Hi everyone! 

Today I thought I'd share a story recently published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Dating Game. "Head Over Heels" describes one of my most memorable dates with Curt. Of all things, we went skiing. But there was just one problem ... I had no idea how to ski. 

Hope you enjoy it. Have a great week!  


I watched the revolving chairlift scoop up skiers for the long ride up the hill. A shiver ran through me, more out of fear than from the cold. How did I get myself into this? I’d never skied before. I just wanted my boyfriend to think I was bold and courageous – the kind of fun-loving girl who was always up for an adventure. Who was I kidding?

Curt and I stood in the loading area, waiting for the chairlift to circle behind us. It smacked the back of my legs and plopped me onto the chair. The cable above us creaked as it carried us over the glittering snow. As we neared the top, Curt prepared me for my approaching dismount. He lifted the safety bar.

“Okay, ready?” He leaned forward and straightened his skis. I scooted up. Then he stood to his feet and promptly glided down a small mound of snow. Oops! I missed it! A safety bar whacked my leg and the chairlift stopped. Curt glanced back at me still perched on the edge of my seat.

“You were supposed to get off.” He grinned, obviously more amused than the long line of skiers dangling behind me.     

Even with the cool temperatures, I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “Sorry, I wasn’t ready.” I scrambled off the chair and inched my way toward Curt. I struggled to maneuver the long, awkward skis. So much for impressing him, I thought. I looked like a toddler learning to walk.  

A steep hill stretched out before us. “Wow,” I said, catching my breath. “It’s a long way down. Shouldn’t I start with a bunny hill?”

Curt’s face turned sympathetic. “This is the bunny hill.”

I knew this adventure thing was a bad idea.

We started with the ever-popular snowplow technique. Curt demonstrated how to angle my skis inward as we edged our way down the hill. I spent more time lying in the snow than skiing.

First I fell backwards, the skis dragging me down the hill on my bottom. Then I fell sideways. Apparently I had leaned too far forward. Finally, just when I thought I was getting the hang of it, my skis crossed and I crashed again.

Curt raced to my side. “You okay?”

I wiped the snow off my face. “Oh sure, I’m good.” I wondered if it was possible to look cute while tumbling face first into a pile of snow.

Curt smiled – a bright, charming smile – and reached his gloved hand toward me. “You’re doing fine,” he said, helping me up. “It just takes practice and patience.” I gazed into his kind eyes. He certainly has patience, I thought. If I were him, I’d be back in the lodge sipping hot chocolate by now.

However, Curt stayed by my side. And he was right. Before long, I had mastered snowplowing and was ready to move on. On my next trip down, I turned my skis parallel ever-so-slightly.

“That’s it, you’re getting it.” Curt skied alongside, cheering me on. “Lean forward a little and bend your knees.”

“I’m doing it! I’m skiing!” I shifted my weight, enjoying the cool breeze and exhilarating joy of sweet success.  

But within an instant that thrilling rush of adrenaline switched to pure panic. Too fast, too fast! I thought, hurtling out of control. I dragged my poles through the snow, trying to slow down and regain control. Finally, I crashed into a jumbled mess of legs, skis and poles. As the snow settled, I laid flat on the ground in utter frustration.

That’s it, I thought. Enough is enough. My legs were twisted in opposite directions. My body ached. But my wounded pride hurt the most. Why would Curt want to ski with me anyway? He could handle any trail here; instead, he was stuck on the bunny hill with me.

Curt plopped down in the snow next to me. He handed me my wayward pole that had gone skidding halfway down the hill.

“I think you may have dropped this,” he said, expressionless. Suddenly, two young children zipped past us, smiling. I looked at Curt and shook my head.

A slight grin tugged at Curt’s pink cheeks. Suddenly he erupted in laughter – silly, yet delightful and contagious laughter. Curt’s joy pulled me in – no matter how hard I tried to resist it. Even in my most awkward moments, he could make me laugh.

Though I had aching legs and painful bruises, that date turned out to be one of my best. Not because I learned to ski; but because I realized that Curt was the kind of man I wanted in my life. The kind of man I could marry.

A couple years later, I did marry him. Even today, I still appreciate those same qualities Curt had during our dating days. He is patient and kind, he makes me smile, and when life gets me down, he encourages me to get back up and try again.

After twenty years of marriage, I still can’t ski well. Curt knows I’m not the most bold or courageous girl, but that’s okay. He makes sure my life is full of adventure, or at least full of laughter.

I've never cared about being the center of attention. The mere thought of public speaking makes my hands sweat and heart race. In fact, I’m perfectly content spending time alone with my thoughts in my nice, peaceful office. 

There. I've said it. I enjoy my quiet, comfy life.

But sometimes God takes my comfortable life and stirs it up a bit. After all, He knows me so well. He knows if I didn't have a little push every now and then, I’d never leave my comfort zone. Well, last week, God gave me a push – and sent me straight into panic mode. I immediately called Curt at work.

“I just got an email from the producer at Paula Sands. They want to know if I’ll come on the show and talk about last week's blog.”

Curt burst out laughing.  

“Thanks a lot,” I said, feeling a tad bit offended. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“Sorry,” he said, “I know you could do it.” He paused, trying to restrain his laughter. “It's just, there are people that would love to be in the spotlight like that. And of all people, they asked you!”                             

Yep, Curt knows me well, too.

I’m not too proud to admit I was completely flustered. Did I mention the name of the program? Paula Sands LIVE. Yes, the show broadcasts live.

Speaking on live TV just seems crazy. There’s no time to mull over my thoughts. No checking a thesaurus for the perfect word. No hitting the “delete” key.

I knew it was a great opportunity. I just didn't know if I could do it. Then I remembered the pact I made with God when I first started writing. It went something like this:

“Okay God, if you’re gracious enough to open doors of opportunity for me, I’ll do my best to walk through them.”

So there I stood, staring at an open door.

Amid all my hand-wringing, I called my mom. “It’s funny,” I said, “I tell my girls to ‘get out of your comfort zone and do it afraid,’ but when it’s about me, it’s not that easy!”

I hung up the phone with a groan. That’s the tough part about parenting. You have to practice what you preach. My mind drifted to each of my girls.

If Madison can crawl onto a four-inch beam, leap through the air, spin around and do handstands while judges study her every move ... I can do this. 

If Taylor can stand at the pitcher’s mound during the last inning of a play-off game and pitch three beautiful strikes right over home plate ... I can do this.

If Emily can walk into a school full of strangers, make new friends and try stuff she’s never done before like volleyball, worship arts and cheerleading ... I can do this.

So there it was. I wanted to inspire my girls, but they had already inspired me.

“I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.”  
- Mother Teresa

As the mom of three girls, sometimes our home feels like an emotional roller coaster ride. So how can I help my daughters hold on through those crazy twists and turns of teenage emotions? And how do I make sure I don't go along for the ride?

This week I'm sharing some tips over at the Quad City Moms Blog.

Come join me there! 

http://www.quadcitymomsblog.com/2014/01/13/not-riding-that-roller-coaster/

Have a great week!

Sheri

Snow days. Funny how those words sound very different to me as a mom compared to when I was a kid.

Before I begin, let me give you a warning. Some portions of today’s blog may make me sound old.                           

Okay, I’m ready now.

When I was a kid, even the smallest little flurry on a school night gave me hope. My brothers and I would gather around the radio (yes, a radio … sounds like the Walton’s, doesn’t it?) as the announcer read the school closings.

Since the name of our school began with the letter “W,” we were always at the bottom of the list. Somewhere around the “S’s,” we’d start shushing each other and crossing our fingers. Finally we’d hear the glorious news. “Yes, he said it! No school!”

When I was a kid, snow days felt like a little gift from heaven. Who cared if we’d already had two weeks of Christmas break? This was a free day – and we had so much to do!

First of all, I needed to break in those stiff, white ice skates that Santa had brought me. I was so anxious to wear them; I slipped them on and tromped around the house. That is, until Mom caught me. “Take those off. You’re going to cut the linoleum,” she scolded.

Once we got to the pond, my brother tested the ice. He’d walk across slowly, then race back at the first sound of cracking. I remember teaching myself to turn corners like Dorothy Hamill (I know … I tried to warn you) by crossing one leg over the other without wiping out.  

We built forts, had snowball fights and made snowmen. I was usually the one that ran back inside for one of Mom’s scarves and a carrot for the snowman’s nose.

We went sledding. I remember crawling over the barbed-wire fence and heading out to the pasture. Sometimes we’d hit a ridge of ice (or as my brother would call it, “a frozen cow pile”) that sent us all flying. The creek at the bottom of the hill also added an extra dose of excitement.

Playing outside was so much fun when I was a kid.

But now that I’m the mom, all of that fun looks very different. For example, just getting the kids out the door can be a challenge.

“Where’s my gloves?”
“Those are my snow pants.”
“My boots are too tight!”

Once outside, you’d think they’d be set. But just wait.

“It’s too windy out here!”
“I’m freezing!”
“I've got snow down my back!”

Want to know the other thing I never noticed when I was a kid? The big mess we left when we came back inside. Inevitably, there’s a massive pile of cold, dripping clothes inside the door.

During the last couple of weeks we've had some extremely cold temperatures around here. Too cold to play outside. (As I type this, it’s a whopping -13 degrees!)

But a few days ago, the temperatures actually climbed into the thirties. I thought we’d better take advantage of the milder temps.

“Hey girls, do you feel like going sledding?” Their eyes grew wide. It had been a long time since they’d seen me on a sled.

Before I knew it, I was sailing down a hill behind Madison. Turns out, it was super fun to relive a few of those childhood memories!                                                                              

Yes, when you have three kids, someone is bound to complain about being cold. And yes, there will always be a mess by the back door. But do you know what I've realized?

Memories last forever. And it only takes a few minutes to clean up the mess.