All Joy And No Fun — The Wee Wanderer

I recently went to REI in search of a pair of snow boots. When the sales clerk (such a busybody!) asked me what I intended to do in the shoes – hiking, ice fishing, mountaineering, that sort of thing – I said I was going to be doing a lot of standing around in the snow. Thinking she’d missed something, she tried to clarify: So, was I going to be hiking, or. . .? “No,” I said, suddenly defensive. Can’t a person just stand around in the snow? Is movement a prerequisite for shopping here? “My son is taking ski lessons, and I’m going to be watching.” Three hundred dollars later, after an awkward decision to waive my right to walk around in the boots (“I’m just going to be standing!”), I fled.

Although this was not the first time I had waxed sentimental at REI (I go to great lengths to avoid the yoga apparel section for fear of sobbing and clinging onto anything with a Prana label), something about this particular interaction struck a chord with me. At 5, my son has a variety of interests, and my role at this point is essentially the “fun things coordinator.” Lately it has become increasingly obvious that when it comes to having fun, I have fallen into the trap of Living Vicariously Through My Child.

From open gym to the BMX track to the trampoline park, this mama has lived it vicariously up. Oh, to be forced to do fun stuff! To be chauffeured to activities and bribed with chocolate and cheered on no matter how little effort you put in and how much you absolutely suck at what you’re doing! The life of this kid!

Having fun vicariously at the North SeaTac BMX Park

Never was Living Vicariously more evident than on the slopes (or, next to them, I should say). This winter, Travis – an avid skier – decided it was time for Levi to learn how to ski. Even though I’ve never downhill skied, I was excited for more excuses to get outside together, and content to be on the sidelines. Again. As luck would have it, my friend Lacey invited us to join in on her son’s lessons, and we committed to ski school for the rest of our winter weekends.

First day on the slopes at Snoqualmie Pass

The decision was an excellent one for all: Friday nights we’d pack up the car, make PB&Js with extra J, and cue the hot chocolate. Saturday mornings we’d have an on-the-go Starbucks breakfast (it’s never too early for a cake pop) and enjoy the 45-minute drive to Snoqualmie Pass (and by “enjoy” I mean “survive”). While Levi learned to ski, Travis taught himself the basics of ski touring, and I got to spend time slope-side with Lacey, cheering on (and laughing at) our sons.

But four weeks in, the students didn’t need a cheering squad anymore. They graduated from the magic carpet and had moved on to the chair lift. Levi adored his teacher Calvin, so much so that when he saw Calvin approaching, he’d say to me, “Mama, can you just do your own thing today?” Incredibly, I found myself with a new pair of snow boots, three PB&Js, and nowhere to go.

It was, of course, Travis who pointed out the obvious: I could take this opportunity to learn to ski myself. At first I resisted: Who would take pictures? And what if Levi crashed and burned? Muscle memory kicked in; I could always just sit by the fire pit, enjoy the scenery and the sandwiches, and wait for the acceptable hour to have a beer. (11? 11:30??) But Travis insisted. And when he mentioned hot chocolate and accolades, I realized that the impossible was happening: I was the one being bribed to do fun stuff. Naturally, I had to go for it.

I was completely unprepared, but outfitting myself for a day on the bunny slopes was a text message away. There does not exist a more ardent group of supporters than a tribe of mamas who realize that someone among them has a chance to experience something new and completely unrelated to child rearing. Decked out in Lacey’s jacket, Cyndi’s boots, and Emily’s skis, I made it to the mountain in style the following weekend.

If you look closely, you can see I’m holding onto 4-year-old Lincoln for support. And, yes, I forgot to borrow a helmet.

After Lacey convinced me that our kids didn’t need water that bad, we ditched our packs, and headed for the beginner lift. (Side note: Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that it takes a lot for me to separate myself from my beloved backpack. When Levi was born, some primitive survival instinct kicked in; for the first year of Levi’s life, I carried 10 diapers and a miniature water filter literally everywhere I went. I mention this only to convey the enormity of ditching my pack in the snow that morning. I was seriously committed to having non-vicarious fun.)

And the day could not have been more perfect. It turns out that doing skiing is a lot more exhilarating than watching skiing. I only fell once; the kids cheered me on from the chair lift; Travis told me I “looked good out there” (a big deal coming from “Silent Bob”); we had French fries and beer for dinner; and we all laughed at the videos Travis took of my awkward first runs later that night.

The whole experience reminded me of a time, a few weeks before Levi was born, when my mom and I came across a book about parenting titled All Joy And No Fun. My mom’s instant, horrifying reaction was, “That title is perfect.” Wait, what? No Fun?? Was it even possible to exist without fun? Surely this title was an exaggeration, an attention-grabber, nothing more.

That was then. Five years later, I totally and completely get it. With kids, the joy comes naturally; the fun does not. You have to do a little legwork for it. You have to drop your pack and ski for the first time in your life without a helmet for it (forgot to borrow one of those). And, most importantly, when someone offers you the chance to be a kid for a day, take it. Who knows when it will come again!

(P.S.: Spring’s around the corner. Does anyone have a BMX bike I can borrow?)