Another Snow Day in West Seattle; Another Sledding Calamity
January 16, 2007 12:24 PM | 0 Comments
For what feels like the millionth time this Fall/Winter, my kids were out of school because of a Snow Day. I have greeted these Snow Days with a gamut of attitudes, ranging from "a gift from God" to "an utterly, totally exasperating inconvenience." Today, my perspective was one of "complete surrender." After all, what can I do about it? Furthermore, let's get real about the work guilt: Are MY sage thoughts about marketing REALLY going to be missed at the 4-hour-long charette about health care? Hardly. So, I fixed a hearty farm breakfast of scrambled eggs, cute little breakfast sausages and toasted blueberry muffins for my energetic crew: Kit, 12; Austin, 9; and Caroline, 7. High on cholesterol? Perhaps...
Then, I took my trio to their favorite sledding hill, which is on Admiral Way, just off of a viewpoint that overlooks the city of Seattle and is guarded by a totem pole. As we slogged the mile-long trek to The Hill, their complaints would lead you to believe I was Ernest Shackleton, spurring them across the frozen Anarctic pack ice, but the truth is, most of the time, I was performing yeoman's work, hauling Kit, my 85-pound, 12-year-old daughter, on a plastic sled. Eventually, Kit will have to live in New York City, where taxi cabs are plentiful. She has one of the most natural taxi-flagging arms I have ever seen.
When we reached The Hill, I decided to sled down it with my youngest daughter, Caroline. I so WANT to be an ACTIVE parent, the kind who is physically involved with their children, yet secretly mired in the La Brea tarpits and undergoing the fossilization process, only to be discovered thousands of years later by archaeologists. So, we whizzed down the hill, fell off the sled just before the busy street that flanks The Hill and laughed.
The second time, however, was NOT the charm. We again whizzed down The Hill, but ran into an obstruction. At the bottom of The Hill , an unsuspecting 12-year-old girl was standing with her back toward us. With camera in hand, she was apparently snapping photos of the city. We snow-ploughed right through her legs, and watched In slow motion as she flew into the air, with legs flailing in a cartoon-like motion. Unfortunately, the only thing that broke her fall was THE BRIDGE OF MY NOSE. After hitting my nose, the girl landed with a thud, spread-eagle on her back behind us. I ran to her and quickly discovered she was fine, but the bridge of my nose was throbbing. I staggered up to the top of The Hill, grabbed a handful of ice, applied it to my nose, and my 12-year-old daughter Kit, who had witnessed the entire incident from the top of The Hill grabbed my face with both hands so that I had to focus on her and said: "Mother, I TOLD you this hill was slippery." Sometimes the truth hurts. And, more often than not, the truth requires an ice pack and a strong dose of Ibuprofen.
That's the news from West Seattle. It's been hours, but, miraculously, my nose isn't swollen or black and blue.
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