We had a weekend at the snow last weekend. It was a real mixed bag.
Such a lot of organising and packing, and a fair drive to get there too, so we left work at lunchtime and picked the girls up early on Friday.
They were excited. They were kept occupied by lollies in the car and colouring in books on the way down. We stopped to hire ski gear for the girls and I, and car chains due to the weather forecast which wasn’t great – rain and very windy. The last time we stayed at the ski lodge was in April and we were the only occupants apart from the manager, so it was an adjustment to the girls that it was half full this time. I like the narrow corridors and three levels of stairs, the cozy self-catering kitchen and the large fire in the main living area. And the nooks and crannies, like the games room downstairs that the girls also enjoyed exploring.
We chatted to a couple of farmers and their 10-month-old baby and some other residents in the self-catering kitchen while we prepared dinner: very kid-friendly heated up spaghetti bolognaise. The girls were tired and over-excited so it was hard work getting them to sleep. Then in the middle of the night Rhea work up wanting to transfer to the bottom bunk and Lara woke up and had a meltdown about something neither Steve nor I can any longer recall. It also rained during the night. I wasn’t that refreshed in the morning.
The usually difficult morning dressing routine was exacerbated by the girls’ frustration at having to wear so many layers of clothing and sunburn. ‘Oh sleeve why are you so tight?,’ Rhea moaned – she doesn’t usually like long singlets and we had made her wear one for the warmth. ‘No. I don’t like sunburn cream it feels yucky!’ cried Lara, lying on the floor and writhing around. They had two tantrums each.
Eventually we got out the door and had a fun time skiing. The girls were delighted to get back in to skis again after last year’s weekend, and they loved the chairlift rides. It was so still and peaceful looking down on the white snow, dotted with snow gums below a clear blue sky, no rain in sight. We ate a greasy fried lunch at the café before dropping the girls off at their three-hour ($114 each) group ski lesson. They clung to us like limpets and Lara cried.
We slunk out guiltily. But Steve and I had a nice time together on the intermediate slopes, me a little wobbly. And then we went back to catch the end of the girls’ lesson and see how they were getting on, finding their exuberant Spanish instructor weaving down the hill backwards and forwards with six small children following haltingly behind her while she flapped her arms like a bird and wobbled her bottom for their entertainment. She said they had all done great work and could graduate to the next level up the next day. Their ‘pizzas’ (snow ploughs) learnt last year were comfortably consolidated.
The girls wanted to keep skiing with us after the lesson so we had a few runs which were fun. Then we took the shuttle bus back to our ski lodge and waddled out of the bus in our ski boots close to 5pm. The lodge is about 100m to the right up the hill from the bus stop we alighted at – to the left 100m away is a lovely little bar. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a drink! But the girls were tired and quite whingey. Would they like a hot chocolate, or to go back to the lodge? They would like one. We left our skis leaning against a snow gum and trudged to the left, Steve carrying Rhea who couldn’t walk that far, but I insisted on Lara walking.
We ordered a tall beer, lemon, lime and bitters and one hot chocolate in two cups for the girls and sat back on the couches. The bar was filling up and there was live music playing: mellow guitar cover tunes. A few people sat on the couches near us and one of the women asked the girls if they had had a good time skiing that day. They stared back without answering. ‘No I wouldn’t talk to her either,’ her companion said. Lara sat on Steve’s knee while he drank his beer, her eyes closing and struggling to open again as she nodded off. Meanwhile Rhea was lying on the floor whingeing and asking when her drink was coming. ‘The girls are awake,’ said one of the women after the hot chocolates arrived and Rhea and Lara sprang into action to eat the marshmallows and drink from the glasses. They were quiet for a few minutes, then it was time to leave.
I agreed to carry Rhea on my shoulders (‘necky! necky!’ in Lara’s terminology) because it seemed like the only way of getting her back to the lodge, and Steve similarly agreed to take Lara on his shoulders but only up to where our skis were, then she’d have to walk the rest of the way. When I arrived at our ski stash I kept going with Rhea on my shoulders, picking up mine and Rhea’s skis, my ski poles, and Rhea’s helmet and gloves and then continuing up the hill. It seemed easier than dealing with a completely spent, whining five year old.
Home-made pizza for dinner on Saturday night, another early night for us and middle-of-the-night crying because something wasn’t as it should be. ‘Please please can you stop making all this noise’ begged Steve. ‘We can’t come here again if you make all this noise.’ Not a persuasive argument to a pre-schooler having a midnight tantrum. I was beginning to appreciate why the ski club quarantined under 6s to so late in the season. Maybe that meant that they know something we don’t, and behaviour improves by the age of 6? Also it poured with rain during the night, but there were clear blue skies again in the morning, and the snow was still there.
We had the same dressing issues on Sunday morning, only three tantrums between them this time, and we had to clear out the room and fridge as well. The girls were adamant that they wanted to ski with us on Sunday rather than having a lesson. It would save us nearly $250 so I didn’t insist, and we did have a lovely time skiing together, sometimes all sharing a chairlift, sometimes having one-on-one time with one child. The crowds thinned out before lunchtime so we had time for a few rides, but by 11.30 Lara had had enough and wanted to have lunch. During lunch she lay under the table, and after lunch she said she wanted to go home. She had a sore ear.
Dosed up with panadol, she slept for two-and-a-half hours in the car while I slept too, then finished reading Richard Flanagan’s beautifully written but dispiriting The Narrow Road to the Deep North. Meanwhile Rhea was racing with Steve down the hill, also wanting to ski down without stopping or falling over, which she apparently achieved several times. They finished up just before it started to rain, and I rewarded them both with a sweet treat and a colouring in book for the drive home.
No ear infection yet for Lara, despite a few complaints of pain which we have treated with nurofen or panadol. But a week on, she has just developed conjunctivitis.
We spent $1,600 on two days and nights at the snow, the same as a week’s holiday at the coast in July. Was it worth it? I’m not sure. Some parts were brilliant, some were tortuous. A magnification of much of our family time, these days.
