Nothing like the smell of Snomax in the morning! Can I make it through the first day.

I've been waiting all year for the sound of snow guns going off on the mountain.  You'd think I'd be excited that snow season is starting for us.

I dread it.

No really, you haven't been in my house the first day we go out on the snow.

It is hell.

All of our hats and mittens are supposed to be in the Hats and Mittens bins in the closet.  Unknown to me, the little minions got into those bins several times over the summer and they exploded into the great unknown, along with a few essentials.

Here is my first day on the snow:

Nobody can find a thing.

Since I am the only one with boobs in our household, my family figures  mine will point them to their missing equipment.  While this is happening, I am being followed by minions complaining that they only have one glove, and their facemask smells like butt.  While they are telling me this, the dear wonderful husband is following them explaining, that "all of this costs money, and if you put things back where you found them then they wouldn't be lost, right?  The facemask could smell better if you got it off the floor under your bed and kept it in the Facemask Bin."

No of this helps as I think about hiding in the pantry for ten minutes with a spiked cup of coffee.

One the human homing device finds gloves, hats, facemasks, helmets- we move into round two.

Why do my kids always have this urge to use my husband's stuff.  He puts his goggles on and finds that the lens are scratched.  Turning to oldest child he asks, what happened.
"Oh I had to use them for mountain biking, mine were too small."

Photo Courtesy of  +Brian Twitty 

What?  I got back up to the pantry closet contemplating a shot as my dear sweet husband has a full conversation with the child about how hard he works to get this stuff and someone always uses his stuff and breaks it.  I wonder, "Why in the hell after 13 years do you still touch his stuff?  Why?"

One year my dear sweet husband was convinced that someone stole his ski pants.  After using my double decker homing device while listening to the boys giving suggestions to where his pants could have gone, I find them in the bottom of a drawer.  See, told you the boobs work.

Another year, the kids decided that his ski shirts were perfect for the summer, so the first day of getting everything together I could not find a single shirt for him.  Let me tell you how much fun that is.  This year is was the search for his favorite socks, of course they were in my son's room.

We gather skis, poles, snowboards, helmets, goggles (including scratched ones), gloves, face masks, hand warmers, and all climb in the car heading over to the resort.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Mom, I forgot my ski pass at home."

The conversation as we turn around and head back to the house to get the pass consists of "I told you to check and see if you have everything," followed by, "I asked Mom to get it."

Thanks son, throw me under the bus.

Well I could add that shot of whiskey as I go back in the house to get it.