The Weekly Fare . . . January 27, 2005
Skiing With Small Children
Skiing with small children is not for the faint of heart . . . Nor is it for the faint of wallet . . .
Skiing with small children is for the faint of brain.
This week MY WIFE DECIDED that since we were taking the whole family skiing next weekend that we should "tune-up" our two youngest children (Rob and Jane, ages 5 and 7 respectively) on a day trip to the Homestead in Hot Springs. These two budding young "down-hillers" had the day off on Monday while their older siblings (who attend a different school) wouldn't be home until 5:00 P.M.
When we arrived at the playground of the not quite rich and famous, the temperature was 18 degrees. The sky was gray and cloudy and the wind was blowing perhaps 10 miles per hour - perfect conditions, for penguins, teenage snowboarders and parents without a clue.
After catching the shuttle bus to the top of the mountain we immediately checked in for our summary financial beating. Lift tickets: $35.00 a piece. Equipment rental: $30.00 a piece. Feeling like a first time investor on Black Friday: Priceless. After some finagling, I managed to talk the course young woman behind the counter into a "half-day" arrangement and we got out for $195.00 and some change - about the amount I paid for my first car.
We then proceeded to the equipment window. While there I noted to the friendly attendant that the skis he had handed us appeared to be in excellent condition. "Yes," he replied, "due to all the warm weather in early January we had time to re-wax them - they really are in top shape."
"Great," I replied. It was a response I would soon regret.
We then wrestled Jane and Rob into snow-bibs, mittens, socks, boots, scarves, helmets and coats and proceeded onto the slope. That's a twenty two word sentence that represents no less than thirty minutes of cardiovascular effort and a mind numbing amount of patience. It doesn't matter how cute they are - three minutes to put on a glove is simply too long. But now that we were all suited up and ready to go I was sure it would be worth it. I snapped Rob into his skis and then stepped into my own. Further down the slope the wife began to do the same with Jane.
"Since Rob will need more practice, why don't I take him and you take Jane," I yelled. I have a bit more experience, so it made sense on paper. But what I really needed with Rob was a strong back, a shot of hot buttered rum and an anti-gravity machine. I had none of the above. What I did have, was an able and willing student who, I was about to discover, was standing on the freshest pair of waxed skis in the country.
Rob has skied a couple of times before, but when he made his first move he went down in a clatter of gear like a new born fawn in a heap. His legs were twisted and bent in angles that would have sent me to the hospital. I made my first skating motion toward him and almost did the same. My arms and legs flailed wildly, but I managed to recover. The freshly waxed skis and fine white snow had created perfect conditions for an Olympic downhill - but not so perfect for training five year olds. Jane and the wife laughed until they cried.
"They'll soon get theirs," I thought.
Ten minutes later I was still struggling to get Rob to the rope tow. We had both collapsed together at the entrance to it and now a young women with a little girl smaller than Rob (the beneficiaries of more time on the slope that day I'm sure) kept passing by us with encouraging words like, "I'm sure you'll get it soon . . ." and the classic, "It just takes a little time . . ." I'm certain their comments were sincerely offered, but I think I would have tripped them both if they had been in reach.
I hadn't seen our skiing partners in some time and began to wonder if they were O.K. As it turned out Jane had begun to fell froggy after several successful runs down the intermediate slopes and had asked her Mom if they could go to the top of the mountain. In a moment of weakness that lasted only as long as it took them to pass the midway station, she had agreed. They soon learned what all beginners do eventually - that judging the suitability of a slope from a chair lift on the way up is not sound policy. For the next thirty minutes they slipped and slid and tumbled down the expert portion of the slope like socks in a dryer. Jane would later say that, "she was really worried about mom for a while . . ." Fortunately the only injuries suffered were bruised posteriors and egos.
Eventually, Rob did get the hang of the bunny slope and we were off to the chair lift as well. This was, of course, as entertaining for him as skiing. Every pickup and drop off was an adventure and Rob especially liked peering down over the edge of his seat after we raised the safety bar while preparing to disembark. The journey down the mountain was even more nerve wracking as I struggled to keep in position so that I could intercept him if he lost control in the direction of the surrounding woods. He was getting better with each run, but I probably picked him up no less than 4000 times.
By the time we met Jane and the wife for lunch I needed traction of the medical variety.
"Gee, you look a little worn out," she said.
"I'm fine!" I responded with a smile so cheerful that my sincerity had to be questioned. I then happily paid $21.50 for three hot dogs, a piece of pizza, one bag of chips and a Gatorade.
I know the day will come when I cherish these memories, but for now I plan on recovering some of what I spent by placing a bet on the Eagles to finally win the Super Bowl . . .
Because last Monday, Hell looked pretty frozen to me.