We just got back from a week of skiing, hot-tubbing and bag-burger-eating in Sugarloaf Maine, a very special place that is blessed with an almost religious population of people who love it more than anywhere else.

The parking lot is filled with cars and trucks from all over with personalized plates (LOAFER, THELOAF, LOAFLVR…), and the hot tubs are filled with devotees who have been skiing the mountain for as long as they can remember.

See, there is a long-celebrated system that has been perfected by Justin’s brother and sisters, the new-parent skiers who have come before us. It's this system that makes the ten-hour drive worthwhile.

Baby visits with Grammy and/or Grampy while parents ski in two-hour chunks, me coming in to feed baby when needed. I would never before have carried a walkie-talkie while skiing...

(<BLEEP!!> “I’M ON THE QUAD!! WHAAT? <BLEEP!!> YEAH!! WHERE ARE YOU?? <BLEEP!!> I’LL MEET YOU AT THE LODGE! <BLEEP!!> AT THE LODGE!!”)

...but when you’re breastfeeding and long-distance charges negate the cellphone, good manners go out the window.

We even thought of callsigns (“Milkmaid and Big Daddy to L’il Pirate, come in L’il Pirate…”) but decided against it for the benefit of those trapped on the lift with us.

Despite the wet-noodle legs that follow nine months of pregnancy, Sugarloaf was a pretty effective methadone to start weaning us from the mountains of the west. Perfect blue skies, lovely springy snow and plenty of sunshine as well as cousins, who at almost one year old are total party animals. He was quite entranced and took copious notes.

+++++

Evan is growing so fast.

Every new parent brags about this – it’s in the rulebook. You have to share developmental pride with parent-friends, while making non-parent-friends nod and smile but secretly groan (“Our little bruiser is only three months old and he’s already outgrown his 6-month onesies! Isn’t that the most darling thing you’ve ever heard!”).

He’s so boisterous, so noisy, kicking and squirming.

He’s found his voice, and delights in squealing, chirping and blowing spit bubbles. He understands us now when we imitate him, which he finds hilarious. He says aaa-GOO! and I say aaa-GOO! Then he says ooo-WWHHAAA! and Justin says ooo-WWHHAAA!... the louder, the better.

Especially when you need a bit of a siesta during the ski day to give the wet noodles a break.