Three Tales from The Birkebeiner

It snowed all day Friday.  We made tracks under the North Wood's pines.  The kids who weren't crying or pooping in their diapers stayed out sledding until after dark while the adults huddled in the kitchen, pouring wine and telling naughty stories.

On Saturday, we drove all the way to Hayward where we parked the van and hustled down to Main Street, hoping to see our husbands finish the 50k ski race.  The woman skiing in her wheelchair was the first to make me cry.  Then came the two teenage girls in matching ski suits, giddy to see all the people lining Main Street, ringing bells and cheering.  And the old man who looked like Grandpa John with the big white beard, stopping before the finish line to take out his camera and film a panoramic view of the crowd cheering and waving, as he pumped his fist in the air.  And when we saw our guys, we cheered extra loud, jumping up and down.  It was our eldest who said to his dad when we finally caught up with him in the chow tent, "There were a bunch of old grannies who finished before you."

Sunday morning the pines were blanketed with snow up to the blue and sunny sky.  With our snowshoe tracks, we drew a giant smiley face on the lake while the kids sled down the winding snow mobile trail.  The women waged a snowball fight against the husbands.  But what's even more satisfying than nailing your man's ass is getting the kids smack on their stocking caps.

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