When I was a kid, it was the thought of pirates pillaging my room at night that would send my heart racing into overdrive. Never mind the fact that I was living in Oklahoma, miles away from any body of water big enough to hide a pirate ship, (and pirates like One Eyed Willie weren’t exactly roaming the seas in 1985 anyway) I was still sure that one night I would wake to find a whole group of them rummaging through my drawers, looking for my cherished Punky Brewster trading cards. Fortunately these fears were never realized, and eventually gave way to more realistic nightmares like Chucky Dolls and flesh eating robots (okay I take back that more realistic part), but no matter how old I got there was always something new to be wary of. When I was in seventh grade and had just moved to a new school, it was the sound of the lunch bell. In high school it was the dirty old men who used to frequent the restaurant where I worked as a waitress. In college it was the sound of my midterm score coming out of the computer at the testing center. The summer KR was away at officer candidate school, it was just prowlers in general (thank goodness I kept that ice ax near my bed). It seems that every stage in life brings about its own set of fears and misgivings.
As any parent can tell you, having children brings new meaning to the words “fear” and “worry.” Unfortunately I didn’t really understand the extent of this until I was pregnant with Supergirl, and suddenly found myself stressing over ridiculous issues. Should I eat the tuna, or should I not eat the tuna? Will consuming this entire package of beef jerky damage my baby’s brain? Obviously, these issues were only exacerbated by the birth process, as she suddenly seemed very, well, exposed. I won’t get into my obsessive protectiveness, that would require a little more explanation than I have space for, but I will say life is very different now that I spend a large portion of my time obsessing over what potential dangers could be looming around the next corner waiting to take me and my daughters off-guard.
While I have plenty of experience being afraid for my children, this weekend marked the first time that I have actually been afraid of one of my children. As many other skiers can tell you, Wonderkid has proven to be a bit reckless on the slopes. She likes to go fast, and isn’t really a fan of turning to slow herself down. Then, this weekend she suddenly decided she likes to ski very close to her Mom, which made for many near accidents and one nasty wreck. I don’t know what she was 
thinking, but during one of the steeper runs of the day she decided to ski right up behind me, then cut right in front of my skis. Somehow I ended up doing a split (which I haven’t done willingly since the 6th grade) with one leg pointed toward the top of the mountain, and the other, obviously, pointed down hill. Fortunately, Wonderkid was not injured in the least, and before I could scrape the ice off of my goggles, she had already plowed down the mountain in pursuit of her older sister (although she did mutter out a “sorry mom” before she took off).
KR was, as always, the gentlemen and helped me recover my skis and poles from various points on the mountain. He even kept the “look out for Mom” jokes to a minimum, and poured out a little sympathy for my swollen, pitiful knee. Luckily, I don’t think I did any permanent damage, and was able to ski the next day (with the help of half a dozen Advil). I must say, however, now I am much more aware of what my five year old is doing on the slope. At one point I could hear her coming up behind me (she likes to sing while she skis) and I got that pillaging pirate feeling, the one I hadn’t really had since I was 8 years old. I think, for the time being, I will stick to skiing behind her, far behind her.
On a happy note, the hotel we stayed in had a water park. The girls had a great time playing on the slides.
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