We've just spent a week up in Colorado skiing. Or not, as the case may be. I have been lucky and not suffered from altitude sickness this time, thanks to the Diamox tablets my doctor gave me. (Would highly recommend them.) For some reason however, I still haven't been out much. A combination of a couple of work deadlines and a little boy who skis half a day and then declares he's too cold/tired. At nine, I don't really think he's old enough to leave alone while the rest of us hit the slopes. I don't mind staying in with him, I just get stressed about not skiing. You know? You come all this way, pay all this money and then do what you were doing the week before in your own home.
One thing I did do, apart from giving myself a fat lip from a carrot in a salad (see previous post), is rip the skin off the inside of the same bottom lip. It's still not healed. How, you may ask did I do that? Well, duct tape, to tell you the truth. Take it from me, it's not a good idea to try to tear it with your teeth rather than looking for the scissors. Sigh.
And the Man-Child hardly skied (how do you spell the past tense of ski?) at all this week, due to a DIY pedicure incident. He came here with a rather large callous on the side of his foot, which apparently was the foot he needed to direct his snow board. I went out and spent a small fortune on Dr. Scholl stuff, including a foot scraper. I distinctly remember telling him to soak his foot and then I would do the scraping. But no, he went to his room and did it himself, and yes, he drew blood. (We've all been there haven't we?) Rather a lot of blood and the foot ended up being more sore than ever. Poor sod only got out for an hour on the second last day and two hours on the last day.
I might as well stand on the street corner and hand out dollar bills.