Tuesday was Daddy's birthday. To celebrate, David took him on a little Daddy-David date.
Here:
Are you ready to have a heart attack?
The date was my idea.
Yes, MY family members using OUR family credit card to (can I bring myself to even type the words?).........SKI in the MIDWEST. Shudder.
At MY suggestion! (I'm feeling faint again at the thought of it.)
In case you didn't know, I have strict religious beliefs regarding skiing:
If you're not west of Denver, DON'T BOTHER.
(Hey, we all have the right to be snobs about something, don't we?)
But I got to thinking. About Tyrol Basin:
- It's 20 minutes away.
- It's affordable.
- It's real snow.
- It's small and manageable.
- It's guaranteed to have a super gentle bunny slope because this IS the Midwest.
What better conditions for your kids to LEARN TO SKI??
Greg was pretty excited. Having learned to ski in New Hampshire, he doesn't have the same kind of hang-ups I do. (Although, once a few years ago my family took him skiing for his birthday to Sundance and Alta, and he then began to appreciate the snobbery.)
There was no way I was missing out completely on this momentous event in my son's life, so Mary and I tagged along to take a few pictures. We passed a lot of cows on the way to Tyrol Basin. That was kind of weird. And there certainly wasn't that thin mountain air feeling once we got out of the car. I think we gained about 18 inches of elevation. But I reminded myself of the 5 items on the above list.
First was the ski rental ritual. I think the ski rental buildings smell the same no matter which side of Denver you're on.
David with his skis.
For some reason, I think the above picture is so precious. David, with his skis cradled carefully in his arms. Oh, my heart is melting.
What a big boy I have. So big he can carry his own skis.
One of the best parts of my little visit up (more like over) to Tyrol Basin was Mary. She knew she wasn't skiing (maybe next year, when she's old enough for lessons) and she was a good sport about that fact, but she insisted on being very involved in David's first time skiing.
Mary deemed it essential to dress for the occasion, even though she herself wasn't skiing. So she wore her snow pants. And she didn't miss a beat of the ski rental process. Then, once David had his skis on, Mary was quick to grab his hand to keep him from falling. Look at this sweet picture:
It was a momentous and very happy morning for our family.
Did you notice in the above picture that Mary was still dutifully holding David's hand?
Then Mary pushed David up the hill.
She is a very helpful little girl.
I made Greg hang around with us while we waited for David's lesson to begin. I know he was anxious to hit the slopes--he only had one hour during which he would be unencumbered by a five-year-old. But, to me, our first born's first ski lesson was a special occasion, and we should ALL be there to celebrate it. As always, Greg was a good sport.
At last, it was time for David's lesson to begin. Greg sprinted for the lifts. And I helicoptered around for a few minutes until I could sense the ski instructor was like "Get the heck outta here, lady! You think I haven't done this before even though I look fifteen?" So I skulked away.
But not before spying on the class for a few more minutes.
Later, I asked Greg how many runs he got in during that hour. Fifteen. FIFTEEN! In less than an hour. What were they? Twelve feet long?? I guess that's what happens when you downhill ski where there is basically NO DOWNHILL. And now I will end this paragraph on account of "If you don't have anything nice to say....."
But I will say that I have a lucky husband whose wife is, on rare occasions, able to swallow her pride and snobbery. (Doesn't that make him a lucky husband?)
And I have a lucky son.....
of whom I am very proud.
We're already planning our next visits OVER (not up--18 inches doesn't count) to Tyrol Basin. Dairy cows and all.
