Keeping it Real

WRITTEN BY BLAIR FJESETH

I squinted at the snow-covered hill, which now resembled a frozen white sea littered with kids in neon-colored snowsuits akin to tropical fish. I watched my 7-year-old make his way down, zigzagging between orange traffic cones. My heart skipped a beat as it recalled our journey to get here. I stumbled in thought; I had counted him out in this particular life skill and hadn’t give him enough credit to grow into it at his own pace. Shame on me.

Four years ago, I brought my two toddler children up to the slopes, set on them both being ski fanatics despite my husband and me not being skiers.

At 4 and 3, my boys went down half the bunny hill once and then spent the rest of their group lesson face down in ski helmets crying, begging to go home. I can still hear the, “Mama, my wegs hurt,” echoing in the depths of my memory.

The following year I was the one in tears. Convinced it was the right time, I paid for a series of private lessons and, despite my efforts, became overwhelmed entirely one weekend by the mounting needs of each of my now three children. They all needed me for something right NOW. I burst into tears because it was all too much. Luckily an older gentleman, a seasoned ski instructor, came to my rescue. He saved me that day, and in the time it took to drive home, I realized my secondhand FOMO for my children was too much. I vowed then and there to let them grow into things at their own pace (or not at all)—an extremely hard vow keep.

Over the course of the next ski season, one of my children grasped the technicalities (pizza and hot dog) required for basic skiing. More importantly, he found the pure joy of being on the slopes.

My other son hated it. He proclaimed he was “more of the sit in the lodge with cheese fries kind of guy.” I respected that and kept my vow during that ski season and well into this one. His brother skied, and he and I ate cheese fries and played board games in the lodge.

But here I am…at the tail end of the season, watching the child who did not want to ski, ski beautifully and with a permanent smile.

Just today, after the fries and a rousing game of Blokus, he said, “I think I’d like to give skiing a go.”

And giving it a go he is.

He is cruising up and down this bunny hill; the chair lift is next, I have no doubt. Overshadowing my pride are the moms around me begging their kids to pay attention to the instructors or pose for the camera, just like I was doing four years ago. They’re lifting their kids off the snow as they completely melt down, and I want to shout, “Your nine-minute-old baby does NOT need to be a pro skier. You are still a great mom if your kid doesn’t ski by the time they are 3. Let her do things in time. Her time. Not yours.”

Learn from me: If a kid doesn’t do something with joy and determination by age 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 13, 15, 16 – it’s OK. Let’s commit to less secondhand FOMO and more sitting in the backseat as our children pave their way to what brings them joy.

They will be just fine and, maybe, we will all have fewer stress wrinkles.

Blair Fjeseth is a working professional and proud Montana mom. You can reach her at blairparker. inc@gmail.com. Follow her Instagram @blair_mt for more adventures.