My favorite book growing up was Aesop’s Fables. I love a little story that teaches a big lesson. I also love how I can just utter a fable’s title to convey a message to my children. “Remember the boy who cried wolf” when someone is dramatically overreacting. Or, when coveting a friend’s new toy, “Remember what happened to the dog with a bone”. In many ways my tendency to find metaphors and attach meaning to almost everything stems from my love of fables. Every day I find life lessons embedded in my experiences and observations. I’ve decided to summarize my time in Tahoe over the holidays fable-style. (A writing risk, so go with it.)

The Girl who Skinned Up

I spent a few mornings in the backcountry of the Sierras skinning up a 2000’ foot elevation. (This year’s drought in California meant going out-of-bounds to find decent snow.) I climbed with a group of friends and instantly appreciated the camaraderie of helping each other out as I am slowly developing the skills and technique of skinning. Backcountry skiing requires additional gear and the tedious tasks of managing equipment. Applying and pulling off adhesive skins to the skis, adjusting binding settings, and carrying your own survival equipment (beacons, shovels, layers, water) isn’t easy. Then there is the climbing. As we began our ascent we traversed in a series of switchbacks to climb the steep pitch of the mountain. At each turn, it takes steady balance and a three point V-A-V formation with the skis in order not to slip or fall. I kept my moderate fear of heights in check simply by not looking down often. By the time we reached the top, I was winded and my legs were tired. We pulled off our skins and readjusted bindings for the descent. As I made my first turn, I felt the cool wind in my face and the relief of the ease of gliding downhill. Creating my own tracks in the virgin snow ahead was pure joy. I loved every second, and appreciated every turn, as they were a poignant reminder of how hard I worked to make them.

Moral of the story: The harder we work, the sweeter the reward.

The Mom who Expected Too Much

This year there were Christmas moments absolutely worth cherishing. We spent it nestled among the mountains in Tahoe where cousins played football in the snow, my sisters and I baked persimmon pudding, and together we hiked the Pacific Crest Trail. I loved the time with my sisters and nephews and felt grateful that we still choose to be together for the holidays despite the loss of our parents. We shared hilarious laughs, lively dinner conversations and cozy snuggles in front of the fire.

However, for my children I want Christmas to be about traditions and experiences that reflect our values and instill gratitude for our incredible fortune in life. Nevertheless, the first words I heard on Christmas morning were whines and complaints, “Cate has more presents than I do under the tree!” "It's not fair!" Sigh. I felt defeated (I had tried so hard to be fair and give generously), and disappointed in my son. How could I have such a spoiled kid? I told them how I felt and badgered the kids with comments like, “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?” Although we recovered from the incident fairly quickly and went on to enjoy the day, I was left feeling disappointed that our morning had started off this way.

As I shared the story with a friend, she quickly replied, “I remember feeling that way when I was a kid.” My heart sank, because truthfully, I do, too. I remember horrible tantrums on Christmas morning thinking my sisters had gotten more presents than me. I immediately felt badly I had come down so hard on Teddy. And although his comment was a little disheartening, it was also totally normal for an 8 year old. When I thought more about my reaction I realized it was more about my own intolerance for my shortcomings and the false (and ridiculous) notion that I must be a bad mother if my child isn’t grateful on Christmas morning. Perfectionism is a curse, especially in parenting. Practicing to accept myself with all my imperfections (there are many!) helps me to wholly accept my children, flaws and all, as they fumble through childhood to find their own way.

Moral of the story: Forgive shortcomings and let go of perfection.

Too Good to be True Beef Stew

Our ski cabin is located in the village of a ski resort accessed by gondola with no grocery stores and no cars. This means provisioning and meals requires careful planning. Once settled in, it’s strangely hard to leave. I hosted dinner for ten on New Year’s Eve and had thoughtfully planned on making a beef stew (with organic meat I had purchased in SF and hauled up before Christmas). I found a recipe in Jamie Oliver’s cookbook that I luckily had all the ingredients for and seemed straightforward. As I began cooking, it started to seem suspiciously easy. Chop some vegetables, NO prior browning of the meat – just throw it in with some flour, add two beers (what?) and cook for three hours. It took ten minutes to prep - how could something so easy be any good? I was panicked...a new year’s flop in the making! Three hours later, and with little confidence in the stew, I nervously served it and guess what…absolutely delicious.

Moral of the story: Sometimes simpler is better.