NSJ

I’m a ski snob. There, I said it. A complete and total snob. This began at an early age. While I learned to ski on Michigan hills, I very quickly realized the glaciers had left us geographically challenged when it came to skiing. On the way home from our first ski trip to Colorado, I turned to my dad and precociously said, “How about we skip all the trips to MI ski areas and just go to CO once a year?” So I had always just assumed Niko’s first ski trip would be a Sladden/Richau affair and involve Vail or the equivalent. Jul recently pointed out that while this sounded like a great idea, perhaps we didn’t need to *wait* until we take a trip west. Chances are his first runs aren’t going to be tree skiing on the back bowls of Vail. Point Julie. So I left my snobbery at home and we took a quick trip to Mount Southington for his first ski lesson. There is something desperately adorable about bundling up a kid to go skiing. The necessary bulk added to keep them warm is so disproportionate to their size they end up looking and moving like a astronauts. My favorite part was the, “You are kidding right?” look on his face when we put him in his ski boots for the first time. (That’s right son, until you can afford to buy your own snowboard equipment, you are stuck in skis.) Overall the trip was a success. There were no bodily injuries and he didn’t end up hating skiing or me (both dangers of a first ski trip). The instructor was great and he had the two of us skiing together in no time, hula hoop and all.  He did cry all the way down our final run, which ended up being a good time to stop for both of us. My thighs couldn’t have handled one more ten minute “deep squat” on the slowest rope tow of all time.

[flickrvideo]http://www.flickr.com/photos/happyinwater/4281845754/[/flickrvideo]

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