We were all rushing around in our urgency to be on the first chair. We’re a 45 minute drive to the ski hill, so that means getting out the door by 7.30, which allows us to get coveted “rockstar” parking, maybe enjoy an Americano from Freshies and then mosey on over to the lift for first chair.
Yeah, we’re SKEENERS. (SKI KEENERS)…
All the while, I am in the kitchen prepping snacks and thermoses of hot chocolate and I pause to lecture my kids, who both seem to be at ease with taking their sweet time to do things in the morning. “Hey, you are all each responsible for your own gear. I’m pretty damn tired of double-checking to see if you have your mittens and goggles and poles. From now on, you get your own crap together, and I am not going to say this again! You get to the hill and don’t have your stuff, well it will suck big time!”
We all pile in the truck, excited about a day on the slopes. We chatter and laugh and reminisce about epic ski days of yore. Lo and behold, we arrive at Whitewater and get a spot in the FIRST ROW! Yeah! No exhausted 1/2 kilometer hike at the end of the day to our truck, lugging all of our gear.
The tail gate is dropped and I start handing out skis and poles.
And then I ask:
“Hey! Where are my boots?”
Everyone looks at me, and I humbly realize they’re sitting on the shelf in the garage back in Balfour.
Yup. Lesson well-learned.