So, yesterday at Camp Fortune, the boys picked up skiing with a speed that convinced me (as if I needed any more convincing) that they are not genetically related to me in any way. Daniel was going up and down the Pee Wee hill on his own in about five minutes. Justin needed me to hold on to for a while, but he started to push for independence way before I would have thought to bring it up.
We eventually went to a Beginner hill, at their request. I told them that we would try it, and if they didn't like it, we could go back to the baby hill. No pressure.
Got onto the chair lift (as opposed to pull-line), got off at the top, had our first experience with skiing on ice, faced a hill a lot steeper than the baby hill, conquered a moment of panic, and went down. I started to give Daniel pointers on how to stop himself without resorting to sitting down, which had hitherto been his main mode of deceleration, and he gradually picked it up. Near the middle of the hill, Justin started to whimper that this was much scarier than he had thought it would be, and asked if we could return to the baby hill. Sure, I said. Shortly after that, I discovered that if he held on to my hand instead of my ski-pole, he fell down far less often. Soon he was shrieking with joy, and by the time we got to the bottom, he wanted nothing to do with the baby hill. Daniel, who'd had a few scary moments of his own, wasn't too sure, but gave in to Justin's preference fairly easily. Back up we went.
And back down, better than before. Back up again.
This time, as we got near the top of the hill, Justin's ski got caught under the safety bar of the chairlift. I called to the attendant to stop the lift, and she very quickly did so, then came over to help me untangle him and help him off.
Then the lift started up again. Justin was still on it, Daniel in front of him. Justin started to slide off as the lift started to rise up and away, the chair whacked him on the back of the head on his way down, he crashed into Daniel, Daniel screamed and fell down, I screamed at the attendant to stop it, and she vaulted over some equipment to hit the button again.
Totally heart-stopping. Justin's glasses had been knocked off, he was pale and shrieking hysterically, Daniel was on the ground crying, skis were all over the place, two attendants were trying to see if Justin was OK, I was trying to get us all out of the way of the *&$%ing chairlifts and keep the kids (and one attendant) from spiralling into total panic, it was a mess.
Finally figured out that neither kid was physically injured, just scared out of their wits. Phew.
They weren't the only ones scared. The other skiiers had watched the whole thing, and quite a few were still staring at us. One lady came up and said it had been quite terrifying, even from the sidelines. Asked Justin if he was OK, and when he said he was just really mad, she said something like, "Well, you should be! That was terrible! I'd be really mad too."
Still had the huge hill to go down, and I knew that in Justin's place, I would not have wanted to risk further injury by skiing down. But I'd told the lift attendants that we didn't need the safety people with their stretcher to bring him down the hill, so I asked if he wanted to ski. Don't know what I thought I was going to do if he didn't; probably request to go down on the chairlift, although I doubt that would have been less scary to him at that particular point in time.
No worries, though. Justin nodded yes, he was OK to go down.
"But I'm only going down this hill one more time! I don't want to go on this fucky chairlift any more!!"
...
... ::Hmm... as a responsible mama, do I tell him that kind of language is inexcusable, no matter the circumstances? Do I ignore it? Do I stifle my insane urge to giggle, now that I know he's not badly hurt? Do I gently indicate that the correct usage is "fucking" chairlift?::
Moment's hesitation, then I replied, "Well, it's better not to use words like that, Justin, but I agree. We won't go back up this hill; it would be too scary." Daniel nodded very emphatically, still patting Justin's shoulder.
Down we started to go, very cautiously. Way sooner than I expected, Justin was pushing at us to go a little faster. Then we hit a patch of ice, and I realized that I couldn't stop us, and we were probably going to wipe out, and I also realized that if I acted panicked, he was probably going to panic too and maybe never want to ski again, and so I started to laugh and said "I think we're going to faaaall..." and he started to giggle. And within seconds we were careening wildly out of control, sliding down sheer ice, holding on to each other and laughing, and then we hit a soft patch of snow and landed with skis and poles tangled and Justin laughing like he was about to rupture something.
Lay there for a little while, still laughing, and finally got up. Caught up with Daniel, who had seen us go down and had his own little gigglefest going, went the rest of the way down, and finished the hill on a very positive note :)
Wrote out a long letter of complaint down at the bottom, taking care to mention the ages of the children involved, and ended up talking to the lift manager about half an hour later. Profuse apologies on behalf of Camp Fortune, and effusive thanks for letting them know what had happened. If the manager's voice and word-choices ('inexcusable', 'extremely serious concern', 'absolutely not the way we run things here') was any indication of his state of mind, the dude at the bottom of the lift (who re-started the lift) may have been in for one hell of a reprimand.
Whether he was or not, it was nice having our concerns taken seriously, although distinctly weird to end up minimizing the event to the offending party.
"No, he's OK, he was just scared, that's all. Yes, everybody up top was very helpful. No, that's OK. Really, we're fine." ::chill out, dude, it was a mistake, nobody's dead::
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