This year there were two houses on ski trip—a quieter one, for pregnant couples/those with children …
… and a stay-up-until-6am-playing-mafia-and-beer-pong one. The arrangement worked perfectly.
This was the first year I didn’t ski. I missed it more than I thought I would. I’m a terrible skier. But several years ago I decided there was no sense terrifying myself on black diamonds so when I do ski, I stick to the long, easy slopes, like Timberline‘s Salamander. It’s quiet, slow, pretty—you can even ski off the slope and into the woods, which is beautiful when the branches are covered with snow. But it was OK, not skiing this year. I did, however, play lots of Quiddler.
Poor Sophie battled a terrible cold while on the trip (and, unfortunately, so did I).
Despite her cold, she still managed to eat a lot of one of her favorite foods—cheese.
Evan loved Amy.
Sophie hung out with lots of friends.
Here we are trying to tough it out in the other house Friday night. (Saturday night Sophie and I nursed our colds in the quiet house—we missed hanging out with everyone, but we needed the rest!)
Playing mafia is always a highlight of the trip.
Saturday we bundled up …
… and took a long walk.
Sunday morning Sophie woke up and discovered Evan was wearing the same pjs!
On the way home we stopped for a picnic lunch.
“The sport of skiing consists of wearing three thousand dollars’ worth of clothes and equipment and driving two hundred miles in the snow in order to stand around at a bar and get drunk.” —P.J. O’Rourke
