They said, “You know, it’s not easy being a single mom.  There will be lonely nights.  It’s a lot to handle by yourself.  Are you sure this is what you want?”

She said, “I don’t want to hear your reasons for leaving him.  I think he’s wonderful.”

He said, “I thought you were the perfect couple.  You looked like you were happy.  Wasn’t he making enough money for you?”

And when I started this blog, they said, “You shouldn’t dwell on all this negative stuff.  It just isn’t healthy for you or the kids.  Leave all this toxic stuff behind you.”

…

After I’d been writing for over two years, and the kids and I had clearly grown and worked through a laundry list of issues, they said, “Well, where are you going to go with this now?  You’ve survived.  You’re thriving, even.  You’ve clearly come out the other side and you’ve made great progress.  Why are you still writing about surviving narcissism?”

__________

This morning I received an email.  She said, “I saw the comment that came from another corner of the world.  I see how many there are.  I see how they all wonder if they might be crazy. I see how this impacts children.  I see how this might help.  I get it now.”

I knew she would.

I said, “Maybe you’re wishing we had snow. Maybe this is the pre-dad visit funk. Maybe you need to eat something. Or, maybe it’s just one of those days.”

And because the hot water of the shower has a way of warming my skull and opening my brain to the current of ideas that passes in and around this house, I came out of the bathroom with an inspired thought.

Imaginary Hot Air Balloons

I saw fine gold cord tied to hot air balloons. Each balloon carried an idea, personality trait or thing. The cords were also tied to our belts – think comfortable steampunk, if there be such a thing. A leather pouch containing an ornate pair of silver scissors was attached to the belt with a grommet.

We had complete authority to snip and tie to our belts whatever balloons we chose.

Some balloons tugged at their gold ropes in an effort to sail off to the horizon.

Some balloons never left the ground.

Tying an assortment of balloons to our belt could lift us up off the ground and take us in a new direction.

Tying a different combination to our belt might leave us right where we were – in a funk, if that’s where we happened to be.

We held our scissors at the ready and walked around peeking inside each basket.

Will snipped the golden cords from baskets containing the words:

He tightly tied the cords to the baskets containing the words:

Jenny took her scissors to the baskets containing:

She quickly tied the cords associated with:

I couldn’t cut the cord to gossip fast enough, all the while hating that it was ever tied to my belt to begin with.  I hacked at jealousy and sliced through resentment. 

I stepped up to the basket containing the word forgiveness and tied it to my belt with a big loopy, double-knotted bow.

Next was kindness, followed by compassion, gratitude and patience.

I spied a basket containing coffee, red wine, wasabi almonds and fuzzy socks.  This basket was tailor-made for me.  I attached it to my belt with duct tape.

I created a basket for Will with the words curiosity,  tenacity and tenderness.  He already possesses those characteristics, but I want to make sure he doesn’t lose them.  I tied this basket to the back of his belt so that, in another few years, he doesn’t accidentally snip the cord in a rush to follow the basket with the cute girl inside.

I handpicked the words independent, wise and creative for Jen’s basket and tied it to the back of her belt.  That way she can’t hastily snip the cord when someone comes along and teases her for being her own unique self and not following the pack.

We all tied on to another basket containing chocolate milk, barbecue sauce, good books and Nina.

I made sure we were all tied to the baskets full of love and laughter.

We held hands, and I said, “Hang on!”

We felt a rush of warm air as our feet lifted off the ground.   Nina was oblivious to the take-off.  She curled up in the bottom of her basket and napped during the ride.

We’re heading off to a new place – even if it’s only in our minds.

I want to give and receive genuine hugs.

I want to hear your stories and connect while looking into your eyes.

I also have a craving for that scritchy feeling of sand under the waistband of my swimsuit.

It’s Friday and winter has me thinking of sand and beaches, so I’m planning our imaginary getaway.

The Thrivers’ Tea Party

I had considered booking a cruise ship, but the whole thing in Italy has me feeling a bit leery of cruising.

I’m going with an all-inclusive resort in Texas (middle of the country and Will loves barbecue) because I can’t afford to do otherwise.  Hell, I can’t afford the all-inclusive in Texas either, but I can dream.  (Apologies to those Thrivers out of the U.S.)

Yes, we will bring kids because – if you can’t tell by this blog – they are my priority.  Besides, I wanna meet yours.

The kids will have tons of fun things to do, soft serve ice cream to slurp, gallons of sunscreen to apply and mountains of sand to track everywhere.

We will have nothing that we have to do.

What There Won’t Be

Motivational Speakers:  At this point, we know what motivates us, and dammit, we are motivated enough.

Yoga Instructors:  I don’t want to feel bad because of my inept Downward Dog.

Comedians:  All of you are funny enough.

Self-help Gurus:  You guys know more about helping yourselves than anyone could possibly tell you.

Spa Treatments:  I don’t want to shave anymore than I already have to.

Shopping Excursions:  Sorry, you can schedule that on your own.  I am allergic to shopping.

What There Will Be

Lounge Chairs:  In the sun, by the pool, on the beach, in circles, under trees – copious amounts of lazy sitting and chatting.

Food and Drink:  Every yummy food you can think of, and stuff you’ve never tried.  There will be barbecue, fresh fish, Tex-Mex, an all night Pizza Bar, made-to-order grilled burgers, heaps of fresh fruit and vegetables and all my favorites for making salads.   We’ll consume good coffee, milk shakes, Earl Grey Tea, wine by the gallon, fruity umbrella drinks, smoothies (so we can pretend to be healthy) and cold beer by the pint.  (Leave your guilt at home, please.)

Pinterest:  For those who like pictures of beautiful things to spark fun conversations.

Craft Room:  Because Jenny has taught me that years of therapy exist in an afternoon spent creating.  You might dabble in card making, jewelry design, ceramics or knitting.  Maybe you’ll try something different like watercolor painting, photography or candle making.

Journal Keeping:  I won’t make you stay up ’til two in the morning drinking wine, slurring words and crying.  I won’t make you go snorkeling and I won’t make you fish for marlin.  I will make you keep a journal.  I think you know why.

Personality Tests:  We’ll have different versions of personality tests to take because they are fun and revealing.  We’ll laugh at our results and slap our foreheads saying things like, “No wonder I …….”

Photographer:  Don’t squirm, I won’t make you pose for a picture, because I wouldn’t either.  I want candid shots of all of us hugging and chatting and crying and laughing as a record of this momentous occasion.

Divination Room:  Because I love that kind of stuff, whether it works or not.  Runes, Tarot Cards, tea leaves, Palmistry – whatever magical, mystical oracles tickle our fancies.

What To Bring

• Favorite books for when you’ve lost your voice from excessive laughing and yakking.
• Sunscreen, swimsuits and a big floppy sun hat.
• Clothes you feel beautiful in.
• Journal.
• Camera.
• Walking shoes for long walks that bring out the best conversations.
• Your open hearts, caring souls and wicked senses of humor.

I can’t wait!

*Did I forget anything?

They are everywhere.

Some carry backpacks full of self-help books.  Some can be seen taking a Myers-Briggs Test  at the corner table in Starbucks.  Some fill yoga classes.  Some do Tai Chi on a sunny afternoon at the park, and they don’t care who might be watching.

Some might meditate.

Some might write in a dog-eared journal.

Some sip wine and ask questions late into the night.

Some reach out on Twitter* when they remember to.

If I listen closely, I can hear their collective thoughts.

“See me.”

“Please see me.”

They duck their heads and keep reading or learning or exploring or trying – hoping they will happen upon the magic formula for being seen.

They float along this undercurrent mostly content to be learning.  They are consumed by the process of discovery.

They float on homemade rafts made of books and ideals.

I can see them waving to each other and pointing out interesting passages in new books.

They nod in agreement.

They offer each other support.

Once in awhile, one will hop on another’s raft.  They’ll float along together for awhile and learn from each other.  At some point, the raft gets crowded with too many books and too many mismatched ideals.  One person might be interested in the books while the other float mate is interested in something else.  One will make the choice to float alone again.

__________

There is an adjacent current in the river.

This current is populated by loud, well-groomed narcissists wearing brightly colored clothes packing nothing but mirrors, piloting brand new high-performance speedboats.

They ride alone.

They zoom right by the current of truth-seekers and barely take notice.

The truth seekers can be seen waving enthusiastically at those in the other current.  With innocent grins on their faces, they yell, “Hellooooo!  Can you see me?”  The narcissists can’t hear them.  And they certainly can’t see them.

 __________

From the shore of the river, bright heads can be seen rising to the surface to enjoy the sun.  When they come up for air, it’s because they are making progress.

They are getting closer to finding that magic formula for being seen.

They take some deep breaths of fresh air.  They put on a little sunscreen and enjoy the sun and the view.

They know, however, that they haven’t arrived.

Not yet, anyway.

At some point, they’ll take a deep breath and head back down to the undercurrent to learn more about who they are, why they are, and how they tick.

And each time they swim below, they get closer to seeing their true self.

The closer they get to seeing who they are, the less they feel the need to be seen by others.

Is it because once they see, then others can?

__________

No one has ever spotted a narcissist’s head rising to the surface.

*Thank you @AlysonEarl for reaching out.

It wasn’t because my kids were milling about and I was trying to lead by example.

It wasn’t because I’d been reading The Inner Pulse, by Marc Siegel.

It was because I wrote of this very thing in Seeing My Path.

I inherently believe that I can’t change others.

I do believe change can begin with me.

I believe in the ripple effect produced by small changes.

I also strongly believe in doing what I say I’m going to do.

__________

My feelings had been hurt.  What was I going to do about that?  Was I going to do anything?

Midway through my second drink, as the conversation swirled around me, I gazed at the frozen city lights and contemplated my options.

I had a couple choices.

I could repeat history, sit there and sip my cocktail, inwardly fume and feel sorry for myself.  In a bit, I’d paint a fake smile on my face and say, “Thanks for everything,” and go home in a funk.

or….

I could confront her.

I took another sip and contemplated the potential outcomes of being honest.

She could say, “Quit being so sensitive, that’s not what I meant.”

She might say, “Lighten up, honey, you take everything so seriously.”

She could get defensive.

She could brush me off and deny that my feelings could be hurt over something so trivial.

Then it occurred to me that if I’d gotten those responses in the past, maybe that was because of a lousy delivery on my part.  Maybe I’d been sarcastic or harsh or critical or whiny, or any one of a number of adjectives that could be applied to someone who willingly, historically, readily assumes the role of victim.

The laughing and conversation seemed to get louder as I tried to figure out the best approach.

Hell….

Maybe I should just ignore the whole thing.

It could very well be a trivial matter.

But, dammit, I don’t want to go home and be angry for not standing up for myself.

Again.

__________

I took a gulp, and tried to arrange my face into a warmer expression.  I summoned what grace I could.  I wanted to avoid sarcasm.  I wanted to avoid being passive aggressive.

I looked her in the eye and, without tears, I said, “You know, that hurt my feelings.  I always try my best.  I wish you could focus on what went well, instead of where I came up short.”

I held my breath while I waited for her response.

The laughing and conversation continued outside of us.

As she looked at me, her eyes softened and she said, “I didn’t know I hurt your feelings.”

And I thought, here goes….

Now for the part about how I’m too sensitive, or too intense, or too me – whatever that is.

But this time she said, “I’m so sorry.  That wasn’t my intent.  I thought I was helping by pointing out how that could have been handled differently.  You know how I can be.  You are more important than that.”

And then the tears flowed.

The kind of tears that come from an honest conversation where both parties are listened to.

The kind of tears that come from growth.

And then laughter entered.

Resentment, anger, frustration and hurt never did make an appearance.

]]> http://survivingnarcissism.com/2012/01/20/practicing-what-i-preach/feed/ 17 http://survivingnarcissism.com/2012/01/17/a-work-in-progress/ http://survivingnarcissism.com/2012/01/17/a-work-in-progress/#comments Tue, 17 Jan 2012 16:34:02 +0000 Jesse http://survivingnarcissism.com/?p=5253 I am a work in progress and so is this blog.

First, some chronology to set the stage:

5 1/2 years ago -  Stuff three boxes, buckle two young kids into car seats, leave husband,  nice house, financially secure future, perpetual stomach aches and nicest yard* I’ll ever tend.

5 years, 5 months ago – Discover NPD and naively present the concept to narcissistic husband and helplessly watch as message falls on deaf ears.

5 years, 3 months ago – Buy tiny, cozy, safe home for the three of us.  Put holes in walls, roll in grass that is never fertilized, refuse to make beds, leave projects out in plain sight, smile and laugh every day.

4 years, 4 months ago - Youngest starts public school.  Take a temporary, part-time job with family.  Rush between commitments like every other family in the U.S.  Stomach aches start to make a reappearance.

4 years ago – Divorce is finalized. Kids seem to be coping well with divorce, not so well with public school.

—– This period is a blur of dealing with antics from the Narcissist, homework, a less-than-fulfilling job, homeowner chores and the roller coaster of a long-distance relationship.  Pepcid makes a comeback.

2 years, 8 months ago – Friend suggests the possibility that I blog about narcissism – for my healing and the potential help of others.  He sets me up with blog framework.  I struggle to write first post.

2 years, 5 months ago – Scrape together the courage to write the first post of Surviving Narcissism.

—– Nobody is reading and I don’t care.  The process is beyond cathartic.  My fingers have never typed faster.  My brain empties out onto the blog.  Healing begins.

2 years, 4 months ago – The first comment on the blog.  OMG!  People are reading here!

—–  Read lots on SEO, blog statistics, traffic counts, proper headings, adwords and stuff.  None of it feels right.  Rather than follow the experts, follow gut.  Keep writing, healing and seeing where this takes us.

2 years, 2 months ago – Quit job.  Buy less Pepcid.

2 years, 1 month ago – Pull kids from public school, ending nightmares.

—– Prolific period of writing, creating, learning and thriving for the three of us.  Friendships develop on the blog.  Connections are made.  Continue to develop tools for dealing with the N.  Tools are shared on the blog.  Feedback is good.  Still no interest in SEO or “proven” methods for making money on a blog.  Healing trumps money.

1 year, 11 months ago — Start Seeing My Path.

—– Creativity oozes out of this house.  Stomach aches are fleeting, depending on recent N visits.  Overall attitude is positive with occasional attacks of self-doubt or “what if” conversations.  Try to field questions – “What is your plan?”  “Is that the right choice?”  “What about their future?” – from others with grace.  Still listening to gut.

5 months ago – Published Seeing My Path on my own – my way, in a format that my gut approved.

__________

At five and a half years and counting, we are healthier, happier and stronger.  We still deal with narcissism on a not-so-much daily basis.  We don’t dread visits like we used to because we know how to handle them.

We are happily blazing a different trail than most, and our guts lead the way.

Feelings are our compasses.

We continually head in a direction that feels right.  If either one of us starts to feel uncomfortable with something, we hit the skids, park on the couch and re-evaluate.

Communication is our favorite tool.  We talk about everything.  If things get tense, it’s because we haven’t talked enough.

___________

As far as this blog and the writing goes, I’m working on another ebook.  Words Got Her Home  is a compilation of all the best words and tools that got us to this point.

In the meantime, I’ve reconsidered how I should price things.  I’ve been writing on this blog for over two years.  I avoid ads, membership lists, sign-ups and newsletters.   None of those things feel right to me.

I want to get my story on surviving with narcissism out there in an effort to provide some kind of help for those seeking.  That being said, I’d also like to earn some money for all this work.

I picked a new price for my first book that feels right now.  That number will probably change again, depending on what my gut tells me.

This is all a work in progress.

As are we all.

Thanks for reading.

* Yard work was the therapy that helped me survive.

As she packed, her mind wasn’t going over the possibilities of what would come next.  She hadn’t made a six-month plan or a five-year plan.  She hadn’t given serious consideration to finding work or a house or what she’d tell friends and family.

She needed to breathe.

In order to breathe, she would have to leave her marriage.

As she packed, her thoughts were consumed with, “What do I need to take with me because I am never coming back here.” Her hands operated as if on auto-pilot. Her demeanor was calm and determined. She didn’t frantically start grabbing things from the kitchen cupboards. She methodically filled one box with a few necessities for starting a new life.

For the first time in months, she knew what she had to do. This was what it felt like to have a purpose.

She no longer questioned the decision to move on.

The First Tastes of Freedom

She was surprised that she didn’t cry.  She felt the need to apologize for not being more emotional about making such a life-changing decision. She realized that she had done all her crying in the months and years leading up to leaving.

She thought she would miss the security of marriage – the constancy and the plans that come with a stable future. She knew, however, that while other marriages might feel secure, a marriage to a Narcissist is anything but secure, and a gambler has a more stable future than a woman married to a Narcissist.

She found it easy to put her feelings aside, because she’d been doing that for years.  Focusing on the children made it easy to avoid thoughts of dashed hopes and dreams – the fallout that everyone tells you to expect when you leave.  She had come to terms with the failed expectations for her marriage long ago.

She watched the kids for signs of distress.  She observed their sleep and eating habits closely.

The youngest called out for Daddy at bedtime only a couple times in those first weeks.

The oldest immediately seemed less anxious.  He often asked what the plan was.  She reassured him that he would see his dad, but that he’d no longer be living with his dad.  Each time she told him this, she saw her son’s shoulders relax.

When she got around to explaining to friends and family, she heard one of two comments.  Those she was closest to told her they didn’t know how she had made it as long as she did.  Those she didn’t know as well were stunned because her marriage looked so good on the outside.

The First Year

Immediately after moving out, she tasted the deliciousness of a full night’s sleep.  Now after a year, she and sleep had become best friends.  She no longer woke in the middle of the night with fears of what the next day would bring.

She noticed the kids slept better and complained less often of scary dreams.

The stomach aches were gone.  She was relieved to see healthy appetites in the kids.

She couldn’t remember the last time she took a Pepcid.

It got easier explaining her decision to move, because at first glance, others would comment on their happy dispositions.  That was all the explanation necessary.

__________

The kids’ bedrooms were full of their favorite things, beds were hardly ever made and projects rarely put away.

Their cozy home nearly burst with contentment and happiness.

Even so, after a year, she’d catch herself looking over her shoulder to ask permission when she was about to put a new hole in a wall to hang one of the kid’s masterpieces.  She’d pause with hammer in hand, look to see if he was there, and then laugh and relish the prospect of putting up as many pieces of artwork as they liked.

It was their home to live in and express their creativity in.  He could no longer expect them to reign in their personalities to suit his needs.

Five Years Out

The house still swells with happiness and projects and artwork.  Once in awhile the beds do get made.

They are allowed to have pets in this home.  They’ve opted for a cat and a fish – all the while loving the delicate balance necessary in having both in a small house.   “Mom, what are those scratches on the inside of Theta’s bowl?”

She parts ways with sleep once in awhile now.  Her thoughts swirl around the expectations of turning 50.  She wonders if she’ll be a single woman for the duration.  Most of the time she’s content with the idea of remaining single, until she looks around at all the couples (few of them happy) and wonders about the prospect of companionship again.

Long before she was married, she knew a woman who raised a child by herself – from conception.  Later, she came to know another woman who moved on when her youngest of two was only nine months old.  She can remember thinking those two women must be blessed with the kind of bravery reserved for warriors.

Now she finds herself raising two on her own, and she thinks bravery applies to those who stay married.

She had been doing all the raising of children when she was married.  Now she gets to thoroughly enjoy the process without having to placate her narcissistic husband every step of the way.

__________

There are still fears and anxieties and disappointments in this new life.  Those can’t be erased by leaving a lousy marriage.  After all, they are still dealing with a Narcissist.

Now, however, their house has become the safe place where they can talk freely of why their feelings are hurt.  They can get away from the picking.  They aren’t constantly being manipulated.

They can breathe in this home.

You will feel yourself fighting the urge to hold a magnifying glass between yourself and the Narcissist, but it won’t help.  If you aren’t careful, they’ll use the magnifying glass against you.  They’ll find your flaws and use them to illustrate the fact that they are superior to you.

They’ll point out that they cook eggs better than you, or sweep the floor better or dress better or laugh easier.

The Making of a Narcissist

Narcissists are made in one of two ways.  Either they were never seen when they were young. or they were the center of the Universe when they were young.

In the first case  -  the child who is never seen – there is a desperate need to stand out and be noticed.  Their feet hit the floor in the morning with a purpose.  They spend their day proving  that they matter.

Their eyes dart around while their brain frantically looks for opportunities to make each situation about them.

In the second case – the child who matures with the knowledge that everything is and always will be about him – the eyes are calm, in a “never have anything to worry about” way.  Their brains aren’t preoccupied with the desperate need to make everything about them.

They operate with a belief that everything is about them, so there’s no need to focus on anything else.

In either case, the conversations run the same.

You might be chatting with him and say something like, “Wow, that was so generous of Bob to give me a gift card,”  to which the Narcissist will say, “Yeah, well I got two gift cards, and a box of chocolates.”

You might say, “I’ve had a recurring pain in my neck,” and the Narcissist responds with, “Well I have a chronic sharp pain that runs from my neck to my sciatic nerve and I haven’t slept since I don’t know when.”

Or you might say nothing at all, and the Narcissist will come up with random crap about her secrets for her self-described flawless complexion; or the massive amounts of emails he receives in one day due to his popularity; or the way the light always shines favorably on him wherever he happens to be seated in a restaurant.

They Look Through You

They can’t help it.

They can’t see you.

You could try grabbing their face with both of your hands to train their eyes on you.

You could steal their spotlight and hold it up to your face.

You could say preposterous things or balance 16 books on your head and stand on one foot.

You might exhaust all measures in trying to get them to see you.

They can’t see you. 

*Yes, I am shouting.*

It’s okay to move on.

It just happened.

Like so many things just happen.

Team Players

In an effort to keep the peace, not rock the boat, keep him from getting angry, or to avoid a disagreement, she made the choice to not stick up for herself.

At the time, it didn’t seem like a concession.

She had expressed the desire to have her family come for dinner.   He was tired, however, and he’d had a long day at work.  He’d given her plausible excuses for why they shouldn’t have company.

And because he is her priority – because they are a team – she understood and said, “Of course, honey.  We’ll have them for dinner another evening – an evening when you choose – an evening when you feel like having company.”

__________

In order for this to work, one partner takes the back seat on an issue.  She was fine with that because she believed he would willingly take the back seat on the next issue.

Because that’s how it works – in a real team – a team where both players are committed to the relationship.

Because that’s what couples do.

Couples compromise.

Except When They Don’t

They’d had that conversation last week.

She wanted to believe that this week would be different.

She greeted him at breakfast and asked if he’d mind if they invited company for the evening.  In her bright voice she said, “Honey, I need to see my family.  We don’t have to make it a production.  We don’t have to do a whole meal together.  I’d like them to come over.  We could play cards or just sit and visit – nothing special.  I need to get caught up on their lives.”

She paused and said, “What do you think?”

He put down the newspaper and said, “Do you want to know what I need?  I need a hot meal on the table at the end of the day.  I need a considerate wife who understands that I work my ass off all day.  I need some compassion here.  I need to know that I won’t have any demands at home because I deal with demands all day long at work.”

Then he asked, “What do you think of that?”

He got up from the table before she had a chance to answer him.

The Lonely Back Seat

She didn’t call her mom.

It was easier to keep the peace.

She resigned herself to the idea that it in order for there to be harmony in the home, it’d be best if she made him comfortable.  Since he was her priority, that shouldn’t be difficult.

She could do this.

She could put his needs before hers.

She could get comfortable in the back seat.

One day he’d see that it was her turn.  Surely, one day it would be her turn to have her needs met.

__________

By the time he got home from work, she was wearing the skirt he had picked out – the one he insisted that she buy.

She had his favorite music playing.

She was placing the last fork on the table as he walked in the back door.

“It smells great in here,” he said.

“I made your favorite.  I thought you’d enjoy a hot meal after a long day.”

He looked around and said, “We aren’t expecting anyone, right?”

“No, honey, it’ll just be the two of us.”

I plant my poles, snug my hat down a bit and wrap my arms around myself to block the chill.

The temperature hovers at 10 degrees.  It’s beautiful windless cold – the crisp blue of a winter sky when the light makes edges sharp.

I take a mitten off to wipe my nose.

I quick jam my hand back in the mitten and tuck thumbs into the finger sides to soak up the warmth generated by many.  Thumbs have it tough.  They can’t generate enough heat all by their lonesome.  They need company to have any shot at getting warm.

I watch Will’s wide arcing turns as he powers through the powder.  He rides low on the hill.  His whole body makes the turn.  I’m afraid his shoulder will come in contact with the snow and soon I will see him cartwheeling to a stop.  He gets close enough to the edge of disaster before the strength in his legs sends him turning in the other direction.

When did he get so strong?

Not far behind, Jenny gracefully executes short zigs and zags in a straight line down the hill with her arms stretched out at her sides, as if to embrace the sky.  Her skiing is more like dancing.  She’s not attacking the hill like her brother does in his full-on, testosterone-laden assault.  She skims the snow in a way that makes me think she might take flight if she had enough fairy dust in her jacket pocket.

When did she get so graceful?

I can’t believe those two skiers used to be my babies.

I can’t believe I used to carry them everywhere.

I yank off a mitten to wipe my nose again and wonder how a mom manages to go skiing with her kids and forgets to pack Kleenexes.

And then I hear it.

A whisper.

A whisper comes from the trees.

I look to my left and see snowflakes – or is it diamond dust – floating in the air above branches.  The flakes are stirred by the breath of the whisper.

The whisper says, “Remember this.”

“This is one of those days that you will look back on with fondness.

This moment will be held up against a bad moment to create the balance of a good life.

Forget about whether you can keep up or whether you hold them back.  Quit wondering if they’ll decide it isn’t cool to ski with you anymore.

Savor this moment.

Create a frame in your mind for this picture.

Now catch up to them, and when you get there, give ‘em your biggest smile.  Laugh out loud and tell ‘em how fun they are.

Go.

Go, and don’t forget this day.”

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