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We spent the last five days in Jackson, Wyoming — skiing, snowboarding, drinking hot chocolate and having snowball fights. Our annual trip to the snow has become a very special family tradition.

The first year we went skiing, the kids were 5, 3 and 1. Our oldest daughter learned to ride the magic carpet and snowplow down the bunny slope, while her sister and brother played in the snow.

This year, they are 11, 9 and 7. The girls are snowboarders, complete with “shredder” nicknames from their instructor: G-money and Scar. Our son, who is still sticking with skis, can barely be bothered to have a bite of lunch in the middle of the day before he’s badgering us to take him back out to the mountain.

I love watching them overcome fear and discomfort as they try new terrain; I love the way their faces light up when they learn a new skill; I love the way they root for each other and call out enthusiastically when they spot one another on the mountain; and I LOVE cuddling with freshly bathed children in their pajamas while the snow falls outside.

It all goes so fast — the vacations and the years. We all know this. But trips like this help everyone collectively hold on to this moment in time.


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