I'd do it again for the Greek Moonshine.

Oldest Boy (11) and Middle Boy (9) take snowboard lessons on Saturdays.  Living in Utah it's a shame not to take advantage of the proximity of the mountains and the affordable programs for kids to learn to ski or board.

I started skiing when I was 15.  I joined my high school's ski club with friends, saved my babysitting money, wore borrowed clothes, including my dad's long underwear that had a racing stripe stain, and rented skis.  My friends taught me to ski and I fell in love with it.  I skied through college but had to back-burner it when Chris and I got married.  We were livin' on luv and ski trips cost more than wiggling and giggling.  We rode bikes instead.

Chris and I take turns taking the boys to their lessons.  Toddler Child doesn't ski yet, so one of us stays home with him.  Ski school with Toddler Child is financially and emotionally expensive.  Not worth it yet.

I went with the boys last Saturday because Chris' back is still sore - technically it was his turn.  It was a beautiful day and the snow was great.

I almost always ski alone and I don't mind at all.  When I was younger I was a more aggressive skier and obviously better than I am now.  I'm still a decent skier, but not as strong and much more cautious. 

Saturday I joined a group of parents I've seen around school but don't know very well.  We skied together a bit in the morning, split-up, and agreed to meet for lunch.

After lunch a few people were heading down to some easier groomed runs, and a few others wanted to find a section of the mountain they'd noticed from a distance and described as "a beautiful, ungroomed, pure powder, wide bowl, that dumps you right into Baby Thunder" (a well-known and easy area).  They said one of the ski instructors told them how to get there.  I said it might be out of my comfort zone and beyond my abilities.  Nah, they said.  We've seen you ski.  You're good!  C'mon.  It'll be fun!  It's easy.  Our legs are shot.  We're just gonna make some turns.

I should have known better.   There were six of us.  Four of the people were Telemark skiers.  Do you know what that is?  It's a bad-ass skier who's bored with alpine skiing.  I mean, a BAD-ASS SKIER.  One of the Telemark guys was wearing an avalanche beacon.  Do you know what that is?  It's a device that helps people find you when you've been buried by an avalanche because you're skiing places normal people do not.

There was one other woman who was not on Telemark skis and she and I had skied together earlier.  I figured if she was going, with the bad-ass group, I could too.  I figured wrong.

I'll save the blow-by-blow, 90-minute, near-death, ski-trek story for fellow skiers who like to exchange war stories while we're drinking a beer some day.  The leaders of our group got lost.  We never found the "beautiful, ungroomed, pure powder, wide bowl, that ... " whatever.  We hiked and we skied, and we skated, and I fell, and I fell, and I fell, and I screamed, and I called someone's kid a "prick" and a "dickhead".  I looked and sounded like a foul-mouthed Jerry Lewis coming down the mountain.

I survived with brusied knees and sore muscles, broke-up with the bad-ass group, and headed in for the day.

As I was collecting the kids and their stuff, I ran into my "beacon in the night".  A fellow parent who doesn't ski, but was hanging out to help as needed.  He had been given a water bottle full of Greek moonshine [Tsikoudia or Tsipouro].  Really.  The man who makes the Greek moonshine [a different parent] had promised to give me some next weekend.  I can't wait.  The recipient of this week's moonshine was kind enough to pull it from his coat pocket and let me hit it... a couple of times.

Next week I'm taking my dose of courage a little earlier.