My fantasies of a wide-open day didn't last long. Andrew called me and said, "It's amazing up here. You've got to get up here and watch the kids ski!"
It's hard to argue with Andrew's enthusiasm for anything, but when he's talking about our kids, it's impossible to make excuses for not doing exactly what he suggests. So, I loaded Lucy in the car and we drove up to Solitude to enjoy a day in the mountains watching Andrew and the kids ski.
I remember the first time I ever saw Andrew ski. I had only known him a few a months and we were both home in Utah over Christmas break. We went up to Alta with some friends for a day of skiing. I remember standing at the bottom of a hill and watching Andrew as he skied down. It was something to behold. He was amazing - actually beyond amazing. In my memory, he is skiing down the hill in slow motion, but I don't think that's how it really was. In any case, his form was perfect and his turns precise. He was confident and incredible. The powdery snow flew up around him as he flew down the mountain. It was breathtaking and it made my heart pound. And although we weren't even dating at the time, I think it was at that moment that I first started to fall in love with Andrew. It was beautiful.
(not the form I fell in love with)
I thought about that day as I drove up to Solitude a few weeks ago. I remembered the form, the grace, the style and the confidence and the way I felt a little weak in the knees as I watched it.
Well, I got to Solitude just in time to see Isaac come flying down the hill as cool and confident as his dad had been so many years before. Isaac was followed shortly by Abby - who came cruising down the hill wearing her pink helmet and a grin from ear to ear.
(that's jam on his top lip - not blood.)
We stood there at the bottom of the hill for a minute waiting for Andrew and finally I asked Abby and Isaac where Dad was. They said he was behind them skiing down the mountain with Peter and Henry. We waited awhile longer until finally I looked up on the mountain and recognized Andrew making his way down.
It was certainly a different picture than the one I'd had in my mind on the way up there. Gone were the graceful turns and perfect form. Instead, Andrew was bent over, his skis making a giant snowplow. He was carrying and supporting Peter as he skied slowly down the hill. In Andrew's hands was the harness he was using to help guide Henry down the slope. It looked exhausting and fairly painful - but totally hilarious. I wondered how his legs were possibly strong enough to last like that for very long.
In that moment, watching Andrew come down the slopes, I fell in love with him all over again. Not because he looked like the best skier on the hill (although he is) but because he looked like the best dad on the hill (and he is.) My kids are so lucky to have a dad who spends his Saturdays teaching them to them to ski - even when it would be easier and less painful to put them in ski school. And I am so lucky to be married to the guy I fell in love with on the slopes over fourteen years ago.
(Andrew collapsing after a tough run.)
