Just when I thought I had everything figured out in this stage of parenting, you humbled me.
We’ve had a good start to the ski season, and you and Eliza have been stoked to learn and progress. After a couple consecutive days the week prior, Eliza needed a break, so you and I went up to the mountain for a “boys weekend” that I was excited about. Mom also had some fun plans for Eliza. Because you two are so close in age and twin-like interests, we rarely get you apart.
All was well at the beginning. We went out to dinner as a family, and then you and I drove up to the Chaffee cabin. You played with the boys for a couple hours and went to bed easily and on time. Double bonus. I spent the rest of the evening talking to Jim and Cassandra about travel, Andor on Disney+, and a disastorous Speaker of the House vote for the Republican party, in that order. I went to bed around 11 p.m.
At midnight, you woke up and crawled into bed with me. Not unusual. But then you started to breathe quickly and murmur about where Mom and Eliza were and how you can’t ski without Eliza. Then you complained about your ear hurting with some real tears. By then we were both fully awake. I tried to diagnose what was wrong. The remedy for any problem is “Mom” so I gave her a video call but she didn’t answer because her phone happened to be in Do Not Disturb mode (major fail!). We moved to different rooms around the cabin to help change your outlook, and you ate a satsuma. If Mom is unavailable, eating is usually a good Plan B. Despite those efforts you were still upset and communicated that you wanted to go home through more quick breaths, now two hours into the episode.
I was surprised because you have slept at this cabin many times since you were a baby. But you’re as a full grown kid now with growing feelings and increased awareness that things away from home and without Mom and sister are different. That seemed to hit you with the impact of a winter storm.
Running out of options and disappointed by my failed attempts to calm you down, I was able to give you a name for how you were feeling: homesick. That much helped. “Yes, I feel homesick” you replied with an ounce of relief.
But naming the problem didn’t change it. I was now looking down the barrel of time at 2:45 a.m. and, realizing that a ski day would not happen on this little sleep for either of us, packed up and hit the road home. It wasn’t an ideal time to drive but the night was warm so the roads were safe at least in terms of weather. You seemed to be more calm with every mile we drove. We zipped home through a freeway of green city lights, opened up the garage, surprised the hell out of your Mom, and went back to sleep in our own beds. I think I woke up at 10 a.m., still confused about what happened and feeling mixed on my decision to drive so late.
We will have more ski days (as luck would have it, we dodged a different problem because the day we were going to ski the main cabin bathrooms broke!) and more sleepovers at friends’ houses and cabins. Soon enough you’ll ask for those opportunities on your own and forget how uncomfortable you felt that transitory night. Like I told you so many times those late hours: Dad is here and everything will be OK.
Love,
Dad