My Turn

There are few things I'll post about... make that one thing. That's right, this is Caleb, borrowing the mic for un momento, and something ski related has occurred in the Pope household. No, I haven't broken anything (this time) and no epic adventures have taken place (yet). Actually, there's hardly enough snow to even think about posting something ski related. My friends may call my next statement blasphemous, heretical, or pure lunacy, and begin sharpening their wooden ski poles to de-vampire-ify my soul, 'cause its obviously been compromised (or even worse, they might un-friend me), but the lack of snow has actually been amazing. No, I haven't found a new wintertime mistress. And no, I haven't lost my passion for deep snow and a face-full of blower Alta pow. But I have found amazing satisfaction skiing with my boys, and these sunny, high-pressure days have been perfect father-son ski days, and I'd say we've capitalized on the opportunity.

  Cooper and Carter have not only begun to drink from the ski-goblet, but they have actually become thirsty for it. Coop already has about 10 days under his belt this year, and he is absolutely killing it. But this post is reserved for little Tart-ski.

  After a failed attempt on Carter's 2nd birthday to ski on his own for the first time (we'll blame this a little bit on a strong-willed two-year-old's independence, and a lotta bit on an overzealous dad’s expectations and lack of patience), Carter had been relegated to the back-pack for the remainder of last season and beginning of this season. As much fun as we had, my heart, and more-so my back, told me it was time to get this 36 pound kid on his own skis. With Cooper attending pre-school Tuesday and Thursday mornings this year, I figured Carter and I should take our shot and get on the slopes for some one on one time. 

  As Carter woke up at the first sign of light in his bedroom, crossed the hall and climbed into bed with us, I asked if he wanted to go on a daddy-Carter adventure today. His excited face grew from super to uber when he found out that not only was it a skiing adventure, but that he'd be skiing on his own skis. I had to do some qualifiers, ensuring he would listen and accept help, and I'm sure his answer was, "Yes, as long as your patience persists".

  We packed the car, headed up Provo Canyon while listening to Carter's favorite beat-boxing song, had a laugh while I honked the car's horn in the tunnel, and got to Sundance in no time. We both got in our ski boots, coats and helmets, and began walking to the rope tow. With the rope tow being up the hill a couple hundred feet, and our first 10 feet taking five minutes to walk, I threw Carter on my shoulders, grabbed his skis in one hand and my skis in the other, and began the trudge up the hill. As fatigue was setting in, and oxygen was becoming more necessary and seemingly less accessible (did I say a couple hundred feet or a couple thousand? And did I mention he weighs 36 pounds? Or was it 80?), we made it to the base of the tow and clicked in our bindings. 

  Arriving at the top, I could tell Carter was a bit nervous. How? He was silent. Dead silent. I told him I'd help him and that if he listened he'd be just fine. After figuring out balance and understanding that skiing is controlled slipping on snow, Carter did great. We had a blast skiing down a few times, eating snow, and Carter making "Carter's" (snow angels). It was a huge success in my opinion.

  As we were arriving back to the car, him on my shoulders with his skis still on, I said, "Carter, you did AWESOME today!" And Carter’s response, without skipping a beat, "Thanks, dad! You did pretty good, too." Oh, how I love this kid!