she ain't heavy, she's your mama

Two nights ago, Jr came upstairs and asked if we'd like to go see the Californians. He's out of school tomorrow, so he thought we could leave yesterday afternoon at 2:00 when he got done with work. Then we could go to the beach and then drive back home.

I was in. All in.

Jack pointed out that if we left at 2:00, we'd arrive at 4:00 (a.m.) on Sunday, then we'd drive an hour to the beach, an hour back, then drive another 14 hours home. And then go back to school and work.

I suppose the 32 hours of driving in 72 hours of time wasn't really going to be much of a vacation, even though it would have included the Californians. And the beach.

This morning, Jr proposed we go skiing instead. I think it's been five years, maybe more since I've been skiing. It was kind of like riding a bike--scary at first, then it all seemed to come back to me.

And there was the part where he found my ski gear, loaned me a pair of his ski pants, helped me put on my boots so I could wear them around the house for a few hours to get used to them again, drove us safely to Alta, helped me find my way to the ticket office, waited the ten minutes it took me to get from the ticket office to the lift (which should take about 20 seconds), helped me get off the lift, waited waited waited for me as I remembered how to snowplow, and countless times, offered his pole to drag me along when I was going too slow and would have probably gone backwards and, you know, fallen down, where he would have helped me back to my feet without laughing or mocking.

Somehow, I'd forgotten how great it feels to move outside in this beautiful snowy place with this amazing kid I live with. We've got to do this again.