them to a sand castle building contest. We never made it, just like we never went whale watching or tidepooling often enough. (We lived 6 blocks from tidepools.) I thought we’d be there forever and I’d get to everything eventually. The kids are 11 and 7 and we are 3,000 miles away from those sandy beaches. I have a really long list of things I want to do with my boys before they’re grown or we’ve moved on…I better go start chipping away….
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