Love at Sea & Love at Peaks

Love.  And, let me tell you, it was endless this weekend.  Oh, the weather and oooh, the ladies and ahhh, the guy I love.

& Wow-la-la Mt. Baker with its epic terrain, aqua glaciers, organic lodge food, and music like vintage Bowie cranking throughout.  We also smile at the missing scene of floor-length fur, apres ski.

I love walking out the door with my man and it was made easier with our first teenage babysitter, Kerry.  She’s fun and competent and just as responsible as I’d want our girls to be at that age.  I had a poetry reading at the library and it was so great to look out into the sea of local folks and see Luke listening to my words about our life and our ladies.  We enjoyed some cocktails afterwards, just like real adults with other adults.  Joyous.
Upon dropping off our dog, Tilly, at the ‘dog hotel’ we heard a hilarious story about our scared-y dog who’s frightened of everything, even puddles.  Apparently during her last visit she was annoyed by a sparrow that was seemingly dive-bombing her head.  Out of nowhere, she opened her mouth and swallowed it whole, coughing a few feathers up afterwards. So much for bird-dog behavior.  
We then packed up our ever shrinking VW for a weekend in Mt. Baker country and made the second ferry of the morning.  I’m really starting to love beginning each journey with a ferry boat ride.  Even Costco seems like an epic journey instead of a mundane errand and, besides, I’ve always been one for road trips.  I just love how the language of it is now so much a part of our girls’ language, “we’re going off island,” “look at that tanker with all those big metal boxes from China,” and “the Lopez ferry dock is really slow, huh Mama?”  I suppose it is our version of urban kids who ride the subway into routine.
Betty received skis and boots for her fourth birthday and has been itching to try them out. Since it is her third season, we figured it would be o.k. that the weather was supposed to be partly cloudy with a high of 23 degrees.  
I  have never been happier that the men in suits got it wrong with a gorgeous blue and hot sunny sky with no breeze at all and snow like fine raw sugar.  

Betty pretty much refused to practice her snow plow technique because, “why would I want slow down?”  She rocks fast.  

We hadn’t really thought about having Lucy ski; we’d wanted to start Lucy at the same age Betty was which was 27 months.  Lucy, only 23 months, still in a diaper, addicted to her pacifier, and still signing more than she’s talking.  But, Betty insisted Lucy use her skis.  After a potty break in Betty’s old pink folding potty, of course.

Lucy skied for almost two hours.  She also rocked, slurring the words, “wee, skiing, snowww” from behind her slurppy pacifier each run.  We’d frequently check in with her daddy and big sister at the trail’s edge whereupon Lucy would take the advantage of me in conversation and lean forward to continue down the hill.  The rope-pull things was a trick because she wanted to sit down – maybe she’s ready for the lift, eh?  

Lucy also really appreciated Uncle Matt (or, Unc Ski-peey –  [Uncle Skippy] as she calls him, thanks to Betty) skiing with her, too.

The girls made it five hours slope-side and were thoroughly starving, tired, potty-in-need, sun-soaked, and thirsty when we entered the lodge at 3 PM.  Lucy was so sleepy-hungry that Betty had to feed her.  


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