Sherpa

As anyone who ski's knows, a day at the slopes is a terrific way to spend some time.

What they also know is, the amount of gear required to make your day enjoyable is terrifying.

skis, poles, pants, jacket, thermal this and that, gloves, socks, boots, warm hat, goggles.

When you are taking 3 kids up to the mountain, you begin to question your sanity.

Watching Doug, or as I would like to call him, Sherpa Dad, carry his skis, two pairs of ski's for the Ha's, and Graham's snowboard toward the mountain today renewed my faith in humanity.

This faith was tested as I tried to herd my herd towards their lessons.  When my children get out in the open they act like newly sprung deaf butterflies.  Each goes wandering in separate directions from the others, with no true destination in mind, and zero ability to here simple directions unless they are said in a voice I didn't realize I had until Graham turned 3.

I always wonder what the helicopter parents think of me as I toss jackets, helmets, gloves, in the general direction of my butterflies, and rely on the kindness of strangers to get them ready for a day on the mountain.

A lot of parents hang around and watch as their kids get settled in their lesson.  Doug and I make sure we have at least made eye contact with the instructor before we go barreling toward the chair lift.

Skiing for me feels like freedom.  I love to find myself all alone on a run, swooshing towards the bottom.

Today was one of those days.

Until the reality of getting 3 tired, hungry, cold children off the mountain woke us from a magical spell.

As we were heading home Doug wondered if the kids would ever realize all the work we put into sharing skiing with them.

And I said they would, when they became their children's Sherpa.