A Day at the Mountain
So you want to start a family? I’ll make you a deal. Survive 7 hours (1) skiing with young kids and I will personally vouch that you are prepared to be a Mom or Dad.
It was 2008. We chose Mt. Hood Ski Bowl. We had rented a condo with another family and when the day began we were just a 5-minute drive to the first lift. Fresh tracks awaited! Any skier will tell you that the first hour preparing to ski is daunting. This is true for adults. This is true for beginners. It’s even true for the double-black diamond crowd. It’s simply a big pain in the ass to wake up early, gather and organize all your stuff, and then put on the damn ski gear and drive to the mountain. Preparing young kids for a day of skiing is roughly 700% more difficult.
It’s 7 am and here’s your task list.
1) Wake the monsters up from a deep sleep an hour+ earlier than normal.
2) Feed them something…anything… to get their motors running.
3) Gather all of their clothes and ski gear into one central location.
4) Breathe.
5) Find the kids, any will do ** and gather them in the same place as the gear.
6) Breathe.
7) Help them put on all of their crap while they actively fight you. There are very few joys in life like putting ski boots on a 7-year-old.
8) Get all of the skis, poles, gear, AND kids now with ski boots on into the car.
9) Breathe.
10) Drive to a place where you are about to spend an obscene amount of money.
** Any kid will do. It doesn’t have to be yours! Just grab the closest one and put on their damn boots! It’s all about advancing the common cause. If Johnny and Susie are ready to roll but their friend Mitchell is sitting on the couch still in long-johns you have a problem. It is likely Mitchell’s parents are still upstairs having coffee.
On this morning, we find a lucky parking space, just steps from the entrance. The first run of the day is within reach. But first, there is more work. Dad is the go-to guy and professional hauler of all the skis and poles. Mom gets the unique delight of walking the youngsters over ice and snow in their boots into the lodge. It takes a strong and coordinated effort from both Mom and Dad to have any chance of pulling off a successful ski day. On this day all systems say go and Team Friel is ready to ski. But wait…we have a problem.
Daughter: “Daddy I don’t have my gloves.”
Daddy: “Are you sure sweetie?” Translation: YOU BETTER HAVE YOUR GLOVES!
Daughter: “Yes, I don’t have them anywhere.”
Husband casually to wife: “Honey where are K’s gloves?
Wife: “I’m not sure, I thought YOU had them?”
Husband: “No not me. I was the one that just finished a 27-minute cage fighting match with our 9-year-old son getting his pants and boots on.”
Wife: “Maybe we left them at the condo”?
Husband: “We? Great, why don’t I get you guys all settled and then drive back and look for them.”
Wife: Silence. She begins to walk away. Translation “You certainly didn’t think I was going to back did you?”
I hop back in the car as my blood pressure surges. Back at the condo, K’s gloves sit patiently in plain sight on the bench. The same bench we had just spent the last hour on. Dad returns to the parking lot, roughly 11 minutes later and finds a new space, roughly 4 football fields from the entrance.
Skiing is not a cheap endeavor either. I had repeatedly instructed my daughter that if anyone asked she was 6 years old and not her true age of 7. Dad was seeking an immediate $24 savings on lift tickets. Right on cue as we are at the window, my daughter blurts out “Daddy why do you want me to be 6 when I am really 7?” Thankfully, nobody heard her. Dad’s theft from the ski gods was complete.
Fast forward 22 minutes after yet another potty break, which involves the removal of 62% of their clothing and we are ready to ski. The kids were fed and clothed, the lost gloves retrieved and the skis were finally on. Dad was psyched to make some turns. And then it happened. Mt. Vesuvius erupted. I stood 10 feet from the lift as my daughter shared a demand.
Daughter: “Daddy, I don’t want to go skiing.”
Daddy: “Sure you do honey, that’s why we are all here. It will be so much fun.”
Daughter: “No, it’s cold and I’m tired. I don’t want to go. Take me back to the condo.”
Daddy: “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Of course, uttered silently under my breath.
And then in a matter of seconds, Dad explodes. I kindly tell my daughter that she will get on the lift that is now 5 feet away, adding “You will put on a happy face while doing so.” My little turtle bug immediately erupts into tears and starts balling. Luckily, I had lighter fuel in my jacket. I quickly ignite the entire situation by raising my voice. Soon my wife is telling me to shut up, while others begin to look on. Dad is in a state of shock and disbelief. It’s been well over 2 hours since we woke up and just seconds from the pay-off. But we have been grounded, including our friends. Imagine the pilot on approach saying “Folks the tower just called and they have put us in a holding pattern. Evidently, there is a 6-year-old girl loose on the runway. We will get back to you when we have an update.” 17 agonizing minutes later.“Well, folks, it turn’s out she’s 7. They have grabbed her safely and we have been cleared for landing.”
About 3 minutes after the volcano erupted, I wisely bail on the entire situation. I jump on the lift solo leaving behind a balling daughter and angry wife. The lift offers solace but I am far from being at peace. I ski a few runs solo and my blood pressure returns to hypertension.
Somehow the Universe intervenes and within an hour, Dad is skiing alone with said daughter, son and their 2 friends. The other adults were off on their own having escaped Pompeii. After 3-4 runs with the kids, it’s time for a break and we head to the lodge. Happiness reigns. Everybody is smiling. Soon the hot chocolates arrive along with Dad’s hard-earned IPA. It’s now 11:47 AM. It’s still early and there's plenty of time for more skiing. But as any ski parent knows, once young children ski a few runs without incident, a return to the lodge is imminent. And when they take off their jacket and loosen their boots the day has officially ended. The kids will not make another turn.
I’m hereby proposing a new national law. If you want to have children you must first take a 7 and 9-year-old skiing for a full day. If after 7 hours on the mountain you still want to procreate then, by all means, go for it. Taking small children to a cold and unforgiving mountain is a mind-numbing challenge of courage, bravery, and patience. It’s one of the dumbest and most expensive things a parent can ever do.
Yet, that’s what many of us choose (2). We move mountains for our children. We chase adventure. We exhaust all manner of resources to bring excitement and joy to our little people. That day remains one of the best ski days I have ever had.
(1) 7 hours? Haha. That’s funny. If you can keep young kids on the mountain for 3 hours you are my hero. 7 hours is a fantasy.
(2) My wife and I never thought twice. We have always enjoyed skiing since before we were married. The adrenaline rush that comes from skiing cruisers on a bluebird day is amazing. Why wouldn’t we want to share this passion with our ankle-biters?
Later that same evening, my 9-year-old son and his best buddy somehow lost the sled we had borrowed from the condo. Add $100 to the day.