Freaky Fun

After every vacation, I feel like I never went on one. Why is that?

It’s hard to believe we were skiing in Utah only five days ago, but it’s true. And, even more unbelievable is what transpired on this past ski vacation. Nothing illegal. Nothing tawdry. So, stop automatically assuming the worst when I say things like that! Okay, maybe there was a little tawdriness going on, but that’s beside the point.

We had some “Freaky Friday” shit happening this past President’s week. No, the boys weren’t walking around with alcoholic beverages espousing the latest Republican GOP candidacy statistics, but it was pretty close to that in my book.

You all know I’m a maniac with my camera. I absolutely love a good photo-op. And, that is not, in any way, limited to heights, inclement weather or precarious situations. If I can get to my little Nikon Coolpix, I’m taking the shot. Unfortunately, this did not seem to bode well with my boys this past week.

It all started in the airport. We had a 7:00am flight, and I was determined to start recording our trip from our bright and early 4:00am wake-up time. (Actually, I never even went to bed. I was too afraid I would never get up.)

The boys were not that pleased.

"I'm only tolerating this nonsense because I'm too tired to say, no. And, you gave birth to me."

Mark is muttering, "Try to smile boys. If your Mother gets her shot, we might make it to the gate in time for boarding."

Then, there were the actual days on the mountain. I couldn’t help myself. They looked so adorable in their ski outfits, and they’re only getting bigger, so I wanted to immortalize those memories to the best of my ability. The boys, not so into it. As we were getting on the chairlift, I whipped out my camera and said, “Jakey, turn around and give Mommy a smile.”

He turned to me, did not smile, and yelled, “Put the camera away. Do you want to lose it? Do you?”

Huh. I immediately put the camera away. Rendered completely speechless by my six year old, all I could do was nod my head in tacit agreement. Thank G-d I didn’t get a lecture from him once we were on the lift.

"Gotcha, anyway."

Things seemed to rapidly progress from that point. I know I’ve pointed this out to you guys before, but I’m going to mention it again. I am the only female in a house of males (except for the dog, but she wasn’t with us). I can not get ready in five minutes. It’s just not gonna happen. Furthermore, I am not a morning person. Let me repeat…I. Am. Not. A. Morning. Person. So, getting myself and the boys out in the morning for a day of skiing, with all of the skiing accoutrements, is not a sweat-free task for me.

And, once finally ready to get on the slope, the process doesn’t end. It takes a little time there too. Something, the males in my world do not seem to comprehend. I thought it was just limited to Mark, but it’s not. My boys have the same female time aversion gene as their father.

Well, listen up boys…there’s a process. The neck-warmer has to sit the right way against my turtleneck. My helmet has to hold my hair back so it doesn’t get in my way. My goggles have to be on in the “right” place. The hand-warmers need to be locked and loaded. My jacket needs to be zipped up just the right amount. Those skis have to be on properly. And, my pole straps have to be around my hands the correct way. I need to feel comfortable, secure and mentally ready. Got it?

No, they don’t get it. Every morning, I would hear two little voices conversing, “Mom takes foreverrrrrr. We’re never going to get skiing. What is she doing?”

Exhibit “A”:

"Where is she already?"

Exhibit “B”:

"Let's go."

But, the ultimate “Freaky Friday” moment came when we were getting ready to leave Deer Valley. I was, once again, engaging in my “getting-ready” process, when I hear Sam say, “We’re going on a plane, not to a wedding.” He turns and simply walks away.

WTF! Who’s the parent? Who’s the child? Am I in the Twilight Zone? And, can a girl get some space, please?

I don’t know when this switch happened, but it doesn’t appear to be stopping. We’re now back in NY, unpacked, and getting into the swing of school again. Only, I have two little boys parenting me at every turn.

We’re sitting at the dinner table last night, and just as I’m about to grab a little piece of dark chocolate, Sam says, “Are you sure you want to eat that? I thought you said you ate too many chocolate croissants on vacation?”

“You’re right. I need to get my eating back in order,” I replied. Then I thought about it for a second, picked up the chocolate, looked at Sam and Jake, and defiantly said, “Boys, give your Mom a break. I have to live. Don’t be so serious all the time. It’s not healthy.”

I thoroughly enjoyed that little piece of chocolate, and thought, “Now, who’s the child?”

Can you relate?