Ski Nostalgia

With the ice and deep freeze upon us, skiing is now a sweet memory, until we get another major snowstorm. In replaying my recent memories, I realized that I forgot to include the most memorable part of our first day riding the lift: the "underwear incident." There have been many times in recent past when I have been glad I found that mini pocket knife in the back of the desk drawer and attached it to my key ring. This was definitely one of them. In my excitement about taking Mazin up the chairlift for the very first time--and my continued enthusiasm as he insisted on going up again, and again, and again--I kind of forgot about the typical bladder control capacity of a three-year-old boy. I should have insisted on a potty break at some point during our dozen trips up the lift and back down the slope. But I didn't. It didn't enter my mind at all, actually, until we had just gotten off the lift at the top and Mazin said, "I have to pee." Uh, okay, I thought, looking around frantically for a place to discretely pull down his snow pants and help him take aim. As I tried to help him make his way to the trees at the edge of the trail, he repeated his need: "I have to pee, I have to pee, I have to pee NOW!!!" And then, before we could even begin to negotiate his layers of clothing, he cried out, "I'm peeing, I'm PEEING!" Sure enough, I looked down to see a trickle of yellow boring a hole in the snow next to his ski. (Thankfully, it somehow exited at the cuff of his snow pants instead of pooling inside his boot!) Of course, the next thing he felt compelled to do was burst into tears. (Who wouldn't?) How awful he must have felt. And for a moment, I felt awful, too. First, because it was my fault in the first place for not giving him a potty break, and second, because obviously this would end our ski day, as I had not packed any extra clothing. But I couldn't bear the thought of ending Mazin's first day on the slopes in such an undignified way. There had to be a way... and then I remembered the little knife on my keychain! And the tiny pair of scissors on that pocket knife. I knelt down and looked Mazin in the eyes and explained very seriously that I could solve the problem but that I would need his permission to pull down his pants and cut off his underwear. I explained that without his cotton underwear against his skin, he would not notice the wetness of his polypropylene pants. Most importantly, I informed him that this would allow us to continue skiing, if he wanted to. When I said that, he stopped crying instantly and assented. I made quick work of the soaked undies, and looked around to see if I could get away with tossing them in the woods. I could not, so I stuffed them in his coat pocket. (What, did you think I was going to put them in MY pocket?) We then continued on down the mountain. When we got to the lift again, I asked him if he felt wet. "No," he said. "Do you want to go up again?" I asked. "Yeah!" he yelled.