Get a load of this e-mail that came in the e-mail box the other day: "We are looking at renting the same place at Big Sky at the same rate as we paid last time. So far, the dates that are looking the best are Jan 27-31. Are you interested at all?"
Am I interested at all?! Am I interested at all?! I'm ALL interested. However, "interested" must come with "able" and it's looking like we are not "able." Spouse and I are up to our eyeballs in our jobs and will not be able to join them this year. At breakfast today, Spouse informed the Yahoos that we would be unable to join the two funnest families around for northern style skiing. The news produced tears and snarls and complaints and on-the-floor body-thrashing complete with fists and kicks.
Two years ago, on those somewhat exact dates, our family and two others ventured north to the Fat Firmament of Montana. It's a lovely place. The house we rented was bigger than the homes of all three families combined and its location was just yards from a ski lift. It was a cozy ski-in-ski-out arrangement. No dragging the gear to the car to drive to a parking lot. No dressing in the car and no hiking to the chair lift. 'Twas sweet. We played games until late, ate like kings and skied 'til we couldn't see no more.
On this trip, there were six adults and six kids. Each adult would take a 1/2 day to babysit and would therefore leave each adult to enjoy 2.5 days of blissful skiing on the biggest, longest, giantest ski resort in the world (at least in my world anyway.) There is a run on this mountain that is ten miles long. Ten miles! We even had a GPS to verify the authenticity of this ten mile run.
Whoever had the morning shift, would get the kiddies all geared up and ready to go so as everyone could make a few runs after lunch. Then whoever had the afternoon shift would take the kiddies home to play their computer games and whatnot.
Here we are... 5 adults, 6 kids. Everyone but me.
You can't image the planet alignment necessary for this group photo.
On the last trip, Spouse and I turned eight and Yahoo #2 turned four.
Now excuse me while I drown my sorrows in a Nutella and powdered sugar sandwich.