A few hours later, he threw up in the middle of the classroom. I was across town, and it took me 45 minutes to get to my baby, my body jittery with impatience in stand-still traffic, each red light punishment for my indiscretion. I admitted to his teacher, who's taught for over 25 years and is now a grandmother, that my instincts had failed me and I felt like a bad mom. She confessed the time she sent her daughter to school with a concussion. We don't get it right every time, and that's okay.
|A big OOPS!|
We got 75 percent of the way down, rounded a corner to a steep, wide drop in the slope, and I saw him. Anders’ yellow ski pants, camouflage jacket, and red ski-school vest. He was completely frozen on the mountain, exhausted and terrified with his very patient, but dumbstruck ski instructor. We skied over and while the instructor was relieved to see us, Anders hardly noticed us, only focusing on the daunting mountain below. I've never seen him so scared or paralyzed with fear. Bryan stayed back to help our nephew and the other two students in the ski-school group, while I coaxed Anders down the next run with the help of his instructor. He had done so well all day, the instructor said, and then just hit a wall. We had arrived at that exact moment.
|Hitting the Slopes|