‘It’s raining,’ called Rhea. ‘No it’s snowing,’ corrected Steve.
Last weekend we went to the snow – and it was near perfect skiing weather in a season that one veteran told me she thought was the best in twenty years. It’s an effort to get there, including the stopover to rent skis, clothes and chains for the car, and I had just developed a sore throat so I stayed in our cozy bunk room while the girls went outside under Steve’s supervision while it was snowing to make snow angels lying in the snow in their warm ski suits. We ate our dinner of spaghetti bolognaise in the kitchen’s eating area of the ski lodge we were staying in, the girls had a relaxing shower in the bathroom with its heated floor and then we all had an early night.
It was overcast and snowed a bit more the next day. We took the girls up and down one of the easiest runs until lunchtime and after the girls’ chips and burgers, my lentil burger and Steve’s hot dog lunch I went to my lesson and the girls to theirs, while Steve did some harder runs. I wanted to learn how to do parallel turns but my instructor taught our class more about balance, which was probably a good thing because after practising the balance exercises: arms like you’re carrying a tray, stand upright going into a turn, I didn’t have sore shoulders or feel tense as I usually do. The four of us all skied together after the lesson and had a convivial dinner with fellow guests of the ski lodge in the evening: the girls ate with the other kids and latched on to a fourteen-year-old girl who then looked after them while we ate our rare-cooked beef, carrots, broccoli and mash followed by chocolate cake with the adults.
So far, the tantrums were definitely down from last year. ‘Keep them on these easy runs,’ the girls’ ski instructor had told us after their lesson. ‘They’ll get too tired if you take them anywhere else.’ But the girls were keen on taking the higher and longer chairlifts and the prospect of going up and down the same easy hills all day didn’t appeal to me. ‘They’ll be fine,’ I reassured Steve. So on Sunday, under a clear, cold blue sky, amongst hoards of other thrill-seekers, up the harder run we went.
At first the girls were thrilled, and the traverse wasn’t too hard. But even the easiest runs were longer and steeper. Rhea really wasn’t enjoying it and by the end of that run was ready to be carried down. She was crying and whingeing at the prospect of having to keep skiing. Lara wasn’t crying or whingeing but she was pretty tired.
We got them down by chairlift and fuelled them up with more chips for lunch, hydrated with lots of water. Then we stuck to the easy run again for the rest of the afternoon. The girls got their energy back and were doing jumps and racing us straight down, with not a lot of turns happening to slow them down. They only had one or two falls and I only had one when I toppled over while stationary, just a bit worn out. My sore throat was much improved despite being out in the elements all day. We bribed the girls into the car for the homeward journey with lollies and screen time and off we went, our annual snow pilgrimage complete.
We’re thinking about spending the big bucks and having a whole week at the snow next year, though the good snow weather doesn’t correspond to the school holidays. Rhea and Lara are on the way to being at least competent skiiers, and hopefully next year we’ll be able to tailor our activity to their skill level to make for an even more harmonious time.
