THE PEANUT GALLERY: Paying Money to Walk Funny

I never skied growing up. My first time on skis was in high school, and I was so terrible that I almost killed myself and several other people on that otherwise lovely mountain in the Poconos. My Director, on the other hand, did grow up skiing. Every winter. Not very athletic herself, she is nonetheless as graceful as a gazelle on skis. 

We decided we want Peanut to be a skier. Or to at least know how to ski so we can go as a family a couple of times a winter and build some memories. She, on the other hand, is rarely receptive to new things:

Not loving all of the gear she has to wear.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: We're Off to See the Blizzard

Snow brings out the kid in all of us. Here's how we spent our winter weekend... when I wasn't shoveling:

Queen of the Snow

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The Joys of Homeownership: Clearing a Path

"Getting an inch of snow is like winning ten cents in the lottery." -Bill Watterson

With great property comes
great responsibility

Everyone says I should get a snowblower. Every time it snows, neighbors drive by and see me shoveling my never-ending sidewalk. They stop. They roll down the window and say, "It's time." My mother even bought me a sizable gift card for Lowe's last Christmas, specifically to put towards a snowblower. I have yet to spend it. Even My Director and I say we should get one. Then it snows like it just did and there we are, digging. Spring comes, and it seems we survived another winter without one. So why bother?

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Long Winter Snap

"A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water." -Carl Reiner

Snow days used to be fun. Remember those days? The anticipation. The hoping. The jubilation the moment you learned that school was cancelled?

We built a fort when we were iced in.

What made snow days so much more special was how rare they were. Growing up on the Jersey Shore (don't call it South Jersey please), we hardly ever saw significant snowfall. When snow was expected, it would mostly disappoint. But school would still be cancelled because it was icy. Where's the fun in an ice day?

Maybe the Miser Brothers are to blame.

My how times have changed. I don't know if it's global warming, or climate change, or just another sibling dispute between the Heat Miser and the Snow Miser, but this winter has been a real pain in the ass. And we're expecting another storm tomorrow... on April Fool's Day. No kidding. Pun intended.

Snow days used to be fun. But that was before I become a working father.

Snowed in after Christmas

This is what you have to deal with as a working parent in the suburbs on a snow day: Will daycare be open? What time will we know? Will we get the peanut to daycare? What if they close early? Who will pick her up if they do? Can we get someone to watch her? What time should they get here? Should they leave now to beat the snow? Who should it be? Does one of us need to stay home from work? Who should that be?

It causes nothing but stress and uncertainty and you aren't even close to picking up a shovel yet. Oh, and you have to get yourself to work, too.

So the snow comes and you wake up extra early to shovel so your wife can have a fighting chance to get out of the driveway. You also have to give yourself enough time to walk to the train station because a) you're a one-car family and b) the buses might not be running because the roads aren't plowed yet despite the growing amount you pay in annual property taxes.

Snow gear: a popular look this winter

Even when you clear the driveway and brush off the car, there is no guarantee your wife won't have to do the same an hour and a half later. But you have no choice. You have to put on your snow gear and hike a mile to catch the train to make sure you get to work.

Then your wife has to deal with the snow and the child. And more questions: Are the roads plowed? Will they cancel daycare? Should I bring her to work? Can I afford to stay home?

Are we doing the right thing?

And why the hell does it keep freakin' snowing?

Now, I am not one to complain about the weather. I have lived in the northeast my entire life... four of those years in Syracuse, NY. It used to be that winter was just a nuisance... but this winter I've elevated it to "brutal."

Luna finds the snow challenging

I haven't even talked about the illnesses yet. The vicious cycle that starts with a cough or a sniffle, then blows up into a full fledged case of strep throat that knocks out every member of your family except the dog.

Oh - and the dog... she won't poop in the snow. Wonderful. She's more high maintenance than the 4 year-old.

The illness has been non-stop. And while it's been mostly a functioning illness, I am not exaggerating when I say I've been coughing since the day after Christmas. It's nearly April. I'm not a smoker... yet I sound like my Grandma Sylvia after she's just inhaled a half a pack of Pall Malls for breakfast.

It's not just me... the peanut too. She's a mini Sylvia herself. Covering her mouth with the inside of her elbow like a good little girl. It's constant. It's part of the soundtrack of winter - and now spring - in our household. The crackling fire, the shovel on pavement, the cough of Sylvia.

Peanut pitches in as best she can.

And just when you're feeling better it snows again, which makes you sick because I was foolish enough to buy a corner property which means it takes me two hours to shovel. You shovel, you sweat... outside in the cold... for two hours.. because it snows in feet, not inches, where I live.

I have no idea what my wife and I will do if we wake up to a winter wonderland tomorrow... but we know we'll figure it out eventually. We always do.

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Skiing is Believing

"There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots. The other is wings." - Hodding Carter, Jr.

I had to see it for myself. My daughter, doing something that I still to this day have not mastered. Not even close. Something I struggle with. Something I want so desperately to perform well, or at least adequately.

Skiing. Just another thing I want to be good at, so I can enjoy it with my daughter once she inevitably gets good at it.

I missed her first day of skiing and heard how great she did on the hill. Now, I am not being delusional here... my daughter is no Lindsay Vonn... yet. By "great," I mean she didn't resist, have a meltdown, or even refuse to put on her boots and skis. Believe me, those are victories in and of themselves. She went up the magic carpet, and down the hill, by herself... without falling. And she liked it. She smiled. No tears. And she did it again and again.

So the next day, I had to see it for myself. I waited... waited for the Peanut to emerge from the cabin in which her day care was held. For one hour a day, these bundled up little bundles of joy would slowly stomp out, one by one, clunking along in ski boots. A difficult task for adults, let alone someone who just learned how to walk a little less than three years ago. If there is a necessary evil that is more awkward, clumsy, and tiring than walking in ski boots, I'm not sure what it is.

They trudged, step by step, out the door and down the ramp and into the snow. We finally spotted the Peanut, her wildly long blonde hair desperately escaping from underneath her pink nylon ski hat. Matching pink ski pants and pink ski jacket completed the ensemble.

I saw her wait for one of the instructors. She always wants to be accompanied by an adult. That's a little bit of the only child in her. It's also a little bit of the "I always want to be first to know what's going on" in her. It's not so much a hesitation... but more of a confirmation.

She was put in her skis and then shuffled along to the magic carpet. She spotted us while shuffling, but she didn't stop. She kept shuffling. Score another victory for my little girl.

She smiled at us, squinting in the bright early morning sun and snow... her parents having failed to equip her with ski goggles or even sunglasses. Oops. And there she went. Up the conveyer belt that acted as a ski lift on this tiny hill, her little head staring straight ahead. She disembarked and shuffled to the clearing at the top of the hill.

She put her mittened thumb in her mouth, smiled while still squinting, and glided effortlessly down the hill. She had no form, no technique, no real instruction. But there she went. By herself. An instructor caught her as she reached the bottom.

As she shuffled back into line to do it all over again, a chorus of frenzied cheers from her adoring fans - six of us - greeting her. She just kept smiling, squinting, sucking her mittened thumb.

I wish it could be that simple for me. That stress-free. That pure. That joyful. It is at times. But every time I fall, every time I catch myself before I fall, every time I think I'm going to fall but actually make the right move to turn or to stop, I think... there I am... one step closer to not making a complete fool of myself in front of my daughter. Still, in just a couple of years time, she's going to be at least as good as if not better than I am now.

That's all we can wish for as parents... for our children to do better than we've done.

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