Living in a ski town means enrolling your kids in ski school by 3-years old at the latest, waiting any longer would be considered child abuse in these parts. So I signed Jackson up for the Sunday 6-week beginners program this winter. Due to a recent knee surgery my husband didn't get a ski pass this year, which meant 6 glorious Sunday's that I got to drop the little guy off and spend an entire day all to myself snowboarding., a luxury I haven't been able to indulge in since his birth.
I was a little concerned when I wrote the check that first morning. Jackson isn't exactly the best listener, and skiing isn't exactly the least expensive sport. I was pretty much convinced I was throwing money down the toilet for what would end up being an extremely pricey daycare. But when I picked him up after day one I realized I was mistaken. He LOVED it! Listened fantastic and was skiing on the magic carpet all day.
The following week when I picked him up they informed me he had gone up the "skittles" lift. A short distance from the magic carpet itself this was expected and I couldn't have been more proud. Then, as I am dropping him off on day 3 I hear his instructor say, "after lunch today we're planning to go up the Fanny Hill lift." Um...excuse me. The Fanny Hill lift, although no black diamond, is still a pretty big deal. This is the real lift, with the real people, and to imagine my toddler going out into this dangerous new venture without me was petrifying. Sure, I should have taken the laid back mom attitude of, "knock em dead kiddo," but instead out came the voice of a mother I've never met before, "really, Fanny Hill, are you sure he's ready for that?" Seeing my concern the instructor said they would go only after a few runs at the bottom to make sure he was ready.
Well she wasn't the only one that was going to make sure. I raced to my car, threw on my snowboard gear, and literally sat on the side of the bottom of the mountain, stalking every kid's lesson I saw, trying to spot my little man to make sure he was ready for this big step. After nearly an hour of sitting in the cold snow he appeared. Looking like a little peanut coming down the mountain I watched as he made absolute PERFECT turns. How in the hell can a three year old do this? Convinced he was in good hands I went off to enjoy the rest of my day, bragging to all my fellow chair lift riders on my amazing skier going up the big lift on his third day. "Aren't you worried," one lady asked, to which I replied, "oh of course not, he'll never learn if he doesn't try."