Frozen Open and Snowed Out (Wine Not)

This blog is an attempt to fully understand myself and admit that I actually am a high-maintenance person. I have been in denial for about 30 years about who I truly am. I’m sorry. Please forgive my rant.
I always talk about how small our town is… I just figured out why… people don’t live here because about this time of year, it gets difficult! Very difficult!
I’ve decided Rochester, Vermont isn’t a real place. This snowy land is a snow globe on some bored child’s dresser. He shakes it at night before bed, and we citizens of this post card town wake up to lovely flakes flittering from the cloudy sky every morning. I believe it to be true. It is unreal how much snow we have as part of daily life here for MOST of the year. I’m looking out the window now. It’s coming down now AGAIN. As I watch, it’s dancing and covering my car in its daily layer of powdered sugar.
Normally doors are frozen shut and people get snowed in. Not us. It was worse this week for us… it was a tough week.
Last Saturday, we left our snowy mountain valley to go to the big city of Burlington, Vermont. Just as we drove about a mile north of our town, tiny snowflakes started to dance in the sky. “It’s just snow showers,” my husband and I reassured each other. It snows every day.
It does. We’ll be fine… ha… ha… please insert a wicked laugh here…
Snow is a four letter word. Don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty and can be fun too. But after it piles up for months, where do we put it all? How do we deal as the paths become narrower?
There are people who actually make a living removing snow around here. They shovel walks, plow driveways, and push snow off of people’s roofs. It took ten men eight hours to remove the snow from the top of the school this week. That made for a wonderful learning environment in kindergarten as the snow blower went back and forth on top of us. I wondered if it would fall on us. In hind sight, I should have hired one of those men from the roof at school to clear the roof over our deck at home. But I’ll get to that soon…
People who don’t know snow think there is only one type. This particular snow was the best snow for a snowball fight. It was just the right consistency. A person (like me for example) could grab a bunch and crush it instantly into a ball with minimal effort. It didn’t hurt to be hit by one of these snowballs. They were easy to make and even easier to throw. In fact, I hit both my kids and my husband in the head, and they laughed about it and in turn hit me in the head. Good snow! Great fun! The battle we had lasted at least twenty minutes. We were soaked and laughing by the end. Our dinner post snowball fight was warm and delicious. On the way to the restaurant, my oldest son kept hitting us with snowballs.
We of course realized last Saturday, that this wasn’t just snow showers at all; we couldn’t read the snow covered street signs. I couldn’t see to drive as the snow fell off the car roof and obstructed my view. It was a serious snowstorm. We didn’t expect that the weather was going to be so treacherous. The snow changed texture as the air changed temperature. A few hours after the snowball fight and dinner, we were driving home no faster than 35 miles per hour on Route 89 in icy conditions. We took our time.
Along the way, we actually saw “snow lightning”. It exists! I have never seen it! Have you? Its bright blue light reflected off the snow and lit up the mountains as we crawled along. It was actually lovely when it flashed. I felt honored in a way. I’ll always cling to that visual memory because it was gorgeous and dramatic. Apparently, some people live their entire lives and never see “snow lightning”. Cool, huh? Yep.
Until it changes to a different consistency again… which in Vermont can happen every ten minutes or so…
We arrived home at about midnight and our driveway hadn’t been plowed yet. The snow had certainly changed. It was now soft on the inside and crunchy on the surface. Each step we took toward the house UPHILL, our feet sunk and stuck about a foot in. The kids were disoriented because they had fallen asleep in the car and had to be led to bed. Insert sigh here…
Upon entering the house, it seemed cold, but I thought it was because we were damp from the storm.
Nope.
We had run out of oil in our furnace. Oops. Insert another sigh here…
Now, to our defense, our furnace is in the basement and the bulkhead to the basement is covered with snow. We are supposed to check the level of the oil and let the company know when it is time to come and fill it. Oops. And trust me, I just don’t think of things like that. I probably should, but there are so many other things to think about, you know? And we can heat the house with our wood-stove. And we’re not calling them to bring oil on the weekend. Too expensive! We’ll call on Monday… famous last words…
So to recap the week, we went without heat and hot water for FIVE NIGHTS AND FOUR days, my husband dealt with his second flat tire, struggled to close his car door because it was frozen OPEN, and we shoveled our way INTO the house (the snow slid off the mudroom roof onto the deck one day). Yes. Winter is bliss.
We (my husband) called on Monday to have the guys come with the Texas Tea… black Gold… oil… They couldn’t come. They were busy. They never came on Tuesday… ahhhh… we finally got our water back and our furnace primed and flushed out (or whatever) on Thursday.
And I NEED HOT WATER TO BE A GRATEFUL AND PLEASANT PERSON… can you tell? High-maintenance. Yep- that’s me.
Each day through the week, I felt grimier because I hadn’t showered… Snow is good… I chanted… snow is good. But I felt cranky…
On Tuesday, I took my class snowshoeing for the first time. Snow is good…
As the days wore on, my hair clung to itself… snow is good…
As my skin began to feel slimy, I watched the many sleds flying down the hill behind the school and kids shrieking with joy. Snow is good…
As the week wore on, I felt pretty haggard. My friend Claudia stopped her car in the parking lot and rolled down her window.
“Hey!” She smiled cheerfully.
“Hello.” I half grumbled.
“You look nice.” She said sweetly.
“What?” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled it all right there and then. I couldn’t possibly look nice! I hadn’t bathed in days.
She invited me to use her bathtub that night. “We have hot wata!” She said in her New York accent. Now she has a HUGE antique claw foot tub; I have wanted to take a bath in that thing since I first saw it a year ago at her daughter’s birthday party. Okay, I’m weird… but have you ever taken a bath in a HUGE antique claw foot tub? Has your friend Claudia ever given you a glass of white wine to sip casually as you soaked in her HUGE antique claw foot tub? Winter is bliss…
Try it sometime. Especially after you haven’t felt hot water against your skin for days… snow is good… hot water is good… my glass of wine was half-full and life suddenly got better as it emptied.
See, as I sat there in the hot water at Claudia’s house and reflected on my week, I realized something. We adults forget how fun snow can be because we have to work so hard to maintain things. We have to shovel it and move it off bulk-heads and scrape it from our car windows. We have to scrape it from roofs or snow will collapse on pathways and break the roof rake (yep), and give chickens warm water every morning. We have to stack the firewood in preparation and stoke the fire to warm our Vermont homes. We have to drive slowly and carefully. I realized that my body was probably aching a little bit. No wonder I was cranky. A hot bath soothes the muscles too.
I closed my eyes and relived our family snowball fight. I remembered how nicely the snow packed in my gloved hands. I thought of my class and their little smiles as we crossed the deep white stuff for the first time in our snowshoes without sinking to our hips. I thought of the “snow lightning”. Certainly I wouldn’t have seen “snow lightning” without snow, right? Snow is good… in fact, it’s great!
So now I’ve come to admit it… I am a high-maintenance woman. I ask a whole lot. I need a HUGE antique claw foot bath tub filled with steaming hot water and a glass of white wine. After my skin had turned red, I pulled the drain and listened to the gurgle. The drain took all my troubles away. Ahhh…
Sorry… I am who I am. I need hot water. Now I’m ready for another week. And now it’s just five more weeks until spring, according to the damn groundhog. Oh, but that would be in Pennsylvania. In Vermont, we have to double it, because mud season has to come first, you know? Stay tuned…

Ass Over Tea Kettle

Any day that starts with a tea kettle frozen to the top step outside the door is bound to be interesting, especially if there is no way to open the door. Today was one of those days.
HOW did the tea kettle come to be frozen, you ask? Because, among other things on his “honey do” list yesterday (like call in “frozen” to work), my husband did me favor and gave the chickens their morning water. He then set the tea kettle down outside the kitchen door and walked to our neighbor’s house to borrow a blow torch.
Yes, I did say blow torch.
See, in addition to our washing machine seizing up, our pipes were frozen in the living room (3 problems.) Most people would consider using a blow dryer on the pipes, but I don’t use such modern appliances such as cell phones and blow dryers.
It was a Manic Monday. It was 20 degrees below zero, so we had a two-hour school delay because children couldn’t be outside. Bus drivers needed the heat of the sun to start buses. Teachers couldn’t warm their brains enough to teach reading and writing and arithmetic. Car batteries struggled to turn over. My iPod couldn’t register any sign of life until I brought it inside for an hour.
And we have chickens? I can’t imagine being a chicken right now. How do they stay warm? It must be intolerable. You’re probably thinking “They’re animals”, right? They have adapted to the cold with glycerin in their feet and their thick downy feathers. Well, that may be true but they aren’t laying eggs right now. They are free-loading, but I can’t say I blame them. There just isn’t enough light in the course of a day for a chicken to consider the urge to drop an egg.
The appliance man who came to fix the washing machine told me that when his chickens stop laying eggs, his family eats more chicken soup. I don’t have the heart to kill them because they don’t lay eggs in the winter. It’s not their fault it’s wintertime.
Though not a chicken, I am an animal too. I’ll prove it. As soon as I realized I couldn’t open the kitchen door this morning, I think I may have growled… at my husband in an animal-like fashion.
It sounded something like this: (when you read the following, please make sure to sound angry)
“When you give the chickens water, please make sure to put the tea kettle back on the stove! I got stuck to the step. I can’t open the door.” Now you’re thinking I should be grateful that he did me a favor the day before, and I should focus on what is right and not wrong… preserve my relationship… but I couldn’t OPEN THE DOOR TO GET OUT.
I tried to reach my hand out the door far enough to pull on the handle. I wasn’t strong enough. I tried to pour hot water onto the step and then pull on the handle. I still wasn’t strong enough. I finally decided to go out the OTHER door with a pot of water and go AROUND the house to the chickens. I figured I could kick the tea kettle off the step on my way back inside after I gave them water. I was in a huge hurry because mornings are rushed with packing lunches, getting kids dressed, breakfast, chickens, and of course there’s the added stress of opening the mud room door that gets stuck in the winter because of the frost heave that forms under the deck. I had to put the pot of water down and yank on the door handle with all my might to open that door to get out. Claustrophobia anyone?
So there I was stomping (like a brat) out the other door with a pot of hot water, but I quite didn’t make it as far as the chicken house. There was a bit of ice coating the stairs (that were already covered with snow), so of course I fell (ass over pot of water in this case.) A string of profanity flew from my mouth that probably woke up the neighborhood, or at least my neighbor who was scraping his windshield.
“Son of a %#NFKGHD&SUSFKF!@*(&&^55sdfhiugivbjbgg*&&%#%#%9082327!”
The pot flew into the air and the water landed on me. I couldn’t believe the water didn’t freeze in mid-air and smack me on the head like I had seen it do on the internet.
I stood up and shook like a hosed-down dog and stomped to the door with the pot in my hand. I pushed my way through the frost heave and slammed the door (so it would stay shut of course.)
Now the expression on my husband’s face was priceless. He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He needed to figure out how to respond without laughing because he knew I was not in the mood… and of course there wouldn’t be time to stop and laugh in the morning. I’m sure you have gathered our mornings are rushed.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I fell down the #$*&^$^$$&^% stairs. I’m taking a shower.”
“How ‘bout I take care of the chickens this morning?”
Good answer. “That would be great.” Water and fury dripped from my lips, “When you’re on your way back in, could you please get the tea pot from the back steps?”
My kids probably didn’t notice the incident, but after my shower, I paid them both 50 cents because I swore (twice, 25 cents per swear), and apologized for my animal-like behavior. They didn’t care. In fact, Desmond went to school and shared the story with his class during sharing time. By mid-morning his teacher asked me if I was okay since I had fallen down the stairs.
When I took the car to the shop in town to get the oil changed that day, I was convinced that Mike (the mechanic- yeah- I know “Mike and the Mechanics”) would ask me if I was okay after falling down the stairs. I’m sure he knew. Like I said, my neighbor saw me when he was scraping his windshield.
As the day progressed, I became able to laugh and see the humor in what had happened. I fell “on my ass over the tea kettle” and how many people can claim that? My husband and I exchanged laughs about it via email and later on that night we sat down to dinner.
We always say what we are grateful for before we start to eat. We hold hands and take turns and say what we are happy to have in our lives. When my oldest son shared, he said his token “I’m glad we’re not slaves,” AND he said, “I’m glad my parents are not split up.”
Full stop. Think about that.
He’s right. He should be grateful his parents are not split up because there are only three sets of parents in his class who are still married. It is something to be grateful for.
So now it’s time for what I’m grateful for. I am grateful to be married. I’m grateful my husband helps around the house – inside and out-. And believe it or not, I am grateful that I live where it’s cold, because if you want to preserve something you always should put it in the freezer.

In the Middle of Somewhere

• Author’s note: Please know that the names of everyone (except my husband Nick) have been changed to protect the innocent and humble.

We like it this way… in the middle of nowhere. We can see the stars at night (when it’s not raining or snowing.) We can say “hi” to EVERYONE (I do mean everyone) in the local grocery store. We can call the store and ask the clerk to add a red onion to our husband’s cart as he passes through the line (who needs a cell phone bill?) We wave when we pass each other on the road, AND… the biggest and best part about living where we do is that we stop to help each other if we are in need. Here’s a great example.
A week ago, Nick got a flat tire on his way to work at about 8:30 in the morning along Route 100. Route 100 is our biggest road with on lane flowing north and one lane flowing south. Now, a flat tire is rarely timed well, but Nick says this one was particularly badly timed because the temperature was cold, his shoulder hurt, and the roads were snowy and slick.
He got out of the car to grab the donut (and not one with frosting on it from Dunkin.) Just as he was about to change the tire and push on with the day, a man named Keith (*not his real name), stopped to offer help. Our connection to Keith is that he has a daughter in my kindergarten, and he was just coming from depositing her at school for the day.
Never one to refuse help, Nick agreed to the offer. Now he had help and good company and good conversation. A bad situation suddenly turned better.
They changed the tire and Nick was about to head off to work. But Keith offered to take my husband’s car to the shop for him. He switched cars with my husband so that Nick could take the car to work(about ½ hour north on Route 100.) Nick was on his way to work feeling grateful. The offer from Keith was generous and far above and beyond what any person should do.
If you can imagine, it gets better.
My husband called to tell me the story mid-morning. “Did you hear?” He asked. It is a small town, so I probably should have already heard. Most of the town probably knew Nick had a flat tire before he did.
Keith and his wife stopped by school to have lunch with their daughter. I expressed my complete gratitude as soon as I saw them, but they were very humble about it. “It’s what people should do for each other.” Keith said. “His car is done. Now, where does he work? We’d like to bring his car back to him.”
If you can imagine, it gets better.
They drove the car to Small Dog Electronics http://www.smalldog.com/
and presented my husband with the car. They would not accept any gas money from my husband or money to pay for the snow tire that had replaced the flat! Just flat out refused (please don’t mind the pun.)
Just knowing that we live in a town where people help each other is a beautiful thing. But what do you say to people who are like this? Is thank you enough? Do you mail them an anonymous card with money in it? Would that be enough?
I don’t know the answer to that. I just try to remember the deed and realize that people are naturally good inside and that they want to help whenever they can. I am sharing the story, so that you too can feel good too. Though evil exists, so does goodness. The goodness outweighs the evil. Almost erases it.
And I will try to never forget the good deed, with a “pay it forward” attitude. Perhaps I will have a chance to help someone some day. I will stop and help (unless it’s changing a tire because I don’t think I can remember how to do that.)
Nick wrote a thank-you note two days ago.
The same day I gave them the note, Keith was backing out of his driveway, and his car slipped and got stuck on a log in a ditch. The injustice! Some people believe that no good deed goes unpunished. I still don’t believe that. The glass is half-full. It has to be. It’ll work out. Keith is a good person. Everything happens for a reason.
He and his family live on a dead-end dirt road, so NO ONE would be driving by to help him. As soon as I heard about the situation from his wife, I told her that she could use our AAA towing option to get the car out of the ditch. Hooray! I can help!
Maybe it would help, but I wonder sometimes about our AAA. Around here, there is only one shop that will send a truck out for AAA towing, and it’s located in Rutland, which is almost an hour’s drive. We have had AAA come to us and it can sometimes take up to 3 hours before they arrive. But it’s paid for. And they can get cars out of ditches! It’s always the same AAA driver. Maybe he’s the low guy on the pole, so they send him to the “Heart of the Green Mountains.” I don’t think he’s awesome at the job, but he tries. He broke a hole in our bumper once and had to pay us cash to get it fixed. He towed our van and slipped into a ditch last winter and they had to send a tow truck for the tow truck. Each time I see this AAA guy, I can tell he is nervous about coming here. He even told me once that his GPS doesn’t work and he always gets lost around here.
Despite all of the woes of AAA, Keith’s wife seemed grateful for the offer because they had tried a small pick-up and a chain and nothing was working. I reminded her to call us for help later if they needed AAA. She said that she would. I silently hoped that the AAA guy would pull through and do a good job this time. I also hoped he wouldn’t get lost.
They never called… but…
if you can imagine, it gets better.
Keith’s wife came to school yesterday morning smiling sweetly as always. I asked her about their car and if everything was taken care of.
“It’s a great story.” She answered.
So, here it is. She went home two days ago and told Keith about our AAA offer. They were standing outside in their driveway on their dead-end road. She had barely finished her sentence about us offering AAA when they heard a rumbling noise on the road.
It was AAA.
On a dead-end road.
On the way another call.
Keith waved the truck down, and the car was pulled out of the ditch.
Now, do you believe that? I think it’s great. They live on a dead-end road and the AAA truck driver was LOST! The GPS doesn’t work. Do you think it’s the same AAA driver? I do. It’s Vermont. It’s just how it is here.
We like it this way… in the middle of nowhere. We can see the stars at night (when it’s not raining or snowing.) We love our local grocer. We wave when we pass each other on the road, AND… the biggest and best part about living where we do is that we stop to help each other if we are in need.
But I’m not calling it “the middle of nowhere” anymore. I’m calling it “the middle of somewhere.” Because it is. Vermont’s special, and we know it. We know it well. It’s good here.

Around and Around

It’s been awhile since I have blogged… Why? Either I have not had anything ridiculous and laughable happen lately OR I have been too busy to take the time to write.

It’s both. I’ve had many laughable things happen AND I haven’t taken the time to write them down.

Until today.

Before I begin this tale, I need you to know that this is not the first time I have gone skiing this year (though it may seem that way after you hear my story).

This morning/afternoon, we went skiing at Pico http://www.picomountain.com/ . I woke up early to prepare for the day. Preparing means gathering skiis, boots, winter garb, and snacks for the kids and me. The snacks took the forefront of my thoughts because I didn’t want to have to purchase a $7.00 hot dog and drop it on the floor like we did last time. I am sure you understand that, right?

I filled a little backpack with a variety of treats and called our friend Norm (http://www.tfish.net/ ) to let him know that we would be heading out soon. We were planning on meeting at the ski shop at Pico Mountain. His son was going to hang out with us for the day while Norm ran some errands. (By the way, his turn will come tonight when he heads up the cub scout troop in making totem poles). My job sounds easier, doesn’t it? I believe so.

Anyway, we chatted.

Me: “I’m leaving in about 10 minutes.”

Him: “We’ll be leaving in about 15.” (They live closer).

Me: “See you up there.”

Famous last words.

We got in the van with all of our stuff and began the journey. The kids were fighting as I had the typical thoughts about the stove and whether or not I had turned it off… the door and whether or not I shut it tightly. The wood stove and whether or not I shut the chimney flew. Other people have thoughts like this, right? Am I neurotic?

I had made a thermos of hot chocolate right before we left. As I drove along, I thought about all the fun we were to have at the slope and how nice it would be to return to the van later in the day to have a warm cup of cocoa. Did I shut off the stove? I thought about the wonderful bunny slope and how it is just the right size for me to take three boys on my own because no matter where they are, I can see them at all times. I thought about how nice it is to live in Vermont and be able to get free passes because the kids are local school children who get good grades.

Free passes. Ooops.

Note to self. Next time you leave to go skiing, please try to remember the ski passes.

Around we go. We pulled into the Forest Service parking lot to turn around and head home. Round and round. Back to our house. Up into the mud room. Grab the ski passes. Call Norm’s wife Barb.

Me: “I forgot the passes and needed to come back. Can you call Norm and tell him we’re late?”

Barb: “I’ll call but he usually doesn’t turn on his cell phone.”

Me: "Okay... I'll just apologize when we get there."

Back out to the van. Hand the kids their passes. “Put these on!” Kids still fighting. Understandable. They really want to be on the slopes. But now we’re on our way. I drove about a mile before I thought to myself, “Did I check the stove?” Of course I shut it off. I always do. It is one of those automatic things I do without thinking about it. Right? Well, I am not turning around to check. This is ridiculous. I am being neurotic.

There was good music from my youth on the radio (80's) so the time passed pretty quickly. We got to the rental shop and met Norm and his son Chase there. They had obviously been waiting awhile so I apologized and got in line to rent equipment. I only needed skiis for my younger son because he has a wonderful pair of boots that Norm's family passed down to us. My older son had boots and skiis so I didn’t need anything for him. This should go quickly.

I got out of line to grab Norm and ask him to put boots on all the boys TO SAVE TIME. (ha ha)… I got back in line and waited behind every person from Massachusetts who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Finally, my turn. Okay… skiis for one 6 year old.

Me: “He has an academic pass. I can get the skiis for a cheaper rental rate, right?”

Her: “Yes. Do you have his pass?”

Me: “Uh…”

Upon getting the passes after driving back for them, you remember, I gave them to the boys. How handy. The passes were across the way in the lodge with the boys who were putting on their boots.

Clump clump clump… although it was about 30 degrees out I was already shedding layers. Leaving my gloves and coat in the care of Norm, I grabbed the ski pass and one of my son's boots (to size the skiis).

Waited in line again behind everyone from Connecticut who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday.

“Okay. Here is his pass.” (same lady…)

After paying the discounted rental rate I moved along to the next building to get my younger son some skiis. I had to fill out paperwork: weight, height, street shoe size, address, phone number etc. Okay. Wait in line behind everybody from Rhode Island who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Okay.

Funny-Hat-Kid who works at Pico: "How tall is he?"

Me: “How tall is he?” I held out my hand as if to pat my son's imaginary head. “This tall.”

“Uh…” The young man with the Killington ski jacket and unusual hat stared at me blankly. “About three feet?”

“Sure.” I smiled. “I like your hat.”

He gave me a polite smile and went to find skiis. He brought back two different pairs for me to pick the more appropriate size. Done.

Well… actually not… quite yet.... Norm showed up with all three boys. My younger son was hobbling along wearing one regular boot and one ski boot. My older son was unfortunately still wearing his regular boots.

Norm: “Uh… Donovan’s ski boots don’t fit.”

Me: “What?”

Norm: (of course repeated what he said above AND added “I don’t know why. Maybe you can help.”

Me: “They fit three days ago!” (upon hind sight, it was five days ago but nonetheless…)

Norm: “They did?” He smiled –probably wishing he had a mallet to knock me up-side the head-

Me: “YES!” I shouted.

Now you need more information… here is the background of my older son’s skiis. I just bought them last Saturday… or should I say RE-bought them. They had been his last year and in the summer when I was not thinking about snow, I donated them to our town's church for their Thrift Shop. I figured he wouldn’t fit them by wintertime, so I de-cluttered and un-complicated my life by getting rid of them. Well, at least I thought that was what I did. I may have de-cluttered, but I made my life more complicated actually. Read on to see just how untrue that really is.

Last Saturday, we were at the church's Thrift Shop and I discovered the skiis that we (I) had donated the previous summer. I had my older son try them on and they fit. I swear they fit. He put them on and walked around and everything. I found it funny at the time that I had to buy them back because I was the one who donated them in the first place. My friend Mary Beth was working there that day. I told her we had donated them originally. She tried to give them to me for free, but I insisted on buying them. She charged me a dollar. I was proud...
for five days. Now I am sort of ashamed.

Back to the ski slope. We moved across the way to the lodge again to fit boots on my boy.

I gave it my best shot! I acted like prince charming and tried to shove that boot onto his foot as if it were a glass slipper. But… alas to no avail. Norm was right. In less than a week, my son had outgrown his boots and I couldn’t make them fit. Even barefoot. Yes, I tried that too.

Okay… I grabbed both passes to go get boots for my older son. I walked away…

Norm: “Are they adjustable?”

Me: “What? These passes?”

Norm: “Are the skiis adjustable?” (again wishing for mallet)

Oh… right. If the boots I get are bigger, I needed bigger bindings, didn’t I?

Okay… so boot and skiis for my older son coming right up.

Sort of. I had to stop at the bathroom. Too much water this morning.

Of course there was a line because tons of people hydrated as well.

Back at the ski rental area, there was a line again behind everyone from New Hampshire who had the same idea of what to do on a Thursday. Although it was practically Friday at this point… good God.

Okay… so I paid the discounted rate for a child of Vermont with the academic pass and ran (clump clump clump) to the lodge to get my son to come with me to the rental shop to get the boots AND skiis. I filled out the form height, weight, street shoe size, address, phone number. Waited in line… someone from another state cut in front of me (Flatlander accent)… and I finally got equipment with/for my older son.

Back to the lodge… clump, clump, clump…

On with his boots. On with MY boots… to the bathroom… again…

Now… were we ready to go and ski with these anxious boys.?

Not quite.

“Mom… where are my gloves?”

Me: “What?” (I heard him… but I didn’t like what I heard. )

Him: “My gloves.”

Me: “Okay. We were in the rental shop. Did you leave them there?”

I didn’t mention it earlier, but my other son lost a pair of sunglasses at some point, too. Oh well… he takes after his dad. He has owned 500 pairs of sunglasses - not exaggerating... (akthough I am the one who has forgotten everything today)...

Him: “Sorry mom.”

Me: “It’s okay. It happens.” (silent cursing…)

Norm checked the boy’s bathroom in case they were in there. Nope.

We all clumped back to the rental shop.

Nope!

Well, for some reason (I wonder why) I have extra mittens and gloves in the van. Later, Norm was to be taking his son’s car seat to our van. If need be, he could get the mittens then and bring them back to me on the slopes with the keys before he left to run errands.

Do you get why I call this blog AROUND AND AROUND? Are you dizzy yet?

We went back to the lodge to check one last time for gloves and found them on the fireplace hearth behind a man who was sitting there.

AHA…

So finally we were on our way to the slopes. Hooray! The boys carried skiis for a stretch until we were close to the lift and then they dropped them to the snow to put them on.

Did you notice I said the boys had their skiis?

Where were mine?

OMG! I left mine outside the lodge! (more silent cursing!!!)

Clump, clump, clump…

Tired yet? I was. I had not even got onto the slopes and I already felt like I had been going around and around for hours. And this was my vacation!

We finally started to ski. And it was fun. Around and around we went. Onto the lift. Down the slope. Onto the life. Down the slope. Around and around and around. They were smiling. They had a great time.

You ask, "Was it worth it?"

Absolutely.

It was great.

Didn't you have fun reading about it?