Spent the day in Waterton Lakes National Park with none other than my parents, Linda "Super Gramma" Tolman, and Shayne "Granpoo" Tolman. Grayson has a knack for making unforgettable nicknames.
As my parents are big believers in our movement, we felt it was a good way for one of our first attempts. Rather than do what we normally do, we decided to do something none of us had done before (hey, we can't get to know someone better without doing something out of the ordinary right?)
Why sober people choose to go cross-country skiing is really beyond me. We spent most of the day crashing into each other and falling over, with the exception of Granpoo, who actually managed to fall over by himself multiple times.
I was hooked up to a sled like a common mule and given orders by my wife to pull our three year old the 3 km to the lake. After mommy left, Grayson informed me that I was no longer a man hooked up to sled, or a mule for that matter. I was now a rocket, and after a speech-impediment-laden countdown I was expected to blast off with the force of dual propelled rocket boosters.
I soon found it was easier to simply be a rocket than to beg my son to turn me into something less... rockety.
Obviously, we made record time to our destination at the lake. We did not build the snowman, although Super Gramma did make some unmentionable "improvements" after the cameras were turned off.
The trek back to base camp was less eventful, and I didn't really see to much of the scenery since every time I dropped below the speed of light Grayson would encourage me onward with a fresh countdown.
Post-ski dinner consisted of ham sandwiches rewarmed over a camp kitchen fire, washed down with hot chocolate from a shared thermos for most of us, and melted snow for Granpoo, who was slow on the draw. I might add that the sandwiches were made on Super Gramma's incredible homemade bread, which I will try and get permission to post. If I can't convince her, I know a three year old who likely will.
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