Saturday Bob and I took the older kids skiing. It was the perfect day for it; sunny, cold, no wind, and just the beautiful snowy mountain to enjoy with our kids.
And we did enjoy it. The girls had a blast, and Bob got to help me get off the ski lift like an old lady. He is a really good skier, and I'm perfectly happy keeping it to the lower slopes. Anyone remember what happened to Sunny Bono? That's not going to be me. Bob is very patient with all the non-hotshot skiers he lives with, although he has a habit of stopping short right in front of me and blowing snow everywhere like he's in a Chap Stick commercial.
Sometimes we would ride up on different lifts, and when that happened, it was an opportunity to engage in small talk with out of towner skiers for the slow ride up.
I should mention that Bob is the cheapest man on the planet and likes more than anything to purchase a piece of clothing and amortize the wear over a period of years so that it's down to twenty cents a year. Last year his brother handed down an eighties ski ensemble to him. He wore it to the slopes, complete with his 1986 Rossignals that are so out of date they look like cross country skis.
No matter - people loved it. They chatted with him on the lifts, shared parenting stories, corporate stories, and tips on conquering the black diamond run.
Me? I rode up with an eleven year-old, and a series of middle-aged men who acted smarmily pleased when I told them I stayed home. Older men seem to think this is the "only way to go" and inevitably give me a "good for you" when I tell them this is what I do.
This doesn't make me want to share a hot toddy with them back at the lodge. First, I used to work and plan on going back when Jack is old enough. Second, it confirms my suspicion that all these old farts judge my working mom friends for a series of antiquated reasons that boils down to a bunch of white men wanting to control my uterus or my work status.
At the top of one of the shorter runs I grabbed Bob by his electric blue ski lapels and hissed, "You know if I wanted to work, I would, right? Staying at home is fine for now, but you know it is probably temporary, right?"
Boy, does he love being married to me.
And we did enjoy it. The girls had a blast, and Bob got to help me get off the ski lift like an old lady. He is a really good skier, and I'm perfectly happy keeping it to the lower slopes. Anyone remember what happened to Sunny Bono? That's not going to be me. Bob is very patient with all the non-hotshot skiers he lives with, although he has a habit of stopping short right in front of me and blowing snow everywhere like he's in a Chap Stick commercial.
Sometimes we would ride up on different lifts, and when that happened, it was an opportunity to engage in small talk with out of towner skiers for the slow ride up.
I should mention that Bob is the cheapest man on the planet and likes more than anything to purchase a piece of clothing and amortize the wear over a period of years so that it's down to twenty cents a year. Last year his brother handed down an eighties ski ensemble to him. He wore it to the slopes, complete with his 1986 Rossignals that are so out of date they look like cross country skis.
No matter - people loved it. They chatted with him on the lifts, shared parenting stories, corporate stories, and tips on conquering the black diamond run.
Me? I rode up with an eleven year-old, and a series of middle-aged men who acted smarmily pleased when I told them I stayed home. Older men seem to think this is the "only way to go" and inevitably give me a "good for you" when I tell them this is what I do.
This doesn't make me want to share a hot toddy with them back at the lodge. First, I used to work and plan on going back when Jack is old enough. Second, it confirms my suspicion that all these old farts judge my working mom friends for a series of antiquated reasons that boils down to a bunch of white men wanting to control my uterus or my work status.
At the top of one of the shorter runs I grabbed Bob by his electric blue ski lapels and hissed, "You know if I wanted to work, I would, right? Staying at home is fine for now, but you know it is probably temporary, right?"
Boy, does he love being married to me.
