The hardest part is getting out the door
My husband and I agree the hardest part of any family adventure is getting out the door. It is a test of parenting patience to get the three year old’s one leg followed by the other into the long underwear, before the knee high socks and after a successful bathroom trip. Eight boots, eight mittens, four pairs of sunglasses all have to make it into the bag alongside the lunch. Don’t forget the paper towels. Eight skis, one Pulk sled, six poles follow the seven year old through the hatch back and rest coldly in the Ford Flex waiting for the engine to warm.
Oh the rewards that await. We pile out of the car, assured that we did not forget a hat or a child. The snow is falling and the energy is high. A quick snack while we clamber into our boots and then out into the wind. I am crossing my mittened fingers the woods give the little noses a substantial wind block. I have taken a mild risk bring the little’s out in 18 degree weather, but an extra layer and a balaclava should do the trick. It’s a rusty start darting the seven-year old attitude and tolerating a numb thumb. I play the line between teaching a mini lesson on grit and determination and not crossing into the no fun zone. An increased heart rate does a little body good.
It pays off watching her wiz down the first hill laughing and grinning. A few jelly bean breaks to reward the hard work and give a pep talk about just continuing on. My favorite question for my sweet seven year old is “why are we skiing?” I chuckle and think a moment; “just because we can." I reply. The Elites pause as they pass, giving her a grin and a few words of encouragement. She stands a bit taller and I remind her to bend her knees. It is a successful ski/shuffle depending on the moment. She is proud. I am proud. The kids sleep well, the house is calm and happy.
Tomorrow we will get out the door again.