Skiing-Or how Memories Differ

           I went skiing with my family recently and my husband loved it.  We have skied in the past but just for a day trip here and there and we always put the kids into ski class.  This was the first time we went for a weekend and all tried to ski together.  In theory, it is a sport we could all do together, something that could bring us closer as the kids get bigger.  We could all ride the lifts together, swoosh down the slopes together, take a break in the lodge together and sip hot chocolate while laughing (TOGETHER).  Our cheeks rosy, hands wrapped around the cups for warmth, we would be happy. 

         It is a beautiful image and I’m sure that is what my husband pictures as he thinks back on the weekend.  It’s funny how the human brain works because I have a very different memory…

         I remember packing the car with so much stuff that I think we should’ve just dragged the entire house up I-95.  It might have been bulkier but it would’ve saved me a lot of time.  I remember driving through a terrifying storm with whiteout conditions, cars sliding into ditches, questionable directions and no cell service.  How wonderful when we finally arrived at the rental!  Oh joy! Oh wait- it was up a huge, slick hill.  It took an hour and lots of tries before we finally got the car (by going in reverse!) up the hill.  That’s okay it was an adventure!  A story the kids can tell their kids- yeah, that’s the ticket.

         Of course, the weekend we decide to ski, the weather swings from mild to arctic.  So, I also remember having to force kids with waaay too many tactile issues into the right number of layers, ski boots, balaclavas, helmets and toss them to the curb to wait in the cold for the shuttle bus to the slopes.  And that’s when it got really fun!

         There was a teensy hill at the base of the actual bunny slope that the kids were practicing on to get their ski legs. (Is that a thing? Like sea legs? It should be.)  Two kids quickly got bored and moved on to the bigger bunny slope.  I kept running up and down the little hill, legs encased in concrete boots, to carry up the third’s skis so she could try again and again.  The hill was too small.  (Really, your comforter makes bigger hills.) Before she could try turning, she was at the bottom.  Let’s just say it spiraled downward from there.  Until someone was facedown weeping in the snow.  No, it wasn’t me.  But only because there were so many people around.  If we were alone, I would surely have crumpled first.  We needed to take a break before I really snapped…

         Next, I remember having hot chocolate in the lodge with all five of us crowded around the three seats we could find.  And I remember the rosy-cheeked young strangers across the table watching as I hissed at my youngest who was throwing a fit.  My usually mild mannered child had been driven completely insane by the frustration of trying to ski, the fear we would force her onto a lift and the seams in the many articles of clothing refusing to lay right.  It was a perfect storm of childhood quirks.  Eventually, everyone settled down.  But not before the nice young couple across the table left to go get sterilized…

         Fortified by food, we headed out to try again.  Very quickly, all good feelings evaporated and it was more of the same.  Frustration, accusations, weeping.  Over skiing?!   When did giving advice become such an unforgivable trait in a parent?   In an effort to not commit a heinous crime with many witnesses, I told my daughter as calmly as I could, “Maybe you just need to figure it out by yourself.  You go up and down as much as you want.  You carry your skis.  I’ll be over here if you need me.” (So much more mature that what I really wanted to say.  That would’ve made some memory!)  

         After laying face down in the snow for five whole minutes, she got up, gathered herself and got to work.  And when dad came over, she suddenly agreed to try the actual bunny slope.  She was suddenly in a sporting mood and he couldn’t understand why I was purple.  Of course, she loved the lift and the big hill.   And, wonder of wonders, she apologized to me!  Then we all skied together on the bunny slope for the little that was left of the day.  Truthfully, that was really fun.  Someday, I may only remember that glorious hour when it was the way we had all pictured it would be.

         Eventually, I will forget my day of rage on the ski slope.  Maybe I am already repressing it because I have agreed to go again.  Hmmm, I wonder if I keep agreeing to go will I be able to build a composite day out of all the best parts of various days over the years.  That’s the day I want to remember!