b's ski lessons

We gave Blake ski lessons for his birthday. He was not very excited about this gift, but I told him if he didn't like it after five lessons, he never had to go again as far as I was concerned. Still, to honor big Blake and to at least ACT like we live in a location where the vast majority of the population are here because of the ski hills, he had to try it. When I was doing the paperwork to sign him up, I could only very lightly skim the disclaimer before signing it, because while I knew that his risks on the Snowflake run were minimal, they HAD to warn me about the very real dangers that can exist on the ski hill. It felt like a really big effing deal that I was even letting him put skis on, and that I WAS THE ONE BEING BRAVE, not him.

I got over it.

On the drive up, I answered questions and allayed fears. His primary worry was the chair lift: he'd never done it before, and he wasn't sure he could. I reminded him about our "practice" in the living room: sticking your butt out to let the chair scoop you up, then standing up to let the chair push you away from itself. We may have devolved from faux scooping into pinching each others' biscuits, because you just have to.

A big thumbs up on his first day!

By the end of his first day, the lift went from his most anxiety-producing aspect to his FAVORITE aspect, and MOM, NEXT WEEK, WE GET TO GO ON A BIGGER ONE! My heart almost burst to see my little man riding the lift alone. The pride was mixed with a wistfulness that wasn't helped by turning to see a man who looked remarkably by big Blake walking by. Course, everyone looks like everyone else with that many layers on.

Blake (right) and one of his very best friends, Gunnar.

At the end of his third week, there was a miscommunication that had him ride a new lift, expecting to see friends waiting for him at the top. They were not there, and the adult and child (from class) he asked to help him down left him. His last run of the day was marked by largely rolling down the hill, after my friend had called in ski patrol and tried to help stem my mounting terror. Blake finally appeared, covered in flecks of snow, in tears, and exhausted. We called off the patrol, I burst into tears, and we talked about his circle of safety, how he had gone outside it, and covered some rules for skiing alone and with friends. At the end of his fourth week, when the class went up that same lift and found a safe and easy route down, he proudly announced to me, "Mom! I had so much fun! I think my circle of safety got bigger!"

That's him in the orange, center.

And, for Poppa Cec, video proof: