Sunday, February 9, 2014
From the Tow Rope to the Catwalk
Well, she woke up to a beautiful day for skiing, but ended up cracking her head on the corner of her nightstand when she turned off her alarm and giving herself a big ole wound next to her eye. When she came into my room to tell me about it I was still pretty much dead to the world (as I usually am when she wakes up) and waved her toward the medicine box.
Bright spot when she arrived at school, her best friend (and her best friend's cute, tall 9th grade brother--just had to throw that in there at an attempt at embarrassment--I'm working on my teen mom skills) had decorated her locker for the occasion. Somehow they got the wrong locker...so it was kind of funny for Leslie and another friend to try to transfer the decorations to the proper locker so friend A wouldn't feel bad for messing it up.
Not so bright spot when she arrived home from school. Quite upset. Crying. She said some 9th grade boys on the bus were wrestling and kicked her in the head. Then when she told them to cut it out they made fun of her. Great. Ah, teenage boys. I forgot that number 13 also signifies an increase in idiocy in the opposite sex. I told her that they could just go home to their boring little lives while the two of us escaped to a posh ski resort for the rest of the day, so there.
Posh ski resort, bunny hill. It might have helped if she was a little closer to the ground at her first attempt. Olive Oyl comes to mind, especially with all of those short little 6 year olds zooming around us. First try up the tow rope? WHAM! Knocked her straight backward onto her head. A little too much jerk I guess, then she figured it out. Second time up the tow rope? WHAM! Hit the ground flat. Again. Third time up was perfect. This is not such a good thing because I thought she had it figured out and wasn't giving her much instruction for her 4th time up....where she got to the top, slid backward into the tow rope instead of getting out of the way, it clotheslined her across the thighs, she flipped upsidedown with her body dragging on one side and her heavy skis trapped on the other. I was coming up after her and wasn't too stressed because I was expecting the guy at the bottom to just stop the rope so she could get some help...but no. Did he not see my poor gangly maiden dragging along, flailing and yelling at the top of the hill? Just as I was starting to panic, imagining her being ripped apart where the tow meets the gear at the top (I was raised on farmer-gets-eaten-by grain-auger stories) some Dad ran over and flipped her skis up over the rope so she could escape. Thank you quick Dad who was wearing super hero snowboots instead of lame duck skis (as I was). I don't think this whole clumsy yet life threatening episode made her cry...
No, that only happened six or seven times down the mountain. I decided the tow rope was trying to eat her and we needed to try the lift instead. Lift dismount was actually pretty good, but it took us a long hard time to get down the mountain. Falling = pain. Falling = ten minutes of trying to get back up. So don't fall then! Finally, the last two stretches of the slope she really started to get the hang of it and wasn't afraid to go a little bit fast. (Most of her falling down was just to slow herself down.) By then she was pretty much frozen stiff, though, and all cried out with cramping muscles, so she rested by the firepit while I took a solo ride and then we were done for the night. I think she at least saw the potential for fun and enjoyment. She said she is willing to try it again...maybe next year. I don't think she has cried as much on a birthday since she was like, two.
Good thing she had a great time later in the week. The young women participated in a modesty fashion show, modeling borrowed modest formal wear. They were all gorgeous and had so much fun getting all dolled up and trying on the dresses. I think that when it was Leslie's turn to walk into the room there really was an audible gasp because she was so stunning. Goodbye "Olive Oyl", hello Swan. (We can call Mark "Pretty Nervous"). Bishop poked him as she came through and told him he's going to have to watch out for the boys. I'll let you be the judge.
Some chuckles from one of Cooper's teachers after church today (who claimed Cooper was SOOO funny...) had us asking some questions at the dinner table.
"Cooper, what was your class about today?"
Talking with mouth full, "Families."
"Your teacher said you were pretty funny. What did you do?"
"I don't know. I guess there was the time when she asked us what our parents give us. I told her, 'Spankins'. Then she said, no, I mean, what do they give you when you're good? Ummmm. Hamburgers?"