savagemama

It usually takes until the end of January for the Montana winter to freeze my Southern soul. And, well, here we are. This is usually when I start threatening to move, to fly south for the rest of the winter. I start thinking it must be nice in New Mexico this time of year and I tell Seth, over and over again, that’s where I’m headed. We saw an old friend this weekend who now lives in Texas.

“Y’all should come on down,” he said. “There’s a lot of work. You could live in Austin for six months.”

That got me thinking about the Lone Star state and I even dreamed about walking around in a tank top in the middle of winter there. I don’t actually know if that’s possible in Texas but from where I’m sitting layered and wrapped in fleece, I like to think it is.

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At least once a day someone asks me about the drive I make everyday from where we live, 25 miles north of town, to Missoula, where most of our lives take place.

“How long does it take you to get to town?”

“Does that drive get old?”

“Do you come in every day?”

“How do the kids handle it?”

I answer in rote fashion not because I’m irritated but because there are simple answers to most of these inquiries.

Twenty three minutes. Sometimes. Most days. Depends on the day.

Most of the time, these questions are coming from a good place. People are interested, curious and maybe a little intrigued by the thought of living out of town. But every now and then I have friend who digs a little deeper, who just cannot understand our choice to live in the middle of a cow pasture with falling down fences in every direction.

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I am superwoman. And I am no different than so many other women I know.

Everyday I pull off Herculean feats. And I’m pretty sure nothing requires superpowers quite like taking two small children skiing.
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