Friday, January 8, 2010

Not Living Up to Her Middle Name

My daughter's middle name is Picabo, as in Picabo Street; the well decorated Olympic downhill skier.  Because I am a great lover of winter sports as viewed from my warm couch, I became enamored of Picabo during her final games. If she had won her last gold medal, Violet's first and middle names might have been reversed.  I did some skiing of my own in high school, but with age I have gained not only wisdom, but a much lower tolerance for extreme temperatures.  I could go all winter without so much as a passing urge to play in the snow, but I am not 4 years old and suffering from cabin fever.  Yesterday, Aaron made a sledding play date for Violet with our neighborhood friends. This was fine despite Violet's lack of winter wear or a sled, because these friends were going to share their gear.  Well, vomit happens and the play date got canceled.

I might have breathed a sigh of relief, but Daddy decided that we could go sledding by ourselves.  We just needed to stop at Walmart and pick up a sled.  I suspected that Walmart would fail us, as it always does, and gathered a few items to use as makeshift sleds (southern Ohio stores are notorious for not stocking sleds).  Why not turn this into a homeschool lesson about what will hurl you down a hill and what will not?

 An oversized IKEA shopping bag with cardboard stuffed in the bottom will NOT send you down the hill.

Nope. Still doesn't work.  Also note: lids from Rubbermaid containers do NOT make good sleds.

You know what does work?  Sleds borrowed from nice teenagers who try not to laugh at your pathetic attempts to sled with random household objects.

Borrowed sleds actually work too well. The once fearless Violet began to rethink her whole daredevil lifestyle.  Hurtling down a frozen hill at breakneck speed with a 200 pound man is apparently my daughter's threshold for terror.

Aaron ended up pulling Violet around in a laundry basket (I told you. Random household objects.) She was too traumatized to use the real sled again*. 

*Furthermore, she was too cold.  Her stylish faux suede coat and boots were no match for the wet snow, despite the grocery bag liners I expertly stuffed her feet into. We lasted 20 minutes on that hill.

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