Splashing in the ocean in gaps between skiing.

Empty slopes on Valentine's Day.

Granny grumbled that her hiking poles broke again and that they were awfully expensive; thus we decided to visit together a sale of returned sports gear at REI. I know that Gábina always used to praise these events, while I have always been horribly nervous in all queues and browsing heaps of any sort, but for this time I resolved to check it out.

To our surprise the queue was not considerably long, but since we did not line up in front of the store at dawn, we got our turn only in a second batch of customers. I was hoping to check out climbing shoes (my crack-ready LaSportivas have a worn-out sole) and perhaps ski boots for the kids. Granny was unleashed to satisfy her own interests. Naturally, neither climbing nor ski boots for the kids were available — but I found ski boots for me. I tried to clarify various details with our ski expert Martin, who said that there was no way to be wrong spending thirty dollars, and so I have a "new" pair of Spanish boots. My old ones used to fit my pre-pregnancy size and now don't accomodate my subsequently flattened foot; as a consequence, my toes freeze in them horribly.

The weather decided to try on a summer dress and we finally got around to trip to Point Lobos, which Hippo had been planning for over a month. The Pacific Ocean keeps its sixty degrees, but sun was shining like crazy, and soon kids stripped down to swim suits and began splashing in the surf, while I sunned myself; Hippo kept hiding in the shade. Hence, following our skiing weekend, this was a funny change.

Hippo's birthday comes in mid-February; falling right in the week of Valentine's Day madness, but we had reserved the "cabin" with Vendula and went skiing. Without the kids. With Martin, Bára, Vendulka and Pavel. Sid and I skied at Hippo's pace — we snacked beer on a patio, later had a hamburger at a Backside food kiosk, and relaxed in the sun, freed from parenting duties. Suchýš had arrived later on Saturday, and we tried to find him on the slopes. Only late in the afternoon I spotted him and he joined me in running a few easier parts, topping it off with me taking him to the Olympic slope. Suchýš hesitated on the crevice for a moment, and I worried whether I overestimated him, but in the end he made it down under his own control — and even rushed to catch the last lift ride to go again. We drank fernet in the evening, chatted and sang very cacophonically for a while, and it was an occasion very befitting Hippo's (lack of) affinity to majestic formal celebrations.

Obligatory snow ball fight after arrival.

Giant ice cream.

Enticed by our skiing successes, I decided to purchase ski goggles for the children. I long pondered sizes at the store, but even so I managed to buy Tom's goggles too large. We had to go again, this time with the kids, and try things out in person. Now that I had my kids along and available, I had a silly idea to try how the goggles would fit with a helmet that I pulled out of a rack. And I was lost. Lisa spotted a PINK ski helmet that "did go so nicely" with her pink goggles... and we were leaving not only with goggles, but now with helmets as well. On the other hand, renting helmets is rather expensive and we still intend to ski a few more times.

There is no joy showing on the bathroom front at home. Naturally, we had entered the maximum hassle phase, when ordered faucets did not arrive at first, and when they finally did, they turned out out be completely insane and dysfunctional; hence we continue having a hole in the house and must take turns in a single functional shower. At least we have two wash basin installed and two toilets. When a chance presented itself, to escape to the "cabin" at Kirkwood with my kids for two days during their winter break, I did not hesitate.

I promised Blanka to take Jack along to the mountains, for he lost his planned ski trip with his Czech school, now that they moved to America. And since Hippo could not take off in the middle of this week, we agreed to take along Jack's father, Peter. Meanwhile much snow has been added in the Sierra, about twelve feet of powder, and we were anxiously following the forecast and also live information about road closures. Road to Kirwood leads through an avalanche zone, which tends to get impassable at times.

Peter called me in the evening before departure that Jack got ill, and only he shall accompany us them. I felt sorry for Jack, but I was still glad for Peter to come along; it's better to have someone to help with stoking the fireplace and take turns behind the wheel, and with whom one can chat.

We got to Kirkwood a moment past four o'clock, and just met with Vendulka and Chris with Michelle and (another) Peter. They were packing out, into which we dragged in our stuff, and it got somewhat chaotic. Kids wanted to stay in the snow anyway, after spending four hours in the car seats, and so we got out behind the "cabin". There I almost had a stroke, for my clever son hid his plastic helicopter in the snow and subsequently forgot WHERE exactly he buried it. I could thus test with my own hands and feet that Kirkwood resort advertisement did not lie, promising BOTTOMLESS POWDER. Eventually we found the chopper, but the urge to shred my son into thousand little Tommies lingered with me long thereafter.

Then Vendulka with Chris's company left and we could finally take over living in the condo. After a dinner in a nearby bar I unwisely promised the kids ice cream, but at least I could order a draft beer for myself. Peter studied the menu and eventually picked nachos appetizer, expecting them to bring a few cheese-dribbled chips and salsa. Well, it was a heap so big that it would have amounted for a complete meal (especially if you include beans, avocado, cheese, sour cream etc.), and we did not manage to devour it.

Peter gladly skied with the kids.

Children keep improving their skiing skills.

In the morning I declardd that I was not willing to ski Timber Creek, and we tried to rent skis and arrange for lift tickets right at the Logde, within our walking range. The plan was — we would all go to the rental place, get skis for Peter and the kids, they all change into their boots, I take their regular shoes home, where I pick up my boots and skis, and we meet at the lift. The execution was somewhat more creative — we rented the gear, Peter and kids changed. I took and armful of their (three pairs of) shoes, and we discovered outside that it was rather hot and we would all need to peel of a layer. I removed kids' fleeces and Peter handed me his sweater, we put Tom and Lisa in their skis, and Lisa on her way to the lift announced that she had to pee. So I dragged Lisa on skis back to the road, there I made her carry her skis to the "cabin" where she could go pee, while I put away the shoes and all drenched in sweat donned my own boots — and we could finally go ski.

On ten feet of new snow it was much better that any time before this year. It was also a lot slower, and after only one ride on the easy Snowkirk the kids were bored and I took them all to Solitude, with blue (medium difficulty) slopes. A month ago, on a frosted surface Vendulka had to help Lisa down this way; now Lisa was running without a problem. We sent Peter to try some black diamonds at the end and later got together for lunch.

In the afternoon, spoiled by how kids took Solitude, I took the whole party to the Backside. There we found a snag: one of the lifts, Iron Horse, only has two-seat benches, and Tom was afraid to ride alone, and so we let Peter to go explore less popular slopes and returned to the main valley. Alas, we were tired of Solitude, and so I let the children traverse to their favorite Timber Creek. I think they liked the traversing a lot, I wonder how they'd like cross-country skis — they consider skiing through forest a great fun. It got colder and cloudy in the afternoon, and shortly before four we wrapped it up and returned to the "cabin" by the local shuttle, which covered another Tommy's wish (go on a ski bus).

Mild progress in our shower stall.

On Thursday morning I watched the weather with a bad feeling. According to forecast it was supposed to start snowing heavily, and we had to leave before they'd close the roads. It was cold and a wind was blowing, which made me put away my fashionable windbreaker and don a heavy dawn jacket. We started on Solitude, traversed to Timber Creek and generally skied in the front part of the resort. When we began to feel cold, Peter suggested that he would take kids twice down a blue slope, while I could traverse back to Cornice Express, get up on the ridge and swish down on black diamond. We met again at the cafeteria, had a fast lunch, and returned to skiing. We exchanged places with Peter, me staying with the kids and he running a black slope, but it started to snow, wind began blowing and it generally began to be rather unpleasant. Going another black slope, I could not see much and only when I passed near a stopped skier, I realized I was moving at perhaps unhealthy pace — I had had no reference point in the whiteout.

By then both kids began to moan that they were cold and tired, and so we traversed back to the "cabin" and began to pack already by one o'clock. By the time we were leaving, I was rather tense if we make it through, but so far only a few inches of new snow had fallen, the roads still clear and easy to pass in a four wheel drive.

Immediately after returning from the mountains, I went down with some cold, and for several subsequent days I stumbled around the house like in a fog. Meanwhile a crisis engulfed our bathrooms. First we discovered that the faucets we had ordered, and which had arrived on a second try, were completely idiotic, and we had to return them and order something more logical. After installation, however, our shower produced either scalding hot water, or icy cold, which we found somewhat impractical. It turned out that hot and cold pipes had to be crossed — fortunately without demolishing the new tiles. I must say that I can't wait to have both of our bathrooms fully functional again. There are five of our living in this house, and it's tiresome to endlessly scheme where and when and who may or may not use a toilet, and how to combine it with another household member perhaps wanting to take a shower. All this limited by a crew working in the house from nine to five, and if I then want to use the toilet, for example, I usually have to eject one or two workers out of there.

The bathrooms are easier to get to through the patio door of our (master) bedroom — which means that there's no private place left in the house — I don't have a room where I could close the door and be ALONE for a while, without granny, kids or Hippo. Granny and kids have their respective bedrooms, Hippo can escape to work, but this cohabitation on one big heap gets to my nerves. I'm obviously not a good material for a refugee camp.