A couple weekends ago it was unseasonably warm (i.e. hot) even by Los Angeles mid-March standards. The temperature was in the mid 90s.
So, we did what any reasonable family in such a situation would do: Daddy/Daughter Fun Time frolicked in the snow.
An hour and a half from our swelter is Mt. Baldy, altitude about a mile-and-a-half. Temperature upper 50s. Man-made snow.
Getting there is half the fun: A fifteen minute, white-knuckled, please don’t break, please don’t break, please don’t break ski lift ride 200 feet above the steep sloping side of a mountain. Then the lift inexplicably stops. We sway. Rock… Rock… Rock…
Isabella (she’s 8 and riding with me) stating the obvious as she yells to Mommy: Mommy! We stopped!
Mommy (from above the abyss): Yes, Sweetie… I know.
Julianna (10, yelling from beyond): Isabella! Now we can look for woodchucks!
Me: You do that, Honey.
Then it starts again. I’m good.
Once you get to the top, there are additional lifts to take you up another 1000 feet to the ski slopes. I’m good here, thank you very much.
Now, the girls have never really experienced snow before. (Northern friends, I know this is hard to believe.) They think it is the greatest thing on earth! (Northern friends, I know this is hard to believe.)
So, we throw some snowballs and make snow angels.
We even built a snowman:
And then we head to the Tubing run.
And, the day was awesome. Tiring, but awesome.
But, it wouldn’t be complete unless our resident Daddy ended up humiliated. So, at the risk of becoming some kind of Internet meme, I offer this:
At least I know my sunglasses block UVA rays. Yes, I’m a freak. Now, please stop staring at me at the grocery store.