A guest post by Courtney Chaffee “Honey, I can’t. It’s ski season” is a sentence that haunts me six months a year. It’s a sentence that irritates me, makes me happy and tests my patience all at the same time. This sentence is uttered to me more times than “Honey, have you lost weight?” “I love you” and “Why can’t we hang the antlers in the living room?” I figure all famous people have their tag lines, and this is Scott’s. Paris has “That’s hot” Schwarzenegger has “I’ll be back” and Britney has “It’s Britney Bitch.” Scott likes to think he is a celebrity, so this one is his.
See, my husband Scott is addicted to skiing. Addicted may not be a strong enough word. It’s all the matters to him. He wants us to plan the birth of our children around the ski season. He figures I can get pregnant in January. That way I can ski the next couple months and have the child in October and will be able to ski in November when the mountain usually opens for the season. Apparently, childcare is at the bottom of his list of priorities, or maybe he has a pack of wolves on retainer that I am not aware of yet.
Most people in Seattle wait through the nine months of grey.They look forward to the three months of blue skies that Seattle has to offer, when Seattle looks like a preview of heaven. These three months are the most dreadful to Scott. He tells me he tries to “keep his head down and trudge through.” While most people In Seattle suffer from a lack of vitamin D, too much seems to put Scott in a coma.
Between Thanksgiving and Easter, I am not allowed to plan anything. These are the months that I am sentenced to a life of being cold, tired and eating nothing but chili at the lodge. Every Friday we are to leave directly from work, retreat at the mountain for the weekend and not come down until Sunday. You could consider this a mini life sentence.
While to some this sounds like a wonderful life, to me I “keep my head down, and trudge through.” I had never skied until I met my husband. I grew up in a family where if there was a heavy frost outside on the ground we would hunker down and survive on cheese and crackers until it warmed. Hurling ourselves down a mountain with a couple of planks under us would be something we would do right after joining the circus. Scott told me, “I like you, but if this is going to work out, you are going to have to learn to ski.” These should have been clues to the imminent torture I would soon endure.
So here I am, doing the best I can to be supportive and a good sport about this addiction that so many people have. I have learned to ski and do enjoy it. I am supportive and quiet through the season, BUT I CANNOT STAY QUIET ANYMORE.
For La Nina has reared her ugly head at me, and I for one am not taking it! Too many Christmas parties I have missed out on because “Honey, I can’t, it’s ski season.” Too many Valentine’s Days I have been neglected because “Honey, I can’t it’s ski season.” And too many times my body has ached due to ski boots, falls, or hiking. One Christmas Scott gave me an I.O.U. for new granite countertops. Unfortunately, the birth of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ falls in ski season, so it was once again “Honey, I can’t right now, it’s ski season.” My Christmas gift arrived in June, after begging, pleading, and threats of hiring the most over-priced crew I could find they went in. One ski season, the electricity went out in the bedrooms in our house. Once again, “Honey, I can’t it’s ski season.” I was forced to wear a head lamp while getting ready in the morning. It was the only way to navigate through the closet in the morning and get dressed. This went on for almost a month until I threatened to leave him for a hotel with electricity.
This ski season was supposed to end in April... APRIL 17 to be exact. The ski season was unfortunately extended due to record snowfall (boo), and Scott has tried to ditch the family on Easter, cancel my trip to Maui in the beginning of May and revoke his RSVP to two weddings all in the sake of “Honey, I can’t, it’s ski season.” And they are predicting this ski season to go to July. Let the battle continue.
When Scott Chaffee leaves this earth, his tombstone will read, “Here lies Scott Chaffee, beloved Husband, Son, and Friend. Honey, I can’t, It’s ski season.”