There's No Crying In Skiing

Hey y'all - 

I went seven days last week without leaving our house. The farthest I ventured out was the wood pile. Your dad and I have been watching this (really awful, campy) show called American Horror Story on TV. The premise of the show is that ghosts get trapped in this house and can never leave. On day 7 of my internment, I said to your dad, "I'm like the people on that show! Maybe I'm a ghost and I don't know it!" Obviously, cabin fever does wonderful things for my mental health. 

So we decided to get out and go skiing as a family. I was able to cross the property line, so according to scary movie rules, I'm still alive. Bonus!

We made a serious rookie mistake by heading out on our expedition around Laney's nap time. At first, it was all fun and games. Laney was babbling about I-don't-know-what as she was dragged down the road, and Dad and I were making jokes about how we couldn't possibly startle any of the wildlife with her constant stream of, "I'm friends with Maya and Alexi is best friends with Parker but they don't play with Ashton because he's best friends with Vinuja..."

Your dad had Hagen on his back and dragged Laney on a mini sled. He was one banjo away from being this guy:

But things started to turn ugly about twenty minutes into our trip.

Laney, wailing: I don't think I can go on!
Mom: OK. Do you want to go back home?
Laney: NO! DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!
Mom: OK. Do you want to keep going?
Laney: NO!
Mom: Do you want to just stand here for a minute?
Laney: NO!
Mom: I'm at a loss. 

What Laney wanted to do was walk home while sobbing and holding my hand, which was a little hard for me, since I had to ski uphill without the use of a pole on my left side.

She fell asleep at 6pm and woke up at midnight, ready to party.

We've been at this parenting thing for three years now, and sometimes I suspect we're even dumber than we were when we started. 

Love,

Mom