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The Sledding Hill

“Come sledding,” they said.

“You HAVE to try this hill at least once!” he said.

I watched my boys slide down the hill one by one. Screaming when the sled didn’t go where they wanted. Scrabbling to pull themselves back on course before the inevitable . . . WHOOSH . . . disappearing down the cliff face.

They pushed the sled into my hands. “Your turn.”

“I don’t know about this,” I said. But I sat on it anyway. I stared down the sledding path a long time before my sons got tired of waiting and helped me along with a big push.

“You’re welcome!” they called as I screamed down the hill and scrabbled to get back on course.

And then WHOOSH! I was speeding down a cliff face and hurtling towards the road, and then it was over. I came to a stop and all that remained was to hike back up.

“Ready to go again?” They grinned. It wasn’t really a question.

But I didn’t. I watched them sliding and screaming and hurtling down the cliff. I snapped picture after picture. And I was content.

Because sometimes, it’s okay to leave the crazy to others.