I love skiing with my kids…except for the times when I don’t.

This ski season, an opportunity came along to cut the chiddlers loose. My West Coast brother called and proposed we rally our East Coast brother and we take our Colorado brother to Winter Park to celebrate his 50^th birthday—without kids. Genius! (In case you lost count, I have three brothers.) Why not leave all our kids at home? Between us, we have 10. The Colorado brood could all stay with my mostly responsible 18-year-old. The kids have all seen the movie Home Alone. They know what to do. (We showed them where we keep the paint cans.) They could eat mac-and-cheese; we could toss a pork shoulder in the crockpot, ski all day, drink beer into the night, and drop F-bombs with impunity.  It would be like someone blowing the whistle in a crowded pool and calling an adult swim. Serenity now.

In some miracle of nature—and possibly a bending of the space-time continuum—we find ourselves with a brood comprised entirely of teenagers. That means the family ski trip has been our modus operandi for some 16 years. Quinn, our high school senior, started skiing at two at Steamboat in corduroy pants and little red boots. Since then packing the kids, skis, boots, poles, snowboards, helmets, goggles, neck gaiters, mittens, lunches, water, and snacks, into the minivan and heading for the hills.

Grown Up Time

On the first morning of our adult-cation, we lingered over omelets, breakfast sausage, and lattes in my brother’s condo. When we suddenly realized the next bus to Winter Park was imminent, we rallied in under 10 minutes. Dressed, booted up, waiting for the bus in less than 10 minutes. That was the first revelation. When you have three kids and you need to get somewhere, the fastest you can rally the troops is an hour and a half, bare minimum.

When I loaded the chair with my brothers and assorted spouses, I felt like something was missing. I double checked and indeed, I was wearing ski pants. But my backpack was empty of cheese puffs and Pirate Booty, small stuffed animals, handwarmers, and pink fuzzy lynx ears (the kind you can Velcro to a pink helmet). It was liberating! Later, though, I would long for the snacks.

We spent the day catching up with one another about life—and reminiscing about our own childhood. “Remember the time Gerard broke a door down on my head, leaving a goose egg on my forehead? And the time Peter had a party when mom and dad weren’t home when he was….18.” Same age as the son babysitting all the kids. In that moment, we decided we better call home, but all seemed to be in order. No keg party. Just a lot of coloring and the playing of Rainbow Six Siege.

We skied laps on Panorama Express, playing in the bumps in Fireberry glades. We dropped into Paresenn Bowl to get a steeps fix on dry, chalky snow. It was a perfect bluebird day. Nobody complained of cold toes or needing to go to the potty (like right now!). Late in the afternoon, we stopped into the Mary Jane Market Café for street tacos to fuel up before a few fast laps on the front side. All told, we logged 10,684 feet, 9 runs, and 11.9 miles. At the end of the day, before we caught the bus back to the condo, we grabbed happy hour margarita and pints of microbrews at Vertical Bistro & Tap.

The ski day was perfect, and I loved catching up on adult time with my siblings and sibling spouses. We skied hard and we laughed hard. We finished our sentences!

Back to Reality

The next weekend, it was back to the family ski. I headed to Copper with my husband and my daughter. We were slow booting up in the parking lot. I turned around in the car and saw that Anya had put her boots on before her pants. Really? You’d think we’d have this operation dialed in by now.

From Center Village, we took a gondola car on the new gondola-chairlift combo lift up to Excelerator and on to the Storm King T-bar. I suggested maybe we do a warmup run first. “Nope. Let’s just hit Spaulding Bowl,” Anya pronounced. Bold! We skied only a handful of runs, including two laps on the steeps in Spaulding. It was a cold day, and my daughter started to complain she was freezing. But that was okay; I was too. We snuggled on the chair and warmed up with hot chocolate in the lodge at the bottom of Super Bee. It was my kind of family time.

As much as I enjoyed the adult ski, the pool is pretty fun with the kids in it. And already, my college-bound son is pushing away—not exactly jumping out of bed at the chance to ski with his mother. I’m going to hang on to it as long as I can.