Quick Family Ski Trip

I'm not a skier. In fact, if I ever decide to try this crazy sport again, I wish someone would lock me in the lodge with a margarita and not let me out. Yes, I've had lessons and yes, I know the basics, and no, I really don't care if I am able to make it to the bottom of a mountain intact. I've tested this particular skill more than once and have thus far ended up on the right side of fate but I think we can all agree there's no guarantee there.

I wish I was all perky and fearless, swishing snappily down slopes, waving gaily at friends, breathing in the cold winter air and singing tra-la-la all the way down ... but this is just not me. I am scared. It is not fun for me. And no matter how many times I vault myself down a mountain on wooden slats, I cannot see myself enjoying this.

That is my story and I am sticking to it ... until maybe the next time my boys want me to try it and I probably will ... Until I figure out they're doing that just to see me fall ...

We'll see.

My boys, ready to ski.

Boys and their dad heading back down the slopes.

Hanging with mom at the lodge after skiing for six or so hours.

Margarita in the lodge for mom after two wicked wipe-outs. Ouch.

Dad got a few black slope runs before it was time to go home. Win/win/win.

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