"Just take a breath, and do it."

I'm a bit of an adventurer.

Is that a word? It is now.

I don't remember an age where I wasn't a "Jump Two Feet In" sort of person, since that time in the sixth grade where I did a one-woman interpretive dance routine to Elton John's "Whispers" (yes, sellout Elton), decked out in white biker shorts with lace trim, really feeling that whispering whisper.

There is, mercifully, no photographic evidence.

The Little and I drove to Virginia to celebrate the last days of summer, before we're both absorbed in the minutiae of school ("Can we please switch? You take anatomy, and I'll take coloring." "No, Mommy. That's not the way the world works."). We scream-sang "Shake It Off" and "Roar", ate fast food, and arrived at my parents' house in time to drink wine and be merry (Norah was merry, I just drank wine).

Every so often, over those few days of vacation, I'd catch my mother in my periphery, and it would seem (if only for an instant) like the terror of these past several months was just a nightmare I had. These two years have been unfathomable, but the last several months were too much. I hate the phrase "I can't even", but when I think about it all, I. Can't. Even.

Regardless, she scurried about, putting Ed to bed, waking up at 6am, discussing yoga and vacation plans with Rita and things that seem oh-so-normal. The things I didn't realize I took for granted. The only visible memory of her saga is an epic thoracoabdominal scar, which is fading nicely. 

After childbirth, you forget all about the pain of labor. Three months post-op, and the terror of watching her breath rise and fall in the ICU is slowly evaporating. 

I smiled as I watched her finish her crossword puzzle.

"I'm really, really glad you're not dying."

"Me too, but get your shorts on, it's time for the Adventure Park."

Adventure Park Time; come on, grab your friends!

In an effort to slay her remission, my mother has decided to fill it with as much adventure as possible. So when she suggested the three of us traverse a ropes course, my response was, "Obvi."

This harkens back to my opening statement. I love me some adventure.

I'm also a huge showboater.

While thinking about this blog, I asked Norah, "What scared you most about the Adventure Park?" She said, "Nothing. Except Firefly and Cricket (both courses). And going across the wobbly bits."

"But you did it anyway."

"Sort of. I just took a breath and did it."

I had to get her on the way back, but I was so, so proud.

We can learn a lot from the honesty of kids.

And adults, when they want to be honest and free.

"Suuuuuuuck iiiiiitttttttttt", was her exact quote as she went down the zip line.*

*That was not her exact quote

I felt like I was continuously touching my mom, confirming her physicality. We're a hugging family, but I was definitely a love-smotherer. A Smoverer. 

No, that looks like Ass Mover. We can come up with a better term.

Anyway, this Ass Mover decided to take Ed and Norah to the park, so Sharon could get a couple of hours of uninterrupted rest. Always a showboater, I dragged Ed's wheelchair into the wood chips for a photo op.

Grandpa Ed gets next swing!

We may have packed more adventure into these few days than you had over your entire summer. We have to enjoy these gleeful, bold moments when they come, because uncertainty still abounds.

Still, I will enjoy the fuck out of this gleeful moment.

A little side of sass with an entree of adventure never hurt, either.