One of my greatest joys in life is snowboarding. So, imagine my excitement when my two oldest kids turned eight and nine, I was no longer pregnant, and we had a bit of extra cash for a family ski trip. It felt like the stars had aligned.
In a big family with a wide age range, finding something everyone enjoys is a bit like trying to conduct an orchestra where everyone is playing a different song. My daughter despises sports and the outdoors, yet somehow she loves snowboarding. My husband, who usually avoids outdoor activities like they’re a bad rash, also loves skiing. Probably because there are no mosquitos.
Thus, skiing and snowboarding became our family’s new thing. Except, snowboarding with five kids is a logistical nightmare. There’s the snowsuits, jackets, helmets, goggles, boots, snowboards, and gloves. Just when you’ve got everyone bundled up like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, someone always has to pee. ALWAYS.
And teaching kids to snowboard? A total pain. They fall, whine about being hungry, cry because they’re cold, and let's not even discuss the ordeal of getting on and off the lift. Still, we pressed on, hoping it would get easier as they got older.
By the time our youngest turned four, we decided it was time for him to hit the slopes. Starting him younger than the others seemed easier than figuring out how to occupy him while the rest of us skied. Given his defiant streak, I knew teaching him would be no picnic. Plus, we were still wrangling the other four down the mountain like a herd of mountain goats on roller skates. So, we signed him up for snowboarding lessons.
On a bright winter day, I picked him up after his first class. The instructor said he did great. But as we walked away, his face fell. “I hate ski school. I’m never going back.”
“Why? Your teacher said you did great.”
“Because I peed.”
“You what?” My stomach dropped. He’d been on-again, off-again with potty training, but no accidents in over a month. “You peed your pants?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell the teacher you had to go?”
He shrugged.
“Wasn’t it cold and gross?”
He grinned. “No. It was warm and cozy.”
I groaned. Of course, he’d think that.
Fast forward to last weekend’s ski trip. My youngest is now twelve. I don’t have to help anyone get ready. No gloves to put on, no boots to tie, no gear to carry. Everyone handles their own bathroom needs.
Four out of five kids have outgrown me in height and they’ve all outgrown me in skill. The only one still complaining? Me. Now I’m the one lagging behind, legs burning, whining, “Can we stop for a snack? I need the bathroom.”
I still love snowboarding, but what brings me even greater joy is watching my kids zoom down the mountain, catch air off jumps, and turn back to yell, “Mom, did you see that?”
That’s where the magic is.