The cliff & the rattler

This past weekend, we embarked on another one of our typical hikes, a regular activity since relocating to Colorado. Since our move, I've cherished every available moment outdoors. In our current area, there's a prominent rock formation that's known throughout the city. You can practically see it from wherever you are. When we first arrived here, we had the ambition to climb it. However, shortly after our move, a tragic incident occurred when someone lost their life attempting to climb to the top. It was

heartbreaking; they had ventured onto the part of the rock that was strongly discouraged from climbing. Despite the time that has passed, as we started our ascent, the memory of that unfortunate incident remained the dominant thought in my mind. “Where did he fall? Who was the first to find him? Where did he start to climb? What were his final thoughts?” Morid I know, but I couldn't help but wonder.

Here I was with three young children, and in my eyes, they're all still little. My eldest is incredibly anxious and cautious, so I rarely worry about him getting into risky situations; he's always careful.

My middle child, on the other hand, seems to have a fearless attitude when it comes to climbing, jumping, and exploring anything that involves an element of danger. And then there's my youngest, who has always been the baby of the family. She spent most of her early life being incredibly protected, especially before her recent heart surgery. Now that she's recovering and able to do more, I find myself torn between wanting to let her explore and my lingering fears(because there are many)

As we're trekking up this mountain (or foothill, depending on your viewpoint), my heart decides to throw a little party. Maybe it's partly due to this stubborn cold that's been haunting me for almost a month, now proudly manifesting as a bilateral ear infection. But hey, let's not blame it all on the germs, shall we?

You know the drill – heart racing like it's in a NASCAR race, a lump in my throat big enough to host a squirrel family reunion, and breathing behaving like it's auditioning for a role in a dramatic opera. And where am I? On a mountain, playing the responsible mom to three mischievous squirrels and an adventurous husband who probably moonlights as Indiana Jones(his name is in fact Davy Jones, followed by his daughter: Penelope Jones)

So, what's a Mom to do? I mean, I spend a significant chunk of my time perfecting the art of worrying about all the "what could go wrong" scenarios. Yet, when push comes to shove, I'm like a superhero in crisis mode. But what if those cautionary words like "be careful" and "watch out for that slippery ice"

end up depriving them of an epic adventures? Or perhaps if unspoken do they turn into the very crises I'm supposed to handle? It's like being the safety police at a roller coaster park – you want everyone to be safe, but you secretly wish you were riding the coaster too! No a care in the world.

There needs to be a balance; I've been overly anxious about my kids for their entire lives. I often describe them as difficult, and yes, they can be challenging at times, but they're also intelligent. However, my anxiety sometimes doesn't allow them the space to make their own wise choices. I catch myself preemptively reminding them of things before they even have a chance to think for themselves.

So back to the mountain: we've made it to the top. I felt for a second that I could breathe, the party started to slow and the squirrels had calmed down(maybe starting to take an afternoon nap). Then, like out of a movie I snapped a picture of David and the kids, and the very fence they were leaning on falls to its demise…well the top rung that everyone was leaning on did anyway. It was ALMOST bad, it made all of our hearts race(even more than before). And I was like SEE this is why I'm anxious. But they were all fine. Everyone was fine, but the party came back for an encore.

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Another time we were hiking in a canyon(later we found out it was a well-known rattler canyon) Since we moved here we have been warned by the locals about all the rattlesnakes that reside in these parts. Where we come from they do not exist…. Or haven't migrated there or they just don’t like Kentucky,

who knows?

Being the mama bear of anxiousness that I am every trail I warn the kids to watch out for these dangerous venomous suckers. Only for them to mock me that we have NEVER seen a rattler before.

Well, there we were, minding our own business in the great outdoors when suddenly, destiny struck. Atlas (the brave adventurer of the bunch, remember him?) casually steps off a rock into the canyon's

embrace, and what does he find? Not even two inches from his foot, a surprise guest of the rattling

variety decided to join our little family hike.

I swear, I heard that rattle before I even laid eyes on the snake. Atlas scratched his head, probably wondering if he had stumbled into a wildlife documentary (that he often watches on tv). I, on the other hand, transformed into a ninja mom in disbelief. I swooped in and snatched Atlas and his brother, Elijah (while Penelope was off doing her boulder ballet with David), and whisked them to safety faster than you can say "snakes alive!"

And there it was, that cheeky little reptilian troublemaker, just rattling away as if it were auditioning for a snake talent show, or for the head of the party that was now going on again in my chest.

For a brief, glorious moment after everyone was safe the kids had an epiphany: "Wow, Mom was right!" It felt like the heavens themselves had decided to part the trees and shine a spotlight on my heroic parenting moment. In that split second, all was right with the world, and I felt like the champion of motherhood.

Naturally, once I'd secured the kiddos, I couldn't resist snapping a picture (with full zoom, of course) of this slithering sensation. Who knew a snake could be such a charismatic motivational speaker? After all, he did get my kids to say "Mom was right!" We all know how rare and valuable that phrase can be.

After this incident, I had a moment of reflection that led me to some realizations:

A. I've come to understand that I don't always need to be right. Occasionally, striving to prove oneself correct can result in uncomfortable or troubling situations, as I came to realize during this incident. In that fleeting moment of reveling in my correctness, I realized how bad things could have actually gone. I don’t actually want to be right.

B. There are times when I long to return to the innocence of my early childhood years, a time when life was simpler and I didn't carry the weight of jaded perspectives. I'm aware that, in some ways, I might inadvertently pass on my anxieties to my children, robbing them of the carefree adventures they deserve.

C. I reckon that one day, I'll stumble upon that mysterious balance I've been chasing for ages. But for now, I've retreated to my sanctuary at home and plopped myself into an ice bath to chill out my nerves, or better known as the party in my chest. Oh, and I've thrown in a few “I’m sorries” for any unintended consequences and promised to do better in the future.