The Snow Trip
When you live in a cold weather climate, you are miserable in the winter – at least I am. One way to overcome it is to convince yourself there are fun things in the winter. There aren’t. We’re just waiting for it to end. But we try.
Which brings me to skiing. I tackle this in my book: “Is there a more dangerous activity on Earth? Every time there’s a big storm, stores run out of salt because everyone is obsessed with avoiding ice; my grandmother hasn’t taken a single step outside in a February since 1986 in case it might snow. But here, you’re intentionally going downhill on ice. And they attach two things to your feet to make you go as fast as a car. I would rather lick the floor in the Port Authority bathroom than become a regular skier.”
Sonny Bono, Natasha Richardson, Michael Kennedy; I mean, for God’s sake, Michael Schumacher raced cars for a living and was fine. Then he went skiing and got critically injured.
Not to mention how expensive and time consuming it is, and how it must look to aliens. It’s basically the golf of winter.1 <——-click on these boxes for my terrible jokes.
But hypocrisy is my middle name, so when February hit and we started to see photos of everyone on social media from the top of mountains, I turned to Lauren and the kids:
“Do you guys want to go skiing this weekend?”
“But we don’t ski, Brett.”
“So, we’ll learn.”
“But you complain whenever you’re outside for more than thirty seconds.”
“We’ll dress warm.”
“But you make fun of everyone who skis.”
“That’ll stay the same.”
“This is a terrible idea, Brett.”
“I know, let’s pack.”
Car ride – early Saturday morning
Highlights:
- I told our six-year-old daughter, Liz that unicorns weren’t real when she freaked out upon realizing she forgot to pack her unicorn stuffed animal. I feel like it was a good stepping stone to the eventual Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy devastating revelations.
- We stopped to give both kids their antibiotics because it’s the winter and they’re sick for 90 percent of it. It’s that gross pink liquid they somehow haven’t improved in the 30 years since I was a kid. The kids hate it, so we call it something else, like a vitamin. This still fools our four-year-old son Matt, but with Liz we have to pull out the big guns, which is horrific parenting, and something I don’t plan to change anytime soon. We tell her she’s going to need a shot if she doesn’t take her medicine. She’s even more scared of shots than needles (which, for some reason, are separate things if you’re less than eight-years-old).
- As we drove into the mountains, conditions and visibility worsened. My kids decided it was a good time to have a disruptive argument about who should be allowed to have the pink Starburst.
Shawnee Mountain ski area
“Are we a skiing family or a snowboarding family?” Lauren asks.
“Can we be a snow angel family?”
Actually, we’re a snowtubing family. I have no intention of actually skiing. Matt is definitely not ready. Liz might be ready, but she’s far more concerned with how her snowsuit is going to look than any actual activity.
We pull into the parking lot. A man greets us.
“We’re here for snowtubing.”
“It’s sold out for the day, sir.”
“I called and they said there would definitely be room.” (this is actually the truth)
“It’s first come, first serve.”
“It’s 10:30 in the morning.”
“People start arriving at 7.”
“Sir, do you know how long it takes to brush two children’s teeth?”
Every time something like this happens, I think back to the movie, Vacation, where the Griswold’s show up to Wally World and it’s closed. Then I remember that Chevy Chase is an asshole in the movie and in real life, and I decide against holding the place hostage.
I reach into my bag of tricks:
“Actually sir, we just drove up four hours from the Atlantic City area.” (we have NJ plates, so that’s the furthest believable place). “We’ll wait around all day. We planned this vacation 3 months ago.” I go in for the kill: I roll down the back window. Now normally when an adult speaks to Liz, she gets shy and hides behind my leg.2 But because she’s locked into a car seat with nowhere to hide, she goes to her second option, which is to make a really sad face at the man.
“Pull over there to park, sir. We’ll fit you in later in the day.” And that is why I will always be a lawyer at heart.
Ticket window
We reserve our spot. With half the day to kill until our snowtubing flight, we leave for a local ice-skating place. I have a similar opinion of ice skating – Here’s thin blades. Now go fast on a rock-hard slippery surface. But we’ve taken Liz a few times and she loves it. As for me:
Keep trying until you succeed. Unless you’re as bad as I am at ice skating. Then quit immediately.
Lodge
We return from ice skating and have lunch. I search for hot chocolate. Eighty percent of the reason for this trip is hot chocolate. Matt is on board. Liz isn’t interested.3
As I sip hot chocolate with my son, we look around at the hundreds of people. Did you ever go somewhere and say to yourself, What are all these people doing here? Why are they here? What is wrong with them? Except you’re there too.
The kids decide they want go on a ski lift. Before I have a chance to say “No”, Lauren starts walking with them.
Lauren is great at doing two things at once: getting the kids hopes up, and putting us in awkward situations. Everyone else is on skis. We’re not. They have to stop the lift to tell us we can’t get on, that no one returns on the lift and we would have to find a way down the mountain without skis. I’m confident that Matt could fall his way down the mountain, but needless to say, we move on.
Time to get ready
I am also not a fan of all the clothing and equipment required. The beach is much easier. You go almost naked and you’re set.
Matt was happy with hot chocolate, but now that it’s done, he’s not enjoying the frigid air.
So we put on snowsuits, two hats and scarves. We buy Matt new snow boots because the other ones were too small, and a new pair of gloves since his gloves got wet. Total cost – $87,000.
Somehow, even though we had a six hour wait, we are now in a rush.
“Matt, let’s go pee.”
“No.”
“You haven’t peed all day. Once we go up the mountain, there’s no bathroom.”
“I don’t have to go.” I wish I got as much pleasure at anything as my son gets from holding in his pee.
Snowtubing
An escalator thing takes us to the top of the mountain. It’s getting dark out. It’s getting colder. It’s starting to snow.
Trip 1: In double tubes, I go with Liz, Lauren with Matt. We fly down the mountain, and are only restricted by carpets which slow us down. Fun ride, fun enough that I stop making fun of what we’re doing for two minutes.
In between trips: “I have to make pee,” Matt says. Kids are the best, aren’t they? So gratifying… oh, and now there’s a section of Shawnee Mountain with fake yellow snow.
Trip 2: I go with Liz again and we fly down a steeper hill. Amazing run!
In between trips: I fall and land on my hip. Tomorrow I’ll be eating dinner at 4:30.4
Trip 3: The kids are brave enough to go alone, prompting me to immediately call for a paternity test.
Trips 4 and 5 are great. Trip 6:
What a rush!
I hate people who are in such a hurry to get to summer. Enjoy the snow, seeing your breath, and just the beauty of your surroundings. I freaking love the winter! It’s definitely my favorite season.
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So I just released a book. Michelle Obama is quaking in her snow boots. If you read it already (or when you finish), it would mean a lot if you would write a brief review on Amazon. Post under a different name, use a porn name; I don’t care. As for the rating you leave, I want an honest assessment (or a dishonest one, whatever it takes to get you to 5 stars). Click the Amazon button below and scroll down to “Write A Customer Review.”
If you didn’t read it: Click the Amazon button, order the book, and make MacKenzie Bezos richer.
