TUNA

I love winter. Not cold-grey-inversion winter, but wake-up-to-a-white-wonderland-then-go-build-a-snowman-winter. Which is why I am down in the dumps that this winter has been so mild. I would be happy if every day of December, January, and February I stepped outside into two feet of beautiful snow. But this winter I don't think we've had more than six inches on the ground at one time. I am exasperated with Mother Nature at the moment. My winter has been this lame:

Times sledding: zero

Snowmen created: zero

Snow forts built: zero

Snow angels: zero

White Christmas? nope

My saving grace has been to escape the bleak valley of brown yards and muddy streets and head to Park City (or Mountain Dell, on a good week) to coach TUNA. It's such a relief to strap skis on my feet and be on snow and breathing the delectably clean, cold air. On the plus side, too, my students are darling. At ages six, seven, eight, or nine, they are easily bribed with whatever candy morsels are on sale at Top Stop, and their enthusiasm is infectious. I laugh my head off as they throw themselves off the little jumps we make and land in a twisted tangle of skis, poles, arms, and legs. One-ski-soccer and sharks-and-minnows and trip-then-jump-on-gail are weekly favorites during game time. We like to sabotage the other groups with snowball attacks. We chant "vee-one, three-one" to practice the technique, and I love watching them learn.

In summary? Best. Job. In. The. World. I can't believe I get paid to have so much fun.

{Today's the last day, so I am feeling rather sentimental; here's to more snow next year, and no more cancelled practices.}