Things I Learned From Helen Recently

At times, Helen has the attention span of a squirrel. Which might, in all honesty, have a very great attention span (they do survive, after all). But to the casual observer, they appear a bit...scattered. I've heard of a squirrel's practice of stocking up nuts under each and every flower, tree, and bush in my yard (but never that giant patch of weeds) as a sort of insurance policy. Insurance against forgetting where they hid the prior nuts. Because the task of remembering that their stockpile lies beneath the wavy grass is just too much, I guess.

And all this? Well, it is Helen.

On Saturday, we went skiing. You see, even though we could have been walking around downtown Arlington in shorts, we went skiing. Back in November, we purchased an Advantage card which gives us a discount on lift tickets at several nearby mountains. It seemed like a sure investment given that it snowed in October! Not so, as it turns out. But because I am from the family I am from - and cannot possibly understand "sunk costs"- we're going to use that card enough to make it worthwhile, no matter what. Even if it's 55 at the mountain.

SNOW! In October!

After a few initial runs, it made sense to split forces. At one point, I found myself skiing with Helen, down a green trail. No, she does not ski, as a matter of fact. But the mere fact that Ed and I think she ought to confine herself to the bunny trail and the magic carpet offends her. So, I decided it was less painful to let her ride the chair lift (which she insists on calling a gondola because clearly, she is a dreamer) and take her down the green trail than listen to all of her grievances about being confined to the magic carpet. Nerves of steel, I do not have.

As we were skiing down the green trail, with Helen in the center of a hula-hoop while I steered her from behind, did she bother focusing on the task at hand? No. Because why bother paying attention and trying to ski, when you can instead tell your mother about:

(1) your internal debate about whether you will marry J. or S. or maybe Jo. (Please let Virginia have gay marriage soon, so I don't have to tell Helen she cannot marry Jo if she wants to get married in Virginia.)

(2) your favorite colors and the favorite colors of all your friends

(3) the reasons that you love Miss Angela

(4) why life might be better if you were an only child and could ditch Connor - and assure your mother that you've talked to Connor about it and it is totally OK with him if he's no longer part of the family

(5) how we really need to have a mom-daughter date night, and perhaps it could include getting another American Girl doll, because apparently having twin Bitty Babies is just not cutting it these days and

(5) how you already know how to ski.

After several runs of this, I instituted a new rule - talking is for the chair lift, er, gondola. Focusing on getting downhill is for ski time. We can take a break on the way down if there's something really important to talk about, but we should both be in a stopped position.

When she's paying attention, she's actually pretty good on skis. Unfortunately, most of the time, she appears a bit scattered. But, the practice of telling me all these random tidbits serves as her insurance for getting bored as she heads down the mountain. Because, you know, she already knows how to ski. Just ask her.

Elaine