It’s pitch dark when I open my eyes. I’m still tired, congested. I’ve had the flu for a few days. I look at my watch, it’s 6:08 on a Sunday morning. Ugh.
I lie there for a minute, thinking I could probably roll over and try to sleep, but I know that won’t happen. My brain is scrolling through the Mom list: do I make lunches first? Who didn’t finish homework? And then I remember… it’s not a school day!
It’s day 1 of the ski season for us. Finally.
I try to pad downstairs quietly, but trip over the cat and the dog smashes into me and I hear Anja quietly ask if she can get up. Sure, I say.
Shortly after that, Rory joins us in wrinkled jammies and Will comes up, squinting in the light but already wearing his long underwear.
The morning is a blur. Breakfast gets half-eaten, fights ensue, socks are lost, reminders get issued. I’m thankful that I packed most of the ski stuff the night before, else you can be sure some critical piece would get left behind.
We bid the cousins goodbye and miraculously, we’re out the door at a reasonable time. Rory’s in the front seat, scrolling through iTunes so we can jam on our way to the mountain. And by jam, I mean listen to One Direction for the 100th time this weekend.
We’re all giddy.
The parking gods smile upon us and everyone is dressed and ready faster than ever. They dart through the cars, and I have to catch up to them after I lock our car and get my own stuff sorted.
We’re on the lift in no time, the kids are virtually vibrating with excitement. Naturally, we snap our first chairlift selfie of the year. My arms are short and my kids are getting bigger.
The first run of the season has to be in powder and moguls, directly beneath the lift. Obviously. Outwardly, I’m laughing and having a great time. Inwardly, I’m cursing the moguls and marvelling and how the kids seem to have secretly skied all summer.
As is always the case when we play outside, there’s virtually no complaining or fighting. I take my gloves off and adjust helmets/goggles/mitts/etc no less than 4 billion times. “But Mooooom, let’s GO!” gets yelled when I ask for another picture. My socks are so itchy, but I can’t stop because no one waits for me, anyway.
We duck the rope at the end of the day #deathbeforedownload, and I get talked into a stop at the candy store on our way home. They get their sweet tooth from me.
The drive home is a little more quiet than in the morning, but still a little giddy. We talk about the powder, “mom did you see when I hit that jump”, plan for next weekend. We share the same joy in taking off ski boots. We go out to dinner in our long underwear. The glass of red at the end of the day almost makes me forget my congestion.
Ski mom beats soccer mom every time.