This past week I have been carving up powder in Perisher, translation: I have been cautiously skiing up and down the easy slopes at the snow with my father and sister, Ursula.
I can’t remember the exact year I was last at the snow but it was some time ago, so it was with much trepidation that I buckled up those uncomfortable boots and snapped on the skis. I had visions of stacking in a grand fashion on my first run and spending the rest of the 5-day trip in traction. Fortunately I seem to be fitter that I thought, lugging around a 15kg toddler must be fabulous weight training, and along with somehow remembering the technical moves I not only made it down the mountain unscathed on my first run, but for the rest of the trip I only fell twice and thanks to the fluffy snow cover the tumbles were soft and quite fun.
Ursula and I explored the slopes, she on her snowboard and me trying hard to not resemble a robot. We squealed as the falling snow was whipped up into a blizzard by the wind and stung our cheeks. And laughed as we took turns following each other’s trail down the mountain, then told each other how brave to other was when we accidently found ourselves on a black run (expert scary slope) and took it very, very… very slowly, one curve at a time. Then laughing again as we followed our father’s slow but steady trail on the front valley.
It was not all fun and games, as I threw a tantrum on Wednesday and called it a day mid-morning. Tired and sick I made my way back to where we were staying solo and crawled into bed. When I immerged later that evening I could barely swallow and was in an immense amount of pain, so it was decided that we would cut our trip a day short and return home the following afternoon.
When we woke on our last morning, we found it had been snowing all night so Ursula and I raced out to take some photos – you will see that the sun rose as we shot and the photos of Urs are much bluer pre-sun rise.
We managed to get in a few runs before we returned to pack the car and head home.
When I returned home I was shocked to see just how big my child really is, he is huge! He’s a toddler not the little baby in my head. And he chatted away happily in semi-understandable baby-talk telling me of the adventures he and his dad had gotten up to while I was gone.
I missed my boys.
This was my first holiday or any length of time away from the Bub. And I have to say it wasn’t the fear of injury that made the trip a little hard for me; it was the fact that I desperately missed my kid. But I needed the time away and was glad to have soldiered on, even if I did get struck down with laryngitis and got a little teary mid-way through the trip. I am grateful for my father inviting me along.
SNH took the role of single parent and played house with Bub, which is a role reversal as he has enjoyed 2 fishing trips this year, while I held the fort alone with Bub and the dogs to keep me company in his absence – so it was high time I got the hell out of the house!