Wednesday, January 26, 2011

What grandparents won't do for their grandchildren

Well here's the deal. Over the past several years I have taken my four youngest granddaughters to the American Girl doll store in Atlanta in January for their birthdays. In the same car mind you. I did this because it is something I would have liked to do if they would have had American Girl stores when I was little. Two of the birthday girls were actually born in January, while the other two claim October and April for their birthdays. The cousins usually have a great time and I end up renting two suites at the Mariott right behind the store so that we can just stroll over there when we like. It is a fun weekend with madcap shopping for dolls and accessories, then eating at the American Girl cafe with dolls in highchairs at the table with us. In the evening the girls stay up to all hours playing with their dolls and things, then we head back to Alabama the next day. Great fun! This year, however, I decided to treat them to snow skiing. Mind you, none of us except for my grandson Jake has ever snow skied. Well, I did actually twice. Once at Sundance, Utah and once at Mittenwald in Bavaria. These events were 20 years ago, so they don't count. On Friday, January 21 (Karen's b'day is the 20th and Nicole's is the 22nd), we loaded up and headed for Mentone, Alabama. Mentone is located in the N.E. corner of the state and borders Tenn and Georgia. The ski run is short, but plenty of snow. We stayed in a chalet that smelled of many generations of mold families. The kids didn't care and were excited about skiing the next day. We must have looked like the Klampetts from the TV series as none of us had proper ski attire except for Jake. We didn't care, we just trooped over to the ski lodge (a shack with a fire pit in the center), paid an ungodly sum for our skis and lift tickets, put on our stuff, and went to ski school. There must have been 20 nubies like us. The first one to graduate was Nicole. She hit the pony lift and was off like a pro. Unfortunately, she sprained her ankle after an hour or two and had to go to the ER. I managed a couple of runs down the slope in the pizza pie position (beginners learn this as a stopping method). At least I didn't fall, but I must have looked ridiculous. Taylor (the 14 year old) did fantastic, while the two little ones, Karen and Madalyn, wanted me to pull them up the slope and then let them ski down. Now I will tell you, this is where you find all of the muscles that you lost over the last 40 years. Foregoing anymore skiing, I ended up helping them onto the pony lift, running in my ski boots up the hill and snatching them off the lift before they got to the top, then turning them in the right direction so that they could ski down the hill. After a day like that, I took an Ibuprofen, ate nothing, and flopped into my lumpy mattress in chalet heaven. I was counting my muscles the next morning as I tried to pull out of my twilight sleep, staggared to the shower, packed the car, drove home, and wondered why I thought this was a good idea. Then I uploaded the pics that I took from the ski trip. Kids smiling as they tried to ski, happy faces standing on the deck of the chalet, and little ones and big ones, flying down the slope without a care in the world. Then I knew why it was a good idea.

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