Carving out the memories

This past weekend we were once again up at Blue Mountain carving up the slopes. The big guy was in lessons while the little man was in daycare. That meant there was even some mommy and daddy time. What? Time alone, together, as husband and wife, during the day? We may have entered the twilight zone. But I'm happy to stay here . . . even with the creepy music.

Although we didn't get #MaxLoco onto the hill, if we get up again this season we will have to let him hit the slopes. He is pretty darn jealous that he is the only one not up on skis. He is only 21 months old, but this sort of logic is lost on his kinetic toddler brain. Looks like I'll have to find a helmet this week. And a leash. The way that kid approaches in life in general, it's a wonder I don't have these tools already.

Another critical parental lesson learned this weekend, is leave the instruction to the professionals. I may Rockies and all), but when it comes to teaching my kids, I'm lousy. It's a combination of frustration, pain (backwards snowplow hurts like hell for the out of shape thirty-something I am), and the simple fact that my kids don't really listen to me. Truth is I can't compete with the awe inspiring much hipper, and younger, authority figure of the ski instructor. Anyway, that's what I'll continue to tell myself. Oh, and that pesky rope tow? Mastered. It helps when I'm not running him over.
be a pretty decent skier (grew up near the

Now where's that Apres Ski?