What I want to say is that
an amazing, wonderful, perfect day was had by all. That’s what I want to say, because that’s
what I wanted to happen. Not to impress
you, reader, but because I strive for perfection in all of my family jaunts. Who doesn’t have that Griswold-esque desire
for every family outing to have the perfect mixture of adventure, laughter,
hugs, and fun? And don’t forget the
contented looks exchanged over the children’s heads between the parents, as we mentally
congratulate ourselves on a job well done.
Yeah, things didn’t exactly
pan out that way. They never really do. We headed to Copper Mountain for Day 1 of our sliding season. We roused the children (early), and the tears/complaining/whining started as soon as we got them dressed in layer 1—with promises of hotcakes in the car and more sleep if they needed.
Fast forward to the base
of the hill. The Koala, who was likely
still recovering from this week’s illness, was fussy the entire time. Our first run took 2 hours. 2 hours.
And the Officer removed the boots from both children’s feet at one
point: the Firefly had too many layers of socks on, the Koala complained of
pain. We had 4 different sets of Safety
Patrol and Ski Patrol stop to offer a ride to the base strapped to their sled,
to make sure we were okay, and to up-sell the over-priced hot chocolate at the
bottom of the hill.
Ok, I will admit that
their care and concern was nice and very helpful. But you know when your kid’s throwing a
temper tantrum in the store, and sweet old ladies come to offer
advice/help/bribe your kid with candy?
It felt a lot like that. The
difference being that we’re in the middle of a ski run and have to make it to
the bottom before I can really even address what’s going on. Yay. At
which point, I decided if we just fed him, he’d perk up. He always does.
Bottom of the hill, the
Officer and I are not speaking lovingly to one another, as we have different
ideas of how the day should progress. He
thinks I should keep skiing with the girl while he and the boy sit at the bottom
and wait the day out. I think that’s not
fair to the guy who got up before everyone to load the car, drove us there, and
has to drive us home. So, we eat in a cloud
of tension and eventually everyone perks up.
At which point, I look at the boy’s boots. They are insanely small – I’m talking toddler
small. I hold them up to his feet and
wonder how he even crammed himself into these boots to begin with. And suddenly I understand (at least the hill
portion of our day). He’s really been in
pain this whole time. He can’t ski with those
boots. He can’t even walk with those
boots. Poor guy.
Enter Mommy-guilt (I’m sure you’re
acquainted with this, right?):
How on earth did I get
boots that were this much too small?
How
did I not notice?
How did I misjudge so
badly in the store?
How did I fail this
epically?
The truth is, I was
rushed. I was trying on boots for myself,
checking out equipment for both kids, letting the Officer get his gear, and
trying to manage the children’s ridiculously unruly behavior in the store. They were so excited at the prospect of
skiing for the season again that they were out-of-their-minds. And likely, the 7 year old boy just stuffed
his feet into the boots offered to him and declared them a perfect fit; because
without boots, he can’t ski. He had them
on for all of a minute in the store, and it’s been about a month since we got
them, so his foot could have grown a bit since then. So while this was technically an epic Mom
fail, it wasn’t the end of the world.
The Officer offered,
again, to let me ski with the girl, since we all know how much I love it. I accepted his kindness – I would be pretty
bitter if all I got was one 2 hour run for the day. He stayed with the boy, who promptly fell
asleep on the couches; and the Firefly and I flew down the mountain, stopping
to take one picture of our first girls-only run. By this time, the snow was really coming
down, and we had plans to be back in town for the parade of lights to meet some
dear friends. We packed it in, after 2
runs for the girls and only 1 run for the boys.
Ah, another lesson in
grace. I'm not perfect; even when I really, really want to be. And no matter how badly I want things to go as perfectly as they do in my head, sometimes they just won't. Yes, I could use a little better preparation
on my part, but that's not the full answer. Really, I need to accept that sometimes I'm going to fail. Epically. And sometimes, it's going to be my kids who bear the brunt of this failure (boots that would fit a two year old, smooshed onto the foot of my seven year old, while I keep telling him to "ski through it."). But at the end of the day, I have to know that Jesus, and my kids, still love me. Imperfections and all. And a really, really short (and not so happy) day on the slopes is okay, because our
quickie day just whetted my appetite for the rest of the season—I can’t wait to
get back on the mountain! With and without my kids.
For the practical fix, we’re going to get new
boots this week, for both the Koala and the Officer (his are too big). And I'm going to listen a littler better next time one of the minis tells me something hurts, instead of telling them to rub some snow on it and ski through it. So, we’ll try again next week. We do have all season to have that perfect
day of skiing. Here’s hoping next time
will be better… 
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