I ask your pardon, in advance, if this post gets long and/or mushy, as I am almost certain it will... but some things are just worth writing about; one of those "things" is our stellar son. Yes, that snot-faced, goggle-sporting 10-year-old in the photo is quite a character with quite a story. Yesterday's ski adventure makes a great, new chapter.
Todd took Benjamin and his three sisters skiing at the nearest ski hill, Powder Ridge, where they met three of their cousins and their uncle for some fun on the slopes. Todd takes the children skiing typically once or twice a winter, so they have a little experience, but not that much. This was the first year they did not take ski lessons. This was also the first year that Benjamin and Madeline really seemed to get it. By this, I mean that with a little coaching and a lot of practice, they were eventually able to put on and take off their skis, use the tow rope and J-bar, get on and off the hill, ski down the hill, stop at the bottom and do it again. And again. And again.
I do not ski, for the simple reason that as a child I had a bad fall and I have ever since been too scared to ski. It is my own problem and something I eventually aim to conquer, but not this week. I followed my family to the ski resort, to bring the snacks and drinks, and with the plan of taking home any skier who got too cold or too tired. It turned out I was the only one who got tired and cold.
It was a beautiful afternoon and evening, and, even though I am not made for winter, I spent a lot of time along the bunny hill. I helped kids (some not my own) on their feet and off again. I rescued some from near-lift disaster. Mostly I took photos and videos and I cheered. The dads were very attentive, particularly to the more novice skiers. Many times, Uncle Terry would follow one up on the J-bar, where they would meet Dad waiting at the top of the hill. He would place himself in front of the kiddo and ski down the hill backward, calling out encouragement all the way. I would wait at the bottom and yell instructions for slowing, stopping, avoiding collisions, and getting back in line.
This was glorious.
Eventually, the younger kids got more comfortable and took off on the small run on their own. The dads would then go off and ski together or with the older children on the longer runs. Other times, Todd would just stand with me at the bottom of the hill and watch, and marvel.
Todd took Benjamin and his three sisters skiing at the nearest ski hill, Powder Ridge, where they met three of their cousins and their uncle for some fun on the slopes. Todd takes the children skiing typically once or twice a winter, so they have a little experience, but not that much. This was the first year they did not take ski lessons. This was also the first year that Benjamin and Madeline really seemed to get it. By this, I mean that with a little coaching and a lot of practice, they were eventually able to put on and take off their skis, use the tow rope and J-bar, get on and off the hill, ski down the hill, stop at the bottom and do it again. And again. And again.
I do not ski, for the simple reason that as a child I had a bad fall and I have ever since been too scared to ski. It is my own problem and something I eventually aim to conquer, but not this week. I followed my family to the ski resort, to bring the snacks and drinks, and with the plan of taking home any skier who got too cold or too tired. It turned out I was the only one who got tired and cold.
It was a beautiful afternoon and evening, and, even though I am not made for winter, I spent a lot of time along the bunny hill. I helped kids (some not my own) on their feet and off again. I rescued some from near-lift disaster. Mostly I took photos and videos and I cheered. The dads were very attentive, particularly to the more novice skiers. Many times, Uncle Terry would follow one up on the J-bar, where they would meet Dad waiting at the top of the hill. He would place himself in front of the kiddo and ski down the hill backward, calling out encouragement all the way. I would wait at the bottom and yell instructions for slowing, stopping, avoiding collisions, and getting back in line.
This was glorious.
Eventually, the younger kids got more comfortable and took off on the small run on their own. The dads would then go off and ski together or with the older children on the longer runs. Other times, Todd would just stand with me at the bottom of the hill and watch, and marvel.
We watched a lot of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvmjVtV1gfQ
Did you hear him at the end? When I asked him how his run was, Benjamin answered, "Amazing." It was AMAZING.
Todd asked me, "Did you ever think he would just be skiing down a hill, on his own, like it was nothing?" Did I ever think that? No, I never did. I did not think that, ever. It was not because I did not believe our son capable of skiing, or skateboarding (a Christmas gift) or anything else for that matter. It is because, when Benjamin was younger and frailer, I was just focused on keeping him alive.
That sounds dramatic, I know. But, you may remember, from the time Ben was an infant, there were numerous concerns about his health. I didn't have time to think about skiing. The pediatrician was telling me to think about his late developmental milestones. The geneticist was telling me to think about his close-set features, his hyper-reflexive joints, his pale coloring, and more. The gastroenterologist was telling me to think about his dangerously low weight and his active gag reflex. The neurologist was telling me to think about his large head and his low tone. The endocrinologist was telling me to think about his small stature and his hormone levels. The cardiologist was telling me to think about his dilated aortic root and his bicuspid aortic valve. The ophthalmologist was telling me to think about his pale eye color and risk of optic nerve detachment. The dentist was telling me to think about his cross bite, his bleeding gums, and his rotten teeth. The orthotist was telling me to think about his pronation and his weak ankles. The physical therapist was telling me to think about his exercises, his many, many exercises.
One night, when Benjamin was a toddler (who was not yet even close to toddling) Todd and I had one of those late-hour-in-the-dark-staring-at-the-ceiling pillow talks, where I asked, "But what if he never walks?" Todd said, "What if?" I said, "I mean, if our son never walks, is he enough?" Todd exhaled, "Oh, yeah, he's enough."
Benjamin is always enough. Without ever rolling over, without ever sitting up, without ever crawling, without uttering that first word, without picking up a Cheerio from the high chair tray, without taking a step, without running, without jumping off the dock, without throwing a ball, without riding a bike, without singing, without tying his shoes, without learning chess, without assembling a Lego set, without watching YouTube videos on his iPad, without picking up dog doo in the yard, OUR SON IS ENOUGH. Yet, he does all those things. So, skiing is amazing.
We forget, you know? And I'm glad we forget. He's a healthy, sweet, curious, often naughty boy. We forget how far Ben has come, and we cannot imagine how far he will go.
I had a glimpse of eternity, just then. Our Lord will ask our bud, "How was your run, good and faithful servant?" Benjamin will answer, "It was amazing."
Did you hear him at the end? When I asked him how his run was, Benjamin answered, "Amazing." It was AMAZING.
Todd asked me, "Did you ever think he would just be skiing down a hill, on his own, like it was nothing?" Did I ever think that? No, I never did. I did not think that, ever. It was not because I did not believe our son capable of skiing, or skateboarding (a Christmas gift) or anything else for that matter. It is because, when Benjamin was younger and frailer, I was just focused on keeping him alive.
That sounds dramatic, I know. But, you may remember, from the time Ben was an infant, there were numerous concerns about his health. I didn't have time to think about skiing. The pediatrician was telling me to think about his late developmental milestones. The geneticist was telling me to think about his close-set features, his hyper-reflexive joints, his pale coloring, and more. The gastroenterologist was telling me to think about his dangerously low weight and his active gag reflex. The neurologist was telling me to think about his large head and his low tone. The endocrinologist was telling me to think about his small stature and his hormone levels. The cardiologist was telling me to think about his dilated aortic root and his bicuspid aortic valve. The ophthalmologist was telling me to think about his pale eye color and risk of optic nerve detachment. The dentist was telling me to think about his cross bite, his bleeding gums, and his rotten teeth. The orthotist was telling me to think about his pronation and his weak ankles. The physical therapist was telling me to think about his exercises, his many, many exercises.
One night, when Benjamin was a toddler (who was not yet even close to toddling) Todd and I had one of those late-hour-in-the-dark-staring-at-the-ceiling pillow talks, where I asked, "But what if he never walks?" Todd said, "What if?" I said, "I mean, if our son never walks, is he enough?" Todd exhaled, "Oh, yeah, he's enough."
Benjamin is always enough. Without ever rolling over, without ever sitting up, without ever crawling, without uttering that first word, without picking up a Cheerio from the high chair tray, without taking a step, without running, without jumping off the dock, without throwing a ball, without riding a bike, without singing, without tying his shoes, without learning chess, without assembling a Lego set, without watching YouTube videos on his iPad, without picking up dog doo in the yard, OUR SON IS ENOUGH. Yet, he does all those things. So, skiing is amazing.
We forget, you know? And I'm glad we forget. He's a healthy, sweet, curious, often naughty boy. We forget how far Ben has come, and we cannot imagine how far he will go.
I had a glimpse of eternity, just then. Our Lord will ask our bud, "How was your run, good and faithful servant?" Benjamin will answer, "It was amazing."
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