We recently went skiing as a family. My husband and kids have been a handful of times, usually in New Zealand in the summer (but winter downunder) holidays. However, it was my first time in twenty years with only a handful of times before that under my belt.
So, it was with a bit (a lot) of trepidation that I hit the slopes with my brother and sister in-law on the afternoon of our arrival (their younger kids were super excited to show off their (superior) skills to their older cousins!).
In the melee of the chairlifts, I ended up on my own, with ample opportunity heading up the mountain to give myself a talking to… Show no fear and all that.
Luckily, the dismount from the chairlift went smoothly so it was a good start!
However, I was re-thinking that a wee while later when I watched my daughter’s ski pole disappear off the side of the mountain, and the boys skiing on unaware. My sister-in-law was on hand to literally talk my daughter back from the edge, and scoop up the pole. While I am usually pretty comfy with my very average height for a woman, I admit to some relief that she is indeed a few inches taller (and a much more proficient skier than I am!).
Thankfully, lessons for the week sorted us out and we managed to complete all the colours, although I freely admit to not needing to do another black any time soon.
As the kids are now hitting teenage years, it was perhaps the first time that we’ve had a holiday that we’ve all been able to participate in and have fun fairly equally.
The fact that there were four different views to factor into plans remained standard…
Maybe it won’t take another 20 to strap on skis again…
Tough Mother 