>Guest Post: Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry

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Hi! This is cmhl from Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry guest posting for Lucinda.

Lucinda, as you well know is off on a fabulous and exotic vacation, and I was thrilled when Lucinda asked if I would like to write a guest post! Anyway, thank you Lucinda, and I hope you are having a fabulous time!

Way back, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and stirrup pants were in style, my future spouse wanted to take a ski trip. (For those who may not know, I fondly refer to my loving spouse as hwmnbn— he-who-must-not-be-named. It is all part of his charm. Heh). I had skied as a child, but it had been a while for ‘ole cmhl. Hwmnbn, however, grew up skiing at a major resort, was a ski instructor for a while, and basically had it going on in the ski world. We had never skied……….. together. Let that sink in for a moment.

As luck would have it, we were going on a trip with about four other couples that we knew; two that I worked with, and two that hwmnbn knew from the military. Never before had there been a more virile or competitive group assembled, glistening with athleticism and good humor.

Then there was me.

Now, in my own defense, allow me to state that I am a fairly athletic person. Especially in about 1992. I went to college on an athletic scholarship, for goodness sake, and excel at basically any racquet sport. I can do a back handspring, I can walk on my hands, but I do, on occasion, trip over my own two feet when walking to the kitchen. Don’t ask me, I have no explanation.

At any rate. We were going to the wilds of southern Indiana for our ski trip, Paoli Peaks. I’m sure that Indiana is the first state the pops to mind when you think of premiere ski destinations: Aspen, Sun Valley, Sugar Mountain, Paoli Peaks. It really flows, doesn’t it? Off we go to Indiana. Once the trip was planned, I immediately rushed out and bought the cutest little ski outfit ever, but planned on renting my equipment there.

My first sign that there was a possible difference between me and the others occurred when I saw that they all had their own skis, snowboards, and all the other accessories. Hmmmm. And the hats, let’s not forget the jester hats with big long tassels. How unusual….

We get up to the rental counter, and they ask my height and weight (eeeeeeek! Can’t you see HIM standing right HERE???), and suggest the shorter skis, since I am basically a beginner. Hwmnbn, always the voice of reason, said, “you won’t have any fun with those! You’ll go so SLOW! Here, get these longer ones!!”

Batting eyelashes “whatever you say, sweetie…”

Off we go. I am staggering along in my boots, thinking that 10 years makes a difference in the “coolness” factor when walking in ski books, since the last time I had done so I was about 12 years old. We reach the lift, and the others take off up on the chairs with great shrieking and laughter. It is just me and hwmnbn, the love of my life, the man of my dreams, the ………………………ass. I look ahead of me, and he is already in line to get on the lift. “come ON cmhl!! Come ON!!!!”

I get clicked into my skis, and make my way over to the lift. Keep in mind, there is not a huge snowpack in southern Indiana; the snow at that time was manmade. And, it wasn’t all that cold. Ergo, it was ice. We were skiing on ice.

It is our turn to get on. Hwmnbn glides over to the correct location, and seamlessly gets on the lift chair.

It’s my turn.

My God, my feet won’t move.

Everyone is yelling.

Hwmnbn’ed eyes are bugging out of his head. “baby, get ON! What are you DOING?”

What AM I doing?

Why won’t my feet move?

OK, finally I’m over there, but it is ice. They can’t hold the lift, I see hwmnbn going on up the lift, looking back at me, slightly pissed, slightly bewildered, slightly,,,, amused? Surely not??

The 15-year-old lift operator is pissed. His jester sock-cap is bobbing merrily, and he says, “Get ON this one!!!!” Fine.

I get into place, the stupid thing clips me behind my knees, and I fall. I fall underneath the lift. Ice, you know. Jester boy is screaming, “Keep your head DOWN! Keep your head DOWN!!!!” as the lift chairs are merrily whizzing over my face. Finally, I get pulled out from under it, the whole lift is stopped, and I look up to see 100 faces 10 years younger than my own, looking at me with incredulous expressions. Folks, I don’t know how I did it either, don’t ask me. “Sorry!” I chirp, merrily. My God.

Oh man.

So, I finally get on it, get to the top of the “mountain” (Indiana, remember…), and hwmnmb is waiting patiently.. “Don’t say a WORD,” I mutter to him through clenched teeth. Wisely, he remained silent.

We start down the hill. Naturally, we didn’t pick the bunny slope, because that wouldn’t be “any fun…” So off we go, down the non-bunny-hill, and I discovered quickly that I DID in fact remember how to snowplow. At least that was something going for me! The more we skied, the more I remembered, and I was actually having fun. Until, that is, the final slope, which was solid ice. Before I knew it, I was flat on my back, wondering if I had possibly herniated c5, or was it c6? And, how unusual, my skis and poles were about 10 feet uphill from me! Now, how exactly do I go about retrieving them??? Because, after all, I CAN”T get up, I had forgotten the unusual sensation of trying to get upright in ski boots, on a hill made of ice. What fun!

Here is where hwmnbn made his mistake. I can hear his next proclamation like it was yesterday… “If you don’t get up on your own, you’ll never learn how to do it.”

Friends, after those words exited his mouth, I lost my religion. I thought/said every foul expletive I have ever heard, and some I invented myself. I crawled up the glacier using only my fingernails, retrieved my equipment, and crawled down the rest of the ice slopes, cursing hwmnbn and his many charms, and the horse he rode in on. Just because I can’t ski, doesn’t mean I’m not a functioning member of society. Just because 50 jester-hatted hoodlums whipped by me, as I lay prostrate on the ground in my hour of need, doesn’t mean I am uncoordinated (or does it?).

Thus, ends my first day of skiing with hwmnbn. I’m pleased to report that we have gone skiing countless times since that date, each time better than the last. I am now a quite capable skier, and am working on teaching my kids. Hwmnbn has learned an extremely valuable lesson about what to say and what NOT to say when skiing with me! And I never, ever went back to Paoli Peaks, and I never will…

Have a WONDERFUL vacation, Lucinda!