Parenting | Life | Humor

My Mount Everest Is a Stack of Christmas Decorations

I knew parenthood would require bravery, but I didn’t sign up for attic ladders

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“Mommy, you need to be BWAVE,” my three-year-old shouted. The volume of the shout was expertly calculated to nearly shatter my left eardrum but not quite wake up his sleeping baby brother. Not sure how he does that, but I hope it means talent just runs wild through the family.

“I’m going to be brave, Andy,” I said.

“BUT SHE WAS NOT BRAVE,” said the narrator-voice in my head. (It’s only weird to have an internal narrator if you audibly reply to it. I looked it up.)

“Brave” did not describe the way I was gripping both sides of the sagging ladder that goes up to our attic, and willing myself to step onto the first rung, and not succeeding.

Heights are my Waterloo, my Achilles heel, my Everest. (Except I would never willingly climb Everest. Too high. Plus, there are no bathrooms.)

Climbing a shaky structure of elderly wood to a drafty garret dusted with mouse droppings is not on my list of pleasant ways to spend the morning after Thanksgiving. But I’d promised we could put away the Christmas decor, and Captain Hook never breaks a…