Lessons from Crested Butte

Beginning last Friday afternoon, my girlfriends and I handed the reigns (plus a plethora of breast milk, some pre-made casseroles, a total of eight children, and detailed instructions) over to our husbands and drove out to the mountains. This was not my first trip to the Butte, but it was a trip unlike any other to this tiny and beautiful mountain town. I have returned from my first weekend away from Henry and Georgia perhaps a little wiser than when I departed.

Admittedly, I was shocked and horrified by the tears I shed kissing little Henry farewell. Am I that mom? The one that thinks her child will forget her, the one that speaks only of her offspring at cocktail hour, the one that would rather sport milk/snot encrusted t-shirts than see the world? Maybe slightly. Although I missed them, I must say that the weekend was spectacular, and that I was indeed recognized by my family upon my return home. Two hikes, sleeping until 8:30, making it through an entire cup of coffee sitting down, and hearing everyone else’s woes made me realize that life is beautiful, and so are weekends away.

Thank you to Victoria, to her family for sharing their homes, and each of these girls for a breath of {super} fresh air.