Любишь кататься - люби и саночки возить

 

Not my native tongue, but our daughter Aurelle was good enough to translate it for me. 

 

"You love sledding, so love carrying the sled up the hill."

 

The reality is, I am not nuts about sledding. Being pretty much of a fraidy cat, I prefer watching my kids barrel down the hill, not too fast, and then welcoming them inside with popcorn and cocoa. Plus I enjoy pictures of them sledding, after the fact. When I am warm. 

 

The sentiment belongs in Russia, where snow is a reality for much of the year. Having spent the bulk of my first six kids' lives in Florida, Albuquerque and southern California, such weather events were scarce.

 

There was a time when LA parks and rec decided to truck in five tons of snow for the benefit of those children who would otherwise never see it. I spent twenty minutes finding coats, hats and boots for my brood, then another thirty driving to the park. Word had gotten out, and every street within a quarter of a mile was jammed with mini vans, so we had to hoof it. Being January in Glendale, it was seventy degrees, so the outerwear was definitely overkill. We arrived at the mounds of snow to find one for sledding, and another for throwing snowballs. The boys got in line for a joy ride, and the girls for the chance to toss a mittenfull. The wait time was half an hour. The total seconds spent whooshing down a six foot high hill was about four. I asked if they all wanted to get in line again but they declined, so we headed home. The whole escapade took two hours. But in her prayers that night, my daughter thanked the Lord for a day in the snow. 

 

Still the sentiment Aurelle offered me applies to a number of life's roller coasters. I love having children, so I should love the uphill climb that is parenting. I love creating quilts, so must also embrace sandwiching a queen with no wrinkles. I love my marriage, and need to face the chillier parts of that adventure. 

 

I have been at these endeavors long enough to remember that while slogging over twelve yards of unruly fabric in August can leave me sweating, it is the precursor to unbeatable coziness on a snowy day.