by Linda Saye

Created on: March 09, 2009

Growing up in the South is a joy in almost all ways except one - there are no decent opportunities for sports that involve snow, mountains, and things that make you go downhill - fast! As an avid skier, I have made the pilgrimage out west at least once every year for the last 20, where I am assured of clearing my head of troublesome thoughts by swishing down the slopes!

For many years I have watched the little ones following their ski instructor down the hill in a long line that looks like baby ducklings following their mama. And, for many years I have laughed every time I hear the instructors loudly - and sometimes urgently - calling out "Make pizza! Now, make French Fries!" which are code words for snow plowing; or not. So, it was with great anticipation that I waited for the year that I could bring my child out west with me, so that he, too, could enjoy the cool, fresh breeze in his face while snow plowing slowly down a hill. Mind you, I anticipated this even before I was married, and, when I finally got married and had a little boy, I knew it wouldn't be long before we could take the family ski vacation!

Finally the day came when our son was FOUR, and I thought that he was surely now old enough to make this great journey. I bought him all the gear: ski pants, jacket, gloves, hat, scarf, and goggles - over $200 worth - because I wanted him to "look cool". And, thus, we launched out on our adventure with visions of tired, but happy, skiers sipping hot chocolate by the fire after a day filled with downhill fun!

The first day that we hit the slopes I knew that skiing as I once knew it was now a thing of the past! It took a good 55 minutes to get all of my son's gear on, only to watch him strip it all off in record time at the bottom of the bunny hill, while screaming "I'm hot!" Once clothed again, he was to join the other kids his age for lessons with an instructor. The only problem was that we had to somehow get him from the bottom of the hill to the top where everyone was to meet. We thought he would be able to commandeer the tow rope up the hill, but, that turned out to be wrong, as we watched him completely wipe out four other children in one fell swoop! But, my heart just melted as my little boy jumped up - after untangling himself - waved at me, and gleefully shouted "Hi, Mommy!"

So, it seems that our first family ski vacation turned out to be nothing like I had imagined. But, we certainly did get our fill of memories for the scrapbook, and I learned that skiing with a four year old can be quite different, yet still inspirational, indeed! I'm looking forward to another trip next year, especially since it seems that my son has been bitten by the ski bug after all. Just the other day he told me that "skiing is not for babies, so, it's a good thing that I'm a big boy now!"

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