New Years Eve is usually pretty un-glamorous in our household. Generally there is a surprising lack of glitter, sequins, bubbly drinks and fancy clothes. This year, we were lucky enough to spend some time with Ryan’s family in southern Utah. Activities for the day included tubing and freezing our bums off.
Having grown up in Northern Utah, I consider myself something of a Snow Queen (forget the fact that I have never been skiing or snowboarding. Disgraceful, I know.) However, this trip promptly reminded me why I rather enjoy the mellow San Francisco weather. I may or may not have frostbitten toes now. I’ll spare you the details.
Our nephew Hayes was quite the show-stealer. Refusing to brave the slopes with anyone but his stepdad, he quickly found that snowball fights are way more fun when you have slow targets.
You can’t tell from the photos, but we discovered the Matterhorn of all sledding hills. Dare devil that he is, Ryan braved it first; leaving me to envision my life as a widow or caretaker of a 26 year-old quadriplegic. Nonetheless, I eventually put my big girl pants on and joined the fun.
Minus the terrifying drive through the snow (let’s just say Ryan might have applied his thrill-seeking attitude to his driving, resulting in a few too many “accidental” doughnuts and a moment where I thought we were going to die), our New Years Eve was pretty great. We finished it off with a quick visit to see a few friends and really upped the ante with going to bed before midnight. Just because we are rebels like that.
Oh, and one more. Norris says hello!