Steamboat Springs.

I remember breathing in the fear. Shivering goosebumps, nose wet running, drawing breath and ice down into my lungs. Pulsing with fear. Laced with exhilaration. Anticipation. And the frailest hope that I could maybe, maybe, make it down this insurmountable crest of earth called mountain. Scanning the directionless horizon, the crystalline range shifted into vivid focus as I realized that there were only two ways off this mountain: on my skis or in a body bag.

I remember this feeling it like I remember my own name.

That kind of fear. It's not something you forget.

Luckily, this trip hadn't the faintest whiff of such a purely vulnerable terror. Because I had already conquered the beast, the fear of heights and skiing, three years ago (remember this?),

Skiing in Steamboat Springs, Colorado this year was pure magic, basking in the sugary powered snow and shimmying down the slopes with a free tenacity that made me feel younger and older, all at once. Young and strong, but older and more relaxed in my truth. I wasn't afraid anymore. Instead, I was gripped with joy and gratitude. Getting older, getting a little better at life and, thank goodness, skiing - it's wayyy more fun than being young and chaotically stressed about everything. Like mountaintops. Instead, this vacation was just - SO MUCH FUN. Ever had the time of your life? For me, skiing down the slopes of an impetuous mountain, conquering the fear of swooping between the mythical Aspen trees, even face planting in the snow as I tumbled off the trail (that's what I get for trying to "get air") - I was having the time of my life.

I am so grateful for vacation. Vacation rocks. Vacation was invented by a genius.

Last week, Stevie and I joined his (our) family on a 5-day foray to ski and have quality family time. I was so relieved to strap on a pair of skis again - it had been a minute since my last ski trip. Getting pregnant and giving birth can hold up the skiing progression. I'm sure you're surprised to hear that :) My last ski trip was three years ago so I have been more than a little eager to get out on the snow. The challenge of this particular trip was the Everett factor. We decided to leave him at home with my parents. He obviously wasn't going to spend hours out on the slopes with us, and honestly, I was ready for a little mommy break. It was my first time leaving him for more than a night and it was really hard, but really wonderful. I missed him like crazy, but it was really healthy for me to focus a little more on myself and just have some good fun. I mean, this was not a trip for kids. Every evening when we came in from skiing, we all went straight to the hot tub with a mug of something dandy and we just sunk into the sensation of painful muscles and awesome memories. Painful in that good, sleepy, I-worked-for-this-pain kind of way.

In attempting to keep up with the boys (somewhat), my sis Lauren and I were wiped out! Those guys can obviously outski me but it was fun to challenge myself and experience a progression in my ability, even with the 3-year absence. We spent a lot of time on blue-black and black runs, which was awesomely exhausting, but my particular favorite were the tree runs. In between those snowy trees, there is a lot of hushed quiet.

Word on the street is that Steamboat Springs had a really warm, snow-less February. The very day we arrived, snow began dumping on the city and didn't stop until there was 25 inches of FRESH POWDER. You guys. That is what you call a gift from THE HEAVENS. That powdery, fluffy snow was incomparably sweet and literally made our trip the successful event that it was. Thankfully, we all skied to our hearts content and there were no injuries the whole week. Those mountaintop prayer sessions really work.

But even more than the skiing, I am so grateful for stealing a few days away with these beautiful souls whom I hold so dear. Even though we all live near each other, these days its just hard to connect and spend really quality time together. Having a lot of kids in our family, along with everyone's busy schedules, makes it challenging to have deep meaningful conversations all the time. I'm not making excuses, but it's just real life. My in-laws lead a large church and even though our entire family is involved in some capacity or another, that certainly makes everything a bit busier than it used to be. Sometimes you just want to hang out with your family. And last week, that's exactly what we did. We hung out, played on the slopes, cooked dinner together, and talked a lot - about our kids, about our dreams, politics, about movies, about the meaningful and meaningless. We threw around business ideas and dreamed about the future. It was so comforting, just watching my siblings-in-law and parents-in-law share stories and dreams and the heartfelt richness that they each carry. As I am getting older, I am increasingly more grateful for the bonds of family. I know I am a lucky girl, with all these siblings and nieces and nephews and parents.

Best trip ever. Thanks, Steamboat Springs, you were mighty good to us :)

Cross Your Skis and Dot Your Tries.

I did not grow up skiing. I am not a pedigreed, savvy, fancy-familied skiing person.

I skied once or twice in middle school on youth group trips to Gatlinburg, but I’ve since learned from true skiers that Gatlinburg doesn’t count. (Those who will remain unnameless were horrified at the notion of skiing in a place like Gatlinburg.) So like I said, I did not grow up skiing.

 // Copper Mountain //

A few years ago I married this precious athletic maniac who plays every sport under the sun. And this man loves to ski. He’s a natural. His skis go shoop, shoop, shoop down the mountain. Unfortunately, he voiced his dream of us zipping down the slopes together, and in his mind, we were probably dodging in between moguls on fear-inducing black diamond runs. Most likely cackling at the ease of our gait. High-fiving as we passed each other on the powdery, slippery slopes. Yuck, doesn’t that sound like a friggin’ all-American Neutrogena ad? He had plans for me. I happen to be rebellious in nature, so I loudly fought such expectations.

My plans included holding my ground, claiming my independence from his dream and fighting for my right to settle cozily in my non-skiing ability. You ski, I’ll just go to the spa, I told him. But alas, my plan was thwarted. Not only did I fall in love that athletic hunk, but I fell in love with his sport.

I love it. I love to ski.

Yes, I’ve experienced moments of panic at the top of a slope, shivering (not just from the cold) at the sight of the impending drop-off. I’ve cried in the middle of a blue run, while a ski school class of 4-year olds easily sashayed their way down the mountain with ease. Like a family of swans. How are these children so fearless? I know what to fear. I know the imminent doom that awaits if I attempt to turn my skis and FAIL. You can break your face doing such things. I know. I’ve done it before. Remember the above-mentioned Gatlinburg trip? I took a nice beating to the face (and the pride) on my first trip down the slopes. There were medics involved. Face stitches. It’s the way I lost my last baby tooth and declared my retirement from skiing for-ev-er. Alas.

I skied at Breckenridge and Copper Mountain this past President’s Day weekend. I felt the icy wind on my face, the powder beneath my skis and the beating of my anticipating heart. I looked fearfully at my love, unsure if I could really make it down such a pass. It’s too steep, I said, I don’t think I’ll make it. He just looked at me and laughed, You always do! Of course he’s right. I have to find some way down this mountain, and it’s either in a mad rush of adrenaline or in a body bag. I looked down, down, down the black diamond peak, speckled with moguls the size of Volkswagens. And I decided that he was right. I cut hard to the right, hard to the left, back and forth, back and forth, realized this is really fun, back and forth, shoop, shoop, shoop and - there! I am gliding, I am down the peak, I am a victor of my own worst-case scenario fear. I see how this sport can become addicting. His smile was wider than the sunshine. My heart was racing like a girl who just won the mountain. Because I sort of did.

Friends // Happy Donut Sign // Snowboarding Cousin Reunion

I’m still scared of those black diamond peaks. But I’ve done it once, twice, half a dozen times now. So the next time I come to the edge of an icy-slick slope, I will have a bit more confidence that I can make it down this mountain. I can have victory over this intimidating phantom, I can triumphantly sashay like a fearless 4-year old. Just maybe, I can be a rebel AND a swan.

Adventure: A Few Good Men

Skiing with Five Guys.

Each year my husband's family men take a ski trip together. Is it just me, or are the ladies getting majorly gypped on such a fun tradition? I am not a master skier, but if I skied as often as they do then I would be a regular Kelley Clark. Or the skiing equivalent of her mad skills.

So this year, I insisted on joining the fellowship.

My request was (surprisingly) met with complete enthusiasm from the male camp. They were down with me joining their trip, and I didn't even experience any hazing to get initiated into the club. Was I prepared to be one of the men? Absolutely. I expected to be shocked by their disgusting behavior, inappropriate conversation and general smelliness. And I prepared to keep my game face on and remain unaffected by their inherently bad behavior. But you know what? I was wrong. Hanging with the guys was just, well, normal.

Map + Mmm.

We flew out to Denver and skied for a day at Breckenridge and another two days at Copper. We celebrated my father-in-law's birthday one evening with dinner at an Italian restaurant called Millonzi's. Get this: when we arrived at Millonzi's, we were informed that it was Irish Night and they were featuring a special on their mojitos, if you wore a Hawaiian shirt. I cannot make this stuff up. This is real.

The weather got progressively chillier during our 4-night stay. We skied in -11 degrees on our final day. I wore 9 layers of clothes. I coveted my toe warmers much like Gollum with the ring.

Me and Them.

These boys are fun. I am so lucky to have inherited a bunch of bros. I grew up with two sisters, so my household was always pretty girly. Sharing makeup and clothes and fashion magazines was my norm. When I say sharing, I mean fighting until my little sister showed me how to be generous. She shared everything without a second thought and pretty much wrote the book on the life lesson of sharing. Am I ridiculously indebted to her? You bet. Oh my, I digress.

With my bros, I shared gloves, hand warmers and bottles of water. Oh, and Advil, sunscreen and lip balm. And socks. And peanut butter and banana sandwiches, slope-side. Even though I'm a grown adult, I relish the fact that I now have older and younger brothers and they are SO. MUCH. FUN. I love them. I simply can't help it.

The Skills.

While the boys are all righteously talented skiers (double black? More like double EASY for them.) I, on the other hand, am extremely happy to ski on the easy greens. I like to spend the day like a fresh snow bunny, navigating the gentle rolling, easy green hills. But these boys had me addressing new challenges, so I was flying like a bat out of hell down the difficult blues. My oh my. But you want to know what? I kind of liked it. Skiing a little bit fast is fun. And less stressful on the thighs.

The Sermon on the Mount.

My husband is always kind enough to ski with me, even though I choose the path of least resistance. When I hit an impasse he pep-talks me through the challenge. And this year, I didn't stand at the top of the mountain and weep with fear. We've progressed from the dark ages. I zipped down the blue runs of Copper Mountain, belting out Lumineers' 'Ho Hey' lyrics, "I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweetHEEEEEEAaarrrtttt..." Stevie's mountaintop encouragement gave me confidence to rule the slopes. The ground was bumpy, but I bumped right back at it. That's right. Take it.

Do I love skiing? You bet. Do I love my bros? You bet even more. Would I hit up the man trip again? Anytime they let me. Brothers are the bomb, skiing in Colorado is sick and toe warmers are inexplicably valuable. If you have a brother, give him a bear hug today, because sometimes (just sometimes), boys are the best.