On Saturday morning, we took James to the National Western Stock Show, an annual event held here in Denver that is a combination of a state fair, a rodeo, and a farmer's auction. We met some of our good friends and two of Jamie's best buddies: Iris and Adelaide. They had a great time, though their main interests were a pile of gravel used to create traction on snowy pavement and the plywood ramp that led up to one of the official doors. We probably could've saved the ticket price and just hung out by the dumpsters of a Home Depot for the morning, but somehow that doesn't seem like good parenting.
Our friend Ann, Iris's mom, took some great photos of the outing:
We hopped in the wagon and walked down the street to the levee at our favorite wetlands spot (where we look for snakes in summer). We mounted the hill and, thinking that there wasn't all that much snow and that our sled wasn't all that good, I was skeptical that we would move at all. James eagerly climbed in my lap and I pushed off...and quickly realized that we were wrong. We zoomed down the hill at an out-of-control speed, caught an edge, wiped out, and rolled at least three times. It was scary for both of us -- I cradled James and protected him from injury, but didn't guard my head well enough to avoid getting a nasty bump. James got a face full of snow and was terrified, but was otherwise OK. We returned home after this one run, James eager for the comfort of mommy's arms, some warm milk, and snuggling with his blanky while watching "Cars" for the 1,523rd time. And I felt like a dunce, thankful that James was unharmed but fearing that he'll never want to go sledding with daddy again.