We took the kids nordic skiing for the first time on Saturday afternoon.
Realizing that - especially for kids - the anticipation and memory of an event can be every bit as pleasurable as the activity itself, we began to whip them into a frenzy already as we ate our breakfast fruit souffle. They promptly donned boots, snowsuits and mittens and spent the rest of the morning with their over-padded selves wedged into their chairs at the kitchen table, trying to cut out paper Valentines with puffy mitts on.
Pete and I didn't have any lofty goals for the trip to Cypress Mountain, seeing it as more of a reconnaissance mission. We planned to check out the children's rental options, introduce the kids to locomoting on two extra appendages and perhaps, if we dared to dream, have hot chocolate at the lodge.
And success! Leif glided around like a true Norwegian. He did fall over a hundred times, maybe two, but he laughed every time. At one point I caught him scrambling out of the track, trying to breach a snowbank to ski into the woods in pursuit of bobcats, he explained.
Saskia sailed down hills with her braids flagging behind her, arms outstretched, pink snowsuit-clad legs wobbling.
We were happy that the kids were so game. I think gameness is an undervalued trait, and I hope they maintain it into adulthood.
Ariana was too small for even the tiniest boots, so Pete pulled her in a pulk. Truth be told, I'm not sure we could have handled a third one on skis.
We made it to the lodge. We had hot chocolate and poutine on a scarred wooden table in a dark room that smelled of wet clothes drying.
Happy and tired in the van at the end of the day, we snaked down the mountain with the lights of Vancouver and beyond sparkling orange against a dark blue-gray evening. Mission accomplished, and then some.
PS The Sony has been hospitalized with a seizure disorder NYD and so I am back to a compact camera (Canon Powershot SD880) for the time being.