Friday, March 14, 2014
Yellow Belt
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Winter Sports
Yesterday I took Roan skiing for the first time. I hadn't been skiing in over 20 years, when I switched to snowboarding, (and it's been at least 5 years since I last went snowboarding) so it was a learning experience for both of us.
Skiing was easy. The chair lift was a bit harrowing, but overall, I remembered how to do it, and got my groove back quickly. I drove up with another mom friend and her 5 year old daughter, and we did some runs by ourselves while our kids were in a lesson. And it was absolutely thrilling. The runs were nothing special, but lets face it, we are doughy Brooklyn moms whose sole adrenaline rushes happen when our kids get hurt and we think about rushing to the ER, or when we are told by the cashier at Whole Foods how much money we just spent on groceries. When it comes to activities that don't involve our children, we are easily impressed.
Other things were not so easy. Schlepping all the ski gear for two people. Realizing that it's 50 degrees and you totally overdressed both yourself and your son, so schlepping half your gear back again to a second locker. Walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while your son learns to walk in ski boots, and whines about walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while it takes your son half an hour to "ski" slightly uphill to the lift, and refuses any help from you. Remaining calm while you put your son's gloves back on for the hundredth time. Reminding yourself not to feel superior to the crazed mother who is screaming at her son (who cannot, for the life of him, get his boot to properly latch in his ski binding), because this is, in fact, how you felt like reacting when you couldn't for the life of you get Roan's boot to latch into his ski binding, after 5 solid minutes of trying, until a little girl tapped you on the shoulder and pointed out that you'd mistaken her rental skis for Roan's rental skis.
Skiing with children requires patience and self control. By lunch time, I was exhausted. In the lodge, listening to a band perform Steve Miller Band covers, we knew that the runs without children were behind us - no more racing down the mountain and getting air off a small jump. From here on out, it would be the bunny slope, over and over again. Though there is a certain thrill in that - seeing Roan get more confident on skis, watching his obvious enjoyment. But he was tired too. Around 2 or 3pm he said, "3 more times Mommy and then let's go get a hot chocolate."
We cleaned out our lockers and returned our rental equipment in shifts. Then we drove home. As soon as we got home, Roan was chattering on and on about how he wanted to make a volcano, and first we needed to make dough to build a mountain, and it would be a white mountain with snow on it, and then the volcano would explode, and the lava would be red, and we need baking soda and vinegar and food coloring and flour and his needs were unending. I was literally cross-eyed with exhaustion at this point, I think it was dinner time, we had been gone for over 8 hours. I wanted to scream: "I took you skiing today, I carried your body weight in awkward ski equipment all over the mountain, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Instead I remained calm and said, "Daddy would love to help you make that volcano," and walked into our bedroom, shut the door and flopped face down on the bed.
Later that night, I talked to my parents about our day. With my new-found respect for what a pain in the ass it is to go skiing, I thanked them for taking me so many times.
Skiing was easy. The chair lift was a bit harrowing, but overall, I remembered how to do it, and got my groove back quickly. I drove up with another mom friend and her 5 year old daughter, and we did some runs by ourselves while our kids were in a lesson. And it was absolutely thrilling. The runs were nothing special, but lets face it, we are doughy Brooklyn moms whose sole adrenaline rushes happen when our kids get hurt and we think about rushing to the ER, or when we are told by the cashier at Whole Foods how much money we just spent on groceries. When it comes to activities that don't involve our children, we are easily impressed.
Other things were not so easy. Schlepping all the ski gear for two people. Realizing that it's 50 degrees and you totally overdressed both yourself and your son, so schlepping half your gear back again to a second locker. Walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while your son learns to walk in ski boots, and whines about walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while it takes your son half an hour to "ski" slightly uphill to the lift, and refuses any help from you. Remaining calm while you put your son's gloves back on for the hundredth time. Reminding yourself not to feel superior to the crazed mother who is screaming at her son (who cannot, for the life of him, get his boot to properly latch in his ski binding), because this is, in fact, how you felt like reacting when you couldn't for the life of you get Roan's boot to latch into his ski binding, after 5 solid minutes of trying, until a little girl tapped you on the shoulder and pointed out that you'd mistaken her rental skis for Roan's rental skis.
Skiing with children requires patience and self control. By lunch time, I was exhausted. In the lodge, listening to a band perform Steve Miller Band covers, we knew that the runs without children were behind us - no more racing down the mountain and getting air off a small jump. From here on out, it would be the bunny slope, over and over again. Though there is a certain thrill in that - seeing Roan get more confident on skis, watching his obvious enjoyment. But he was tired too. Around 2 or 3pm he said, "3 more times Mommy and then let's go get a hot chocolate."
We cleaned out our lockers and returned our rental equipment in shifts. Then we drove home. As soon as we got home, Roan was chattering on and on about how he wanted to make a volcano, and first we needed to make dough to build a mountain, and it would be a white mountain with snow on it, and then the volcano would explode, and the lava would be red, and we need baking soda and vinegar and food coloring and flour and his needs were unending. I was literally cross-eyed with exhaustion at this point, I think it was dinner time, we had been gone for over 8 hours. I wanted to scream: "I took you skiing today, I carried your body weight in awkward ski equipment all over the mountain, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Instead I remained calm and said, "Daddy would love to help you make that volcano," and walked into our bedroom, shut the door and flopped face down on the bed.
Later that night, I talked to my parents about our day. With my new-found respect for what a pain in the ass it is to go skiing, I thanked them for taking me so many times.
And here's a photo from two weeks ago, when I took Roan ice-skating for the first time, at a new rink in Prospect Park. He loved it.
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