Mama’s March Break

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

At 10:30 this morning I was at the top of a ski hill, looking out over a mist-enshrouded valley that flows into Georgian Bay, listening to Van Morrison on my IPod, swirling literally in the mystic having just finished a 45 minute hike up the side of the hill through the trees.  The sounds of skiis, snowboards and the families on them were muted in the heavy air and faint images grew out of the fog as the chairlift ascended.

The Gaffer was in Snow Bear Camp, "I Don’t Care" who has officially changed his blog name to a more appropriate Sir Talksalot was off at Freestyle Camp in the terrain park and mama was all alone.  Aaaaah!

Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

It’s been a harsh holiday for yours truly. Read that sentence very lightly! Monday morning was a bit hectic getting everyone to the right place on time with all the appropriate equipment, but manageable.  By 10 the children were stowed away and Mama went for her first snow shoe of the week up the side of what we call a mountain here in Ontario. There was enough snow on Monday for the shoes, by Tuesday, I was in hiking boots!  At lunch we all reconvened as I patted myself on the back for our yummy homemade picnic lunch. Before our butts even hit the benches, Sir Talksalot was already asking if he could sign up for afternoon camp. I was sorry for both of us that I had to tell him there was no afternoon camp. "Nope," he informed me. His whole class wanted to keep going so the teacher said he would extend the lessons. One step-son down. 

After lunch Sir T went back out with his new shredder buddies with promises to ski with me at 3:30. The Gaffer went to daycare to play with her friends and Mama was all alone on the deck with warm sun breaking through the clouds. Poor thing!  Even when I did meet up with Sir T at the appointed time I was shown the door. There were rails to be ridden and half pipes to be smoked – and no room for a step-mom.

And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it

After skiing we went over to the big pool and swam for a couple of hours, spelling off turns in the hot tub for supervision in the tiny tots water park. Then too hungry and too late to cook dinner we treated ourselves to Pita Pit and Ben and Jerry’s and fell asleep the minute we got home. Such decadence!

Tuesday morning found us in much the same routine but Mama didn’t even fake going for a ski. Before you shake your head, don’t forget I do have a long hike up and down the "mountain" in the morning. But the snow looked heavy, the deck was warm and the beer was cold.

I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic

That night a babysitter descended on the House of Brooks and I went to dinner with 25 other lucky adults who got the night off. Very enterprising friends rented a school bus to do all the driving and we traveled to a quonset hut virtually in the middle of nowhere whose game-filled menu boasts such treats as bison steaks, elk chops, emu strips and breaded alligator. Guess what? The alligator tasted just like chicken! Everyone at the table met someone new and I even had the great luck to sit across from the parents of the Gaffer’s ski instructor, with whom my littlest has fallen madly in love and can’t wait to see each morning.

Tomorrow is the last day of camps and Mom’s last hours alone in daylight time. Tonight we stayed in and cleaned up the mess we have let run rampant while we’ve been on our holiday. Sir Talksalot did a little homework, I have done a little blogging and the Gaffer watched Bambi for perhaps the 30th time. We miss Mr. Husband and the sisters desperately but have fallen into a lovely routine all our own. I’m afraid to rhapsodize too much because it could all go sideways at any moment but for the time being we all seem to be getting the best of all worlds.

And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when thst fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl…