Sometime between my Little Guy’s first runs and the second day of this season, I lost the fear and found the fun.

I was worried I could not keep him adequately safe on the hill, all by myself.

I was worried he would not listen.

I worried I was not worried enough.

And then I relaxed.

I started pouring on the praise, and using the chairlift as a time not only to soak up the moments of one-on-one time, but to point out the turns other skiers were making.

I watched him find his love of learning, as he set out upon yet another run, and tried his best to emulate those turns. I saw his determination grow. And I heard his rallying cry.

Then again, so did the rest of the people skiing Wide West on the first Sunday in January. As he wedged his way down the racecourse, I heard him release a primal scream of joy. “Aaaaaaaaaah!” All the way down the hill.

 Did he want to turn into the Magic Carpet area and try a few turns without the edgie wedgie?

“Aaaaaaaaah!” in the affirmative.

 Once there, his screams continued. The laughter they encited was contagious.

He continued as we returned to the racecourse—our runs in the Magic Carpet corral were only semi-successful, but he was determined to strut his DIY wedge for all it was worth.

Again, the scream of joy.

Again, the laughter of onlookers. Powerless against the charms of the scream, I looked up at the chairlift riders and informed them, “The sound effects are at no additional charge.”

Exuberance, your name is Little Guy. And I adore you.

For me, the teaching moments were not as much for his benefit as for my own. The only thing that matters when you are skiing with a three year-old is this: It’s a party. On Skis. Nuff said.