The owner of my agency recommends at least one travel conference a year. I was accepted to one in Sardinia.

Before and after the conference, there are familiarization trips. I was accepted to one of those, too! Once I’m there, I might as well scope out the whole island.

I was worried that being gone for two weeks would be too long. Captain offered,

“How could you not do it?”

That’s right! How could I not? And without a second thought I confirmed everything.

Now that I see the calendar for the next two weeks, please wish my family luck.

Between my two children there are: 6 swim practices, 2 swim lessons, 2 artistic swim classes, 6 soccer practices, 4 Hebrew school classes, 2 drama kids classes, 2 curriculum nights, one day of school pictures, and a side of Rosh Hashanah.

Putting that in all in one sentence may have been a mistake. We sound like crazy people.

I swear it feels more manageable on a day-to-day basis. Although I’ve only been doing it for one week, and now it’s someone else’s problem.

Monday night I was headed into Boston for work, and Captain, BB, and RB were headed to RB’s soccer practice. I said,

“Don’t forget you need a soccer ball and two chairs.”

They left with three chairs and no soccer ball.

So that’s how I anticipate the next couple weeks may go.

The other morning I was sitting on the couch with my coffee, a hotel website open in front of me. RB snuggled up, saw my computer, and said,

“Again?!? I thought you retired.”

Just getting started.

After this Sardinia trip, I was accepted for a ski trip in Austria and Switzerland. Which brings me back to our recent visit to the ski store.

Thirteen years ago I met Captain skiing. We skied as much as possible. I invested in new ski boots. They were comfortable, performed well, and were a pretty white-turquoise color.

Ten years ago I got pregnant with BB. My feet grew. I went from a size 10 to a size 11. My feet never went back.

I needed all new shoes. Not the worst thing in the world, but I was loathe to spend $500 on a new pair of ski boots. Especially when at this point, with a new baby, I was lucky if I were skiing four days a season.

Each year when I squeezed my feet into my too-small boots, Captain would ask,

“Are you going to get a new pair?”

“Maybe, but doesn’t seem worth it.”

Then another pregnancy, so no skiing, then COVID, so more no skiing. Then back to skiing and good grief the boots are still SO SMALL. Maybe it’s time for new boots?

Nope. Last year we decided to save all of our money for the Galápagos and did not go skiing.

Skipping a year made me realize how much I miss skiing! Now here comes the 25/26 season, and we already have 14 ski days on the books. It is time for new boots.

At the end of August I booked two separate appointments: a daytime rental appointment for the kiddos and an evening, boot fitting for myself. I imagined returning to the store childless to try on boots in peace.

We got the kids sorted out. The ski-store guy asked me,

“You’re looking for new boots, too, right?”

“Yes, but I was thinking I’d come back later without them.” I waved my hand in the general direction of my children clomping around the store. The guy said,

“They seem fine. Do you want to try some on?”

“If you say so.”

My children, still in their ski boots, proceeded to stomp laps, then it was quiet, and all I could see was BB’s head popping up in the middle of one of those spinning, clothes racks.

If this is the sales guy’s idea of “they’re fine,” then so be it.

He measured my foot, and looked at the sizing on my old boot. He was shocked,

“They’re so small for you! How could you ski in these?!”

“I don’t know.”

As my toes luxuriated in the spaciousness of the new boots, I looked at my color options: black, gray, and maroon. I asked,

“Are there other color options?”

“I’m afraid not. You’re into unisex sizing now.”

Apparently white-turquoise is not a unisex color.

I settled for comfort and performance in a unisex black.

As I flexed into my new boots, the sales guy noticed my quads and said,

“What do you do to work out?”

“I walk.”

“You’re in this shape from just walking?”

At which point both kids pipe up from under the snowpants rack,

“She walks with a weighted vest!”

I do now.

I walk with a weighted vest, wear unisex ski boots, and explore Sardinia for two weeks without my family.

I’m some new version of the old me.

Except I’m going to check a bag, which is anathema to my being.

After a two-week sabbatical, the least I can do for my family is make sure my suitcase has enough room to bring home all the free, travel tchotchkes I accumulate at the conference.

They can thank me later.