We bomb down the hills at the end of the day, stopping slopeside for a sugar bomb to celebrate my birthday. It's literally ski-in, ski-out, about 2/3 of the way down the mountain on our way home.
It's the family, G-rated version of the après-ski. Though mine does have a splash of Bailey's in it. Still, even for the grown-ups, it's really the whipped cream that's the star.
It's not just a blast. It's a ball! Gigi learns the excellent slopeside hippie art of tennis-ball swinging.
And then we go home and bomb down the slopes on our butts and some teeny-weeny sleds. Given the expressions in the photos, this is evidently more terrifying as an adult. Perhaps because our butts keep slipping off the teeny-weeny sleds as we bump, bump, bump down the hill.
I'm on vacation in beautiful Switzerland in the Matterhorn's shadow with the people I love most in this world. What's not to celebrate? It's the bomb.
