Chapter 4
As the holidays approached,
my mother suggested we rent a cabin in the mountains,
hoping to establish a new family tradition.
She found a large,
rustic house surrounded by pine trees,
with a massive stone fireplace in the center.
We packed our bags,
loaded the boys into the SUV,
and drove up the winding,
snow-covered roads.
Maris and Kyle arrived shortly after us,
bringing a trunk full of groceries,
and a stack of old board games.
The first night was idyllic,
with snow falling softly outside the windows,
and hot chocolate warming our hands.
However,
by the next morning,
a massive blizzard had swept through the valley,
dumping three feet of snow,
and knocking out the power to the entire region.
The old version of our family would have spiraled into a panic,
with everyone blaming each other for the inconvenience,
and desperately trying to fix the unfixable.
Instead,
Grant and Kyle went out to the woodshed,
hauling in enough firewood to last a week,
while working together with silent efficiency.
Maris and I scoured the pantry,
creating a makeshift meal of canned soup,
and crackers toasted over the open flames of the fire.
My mother sat on the rug with the children,
teaching them how to play a complicated card game,
and laughing when Finn repeatedly tried to eat the plastic chips.
The temperature in the cabin dropped,
forcing us all to huddle together in the main room,
wrapped in layers of thick wool blankets.
Without the distraction of televisions,
or the constant pull of our cell phones,
we were forced to actually look at one another.
We told stories from our childhood,
the embarrassing ones that usually stayed hidden,
and laughed until our sides ached.
Kyle admitted that he had always been terrified of the dark,
a confession that made him instantly more human,
and less of a corporate caricature.
Maris talked about her anxiety,
admitting how exhausted she was from trying to be perfect,
and I held her hand in the dim firelight.
For three days,
we were completely cut off from the rest of the world,
surrounded by walls of white snow,
and relying entirely on each other for warmth and comfort.
When the power finally flickered back on,
illuminating the messy,
cluttered room,
I felt a strange pang of sadness.
The storm had stripped away all of our pretenses,
leaving behind only the raw,
essential truth of who we were,
May you like
and I realized that I loved this messy version of us,
more than any polished portrait we had ever taken.
