It's been something like 13 years since I've rolled around in the snow, like a dog trying to get the clean off himself after a bath.
I grew up in Bountiful, UT. We had snow. Lots of it.
In fact, my parents baked a lot during those winters blanketed by snow. Mostly, Chinese bun baking (it sounds secksy/naughty fun - but that's not the kind I'm talking about...today anyway...although I was born in July). Lots of mantou, red bean buns...and even some bread making and cinnamon roll making UT-style. We asked my parents once why they didn't make that bounty of goodness anymore, and they said, "we live in California, it's not cold here. In UT there's nothing to do in the winter."
In elementary school in UT, my brothers and I would walk to school in the snow. (I can actually use that story on my girls... in my day...) It was quite a long trek for a bunch of little kids. We did this in the winter, through snow drifts half our size and higher. We had to walk down two big hills to get to school. Since the hills were covered in snow and ice, we slid down them... in our jeans. Yes, in our jeans. I was often the sled for one, or both my brothers. Why? Because I am the anointed eldest child in a Chinese household. Not only do we get in trouble for everyone's mistakes, we also get to be used any which way that is convenient. Also, I am a sucker, a softie... a real big sister. With that compassion comes the bossy boss.
The point? Right. There's a point here somewhere.
Back to the present. Our little family drove up to the snow from our house on New Year's Eve. Turns out we got to the snow park about 15 minutes before closing time. Which worked out great, since we didn't have to pay the 15 bucks to park. (the Asian inside me *squeals* with delight)
We happened to meet some guy who happens to live near our neighborhood. He kindly lent us his sleds, so we wouldn't have to rent them. (more Asian *squealing*) In return I baked his family cupcakes (they are really that good). They then called a few days later, at some ungodly hour in the morning, waking us from our slumber to say thank you. Good deeds, always come with punishment. (I kid!)
A little note. I was getting a bit nervous and grouchy the further we drove to the snow. The further we got, the colder and more snow there was. I could feel my insides begin to freeze to stone, as if the white witch in Narnia had gotten her gaze upon me.
Once we hit the sled runs... whoo boy! It was awesome. I was disappointed we arrived so late. I want to go again, and again, and again, and again... you get the drift (har, har)... and again, and again, and again.
Our 6YO enjoyed the first run. But then when Daddy suggested a steeper run, she refused. On the next run down some of the snow flew in her face. She was horrified. Horrified! Tears! Snow! Cold! Imagine! On.My.Face. She then made it clear that she will be requesting a babysitter next time we decide to traverse back into snow country.
Our 4YO loved it. Giggled the entire time. On our second run the sled slid out from under us and I caught her before she did a face plant (I should note that my sister, when she was 3-4 YO was sledding with me when the same thing happened, but she really did do a face plant into powder. She however, did not giggle. I did. It's just so cute.) Her face had snow shavings...and her rosy cheeks glistened as she and I giggled. Then we hurried and ran back up the hill. She also made snow angels and begged to make a snow man... but by then the park folks were kicking us out.
My husband commented that "You looked so happy!"
There's something so exhilarating about sledding. As you whoosh down the run it's like you leave it all behind, and you're a kid again. Nothing matters but sliding down the run and getting back up just to do it all again.
Perhaps 15 minutes was just enough to whet our appetite.
Next time though, we need to invest in some real gear. The rain boots, rain coats, my hiking shoes, and hubby's high-tops, are not going to cut it.