This is Crawford’s Notch, NH at 7AM, hovering at 28 degrees on our way to Attitash Mountain for yet another ski race. The roads look wet, but this is an illusion of safety, also called black ice. They are, in fact, what we like to call sporty but doable, a whole lot like parenting. There is also fog ahead, limiting our visibility, for what is not the last time today- or this lifetime. There is a sign to the right warning of hikers in the road the next quarter mile. There is another caution sign for a steep grade, warning the trucks to check their brakes. The road slopes unevenly off to the left, and I “momvoice” the boys traveling with me to hold on tight and to say a quick prayer we come out ok on the other side. One of the boys is my son who needs all the prayers he can get; the other is the minister’s son, leading me to believe his prayer carries more weight.

Notches are passes in between mountains, generally steep, curvy, and wild. We have few big ones here in NH including “The Notch,” also known as Franconia Notch, a State Park, which maintains its own weather system, Pinkham Notch, Crawford, and others. They are exciting to travel through all times of the year, but especially during winter. I always imaging these trails back before actual roads were built with horses carrying travelers or pulling carriages up and over and down again on the other side. I wonder if people took the time to look up at the craggy mountains on either side, the pitches full of snow, steep, and seemingly impossible to climb.

When I turned 16 right around Thanksgiving, my dad had me drive over the George Washington Bridge in my mom’s GMC full size conversion van on our way to my aunt and uncle’s house in Philadelphia. Terrified of both the traffic and the Jersey barriers on either side of the highway, I had no idea we had actually driven through New York City. Years later on subsequent trips, I remember thinking my parents were crazy for making me thread the needle with so little experience. My mom would tell you she never looked up from reading her book. However, with such tunnel vision and hyperfocus, I took zero notice of my surroundings or the signs ahead.

I think about our young drivers so fixated on the road and unable yet to truly look around and take in the land beyond the guardrails. And maybe it’s good, in some ways, that they can’t really see all the different fears and obstacles our adult perspectives have developed for us. Not having grown up in northern NH, I simply cannot stop looking around when I pass through any of our beautiful passes. In one weekend, we had snow, freezing rain and fog, and then 60 degrees and full sunshine. As ski race parents, we drive through all of it all winter long. Our kids have big ski racing dreams, which, unfortunately, require deep ski racing pockets. Our pockets are not deep, but they are well made and reflect our hard work and dedication to community where we have raised our children. Up until this point, with tremendous love and support from our family and friends, financial scholarships and networking for gear, we’ve been able to make it work. We need to believe we can help them to achieve their next steps and reach their goals– despite the steeps, curves, wind and fog that are making decisions more challenging.

Two years ago today, after meeting with her oncologist at Dartmouth, my mom decided to stop all treatment and enter into palliative care at home. Even though I wasn’t ready, I pretended to be. No need making that decision on her any harder than it already was thanks to a year long battle with pancreatic cancer. Our kids had ski racing championships then too, and I was torn about attending them when I wanted to be with my own mom. However, she reminded me that these were the days that I needed to be with our kids at the important things in their lives as they (we) grow up so quickly. She told me to slow down and take the days off from work– to be there at the finish– in whatever form that might be– to take deep breaths and look around at the world. We were damn lucky to have my dad and both of Geoff’s parents at many of their races this season, taking in sights and sounds of adolescence, parents, and grandparents in lodges across NH. I miss my mom every day, yet she is my memory, helping to hold the steering wheel each day, especially when we drop into the fog.