Dear Skiing, I Miss You

There was an advertisement on Pandora just now - to send in the song that "inspires you on the slopes". 

Ahhh. 

The slopes.

I miss the slopes.

I miss skiing. 

I never did get particularly good at it. 

I always shied away from the difficult runs. 

Regardless of how many times I did it, I was always sure I was going to fall off the lifts. 

But I miss my ski pants. 

My blue, sequined beanie.

My piggy tails.

My red, Elan skis.

The sound of my boots (the ONLY ski boots I've ever seen that could fit over my calves) clipping in.

The feeling of the lift on the back of my knees.

The chatter of Japanese teenagers.

The lift men in their long purple coats who always inquired after the other gaijin.

The lunch break of ramen noodles or beef curry.

The freezing wind on my cheeks.

The crunch of the snow as I tried to convince everyone watching that yes, I actually needed those carving skis...

Pretending that anyone, including me, could be Lindsay Vonn (sans spandex).

Plus, I always looked super sexy.

Here's proof (what happened right before this picture was taken is a story for another day):

Um, That's Totally Not What it Means

Dear Girl on Campus -

Um, I hate to bring this up, but I just wanted to say, please, please, please, please, for the love of Pete, PLEASE do your research before you decide to get another Japanese kanji tattoo.  Because I can only read Japanese at a second grade level, and even I know that your existing tattoo doesn't mean what you think it means.  Like it's not even close to what you think it means.  You've totally been punked.  And it's permanent.

Too Bad,

Erin

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It's October.  And the nashi is delicious.

Validation

I'm back in Texas.

My good friend from Japan, Thanet, picked me up at the airport last night and took me to her mother-in-law's house for some pampering...chicken salad sandwiches and pumpkin crisp.

Thanet has a baby boy who is five weeks older than Carolyn.

He's a doll.

Our approaches to motherhood are so different, it's a wonder we're even friends.

She's the Bohemian mother: mid-wife having, home birth doing, breast feeding, co-sleeping, cloth diaper using mother.  The leader of the Beaumont La Leche League would approve.

I, on the other hand, am the queen of convenience:  epidural having, disposable diaper using, put-that-baby-on-a-schedule-already, bottle feeding mother.  Although, to be fair, the bottle feeding wasn't my idea and whomever said it was more convenient couldn't be more wrong.  I mean, good grief, traveling while washing bottles, boiling water, and measuring out formula couldn't be any more of a hassle.

However, despite these differences we are so alike it's not even funny.

Watching her interact with her baby was such a treat.

For me it was calming.

Educational.

Validating.

I couldn't help but giggle a little inside when she kept asking her baby if he was hungry because it was time for him to eat, but he wasn't so interested.

And I was almost gleeful when she couldn't figure out whether or not his disposable diaper (which she was using because they were traveling as well...don't worry, they're like dye and fragrance free and biodegradable in less than 20 minutes) was wet and needed to be changed.

Oh, and don't even get me started when she thought she saw blood in his spit up (that sounds bad, but you know what I mean).

She said several times, "Ok, baby, you know I'm a first time mother and I will freak out."

Ahhhhh.....

It made me feel so good.

I'm just so relieved to know I'm not the only one who feels and/or acts that way.

Cheers, Pet.