Fancy That

Once upon a time, way back when Son was in his first year of preschool, and Daughter was just the sweetest little attachment on my boob, I experienced my first “Ski Week.”  Yes.  You read that correctly.  “Ski Week.”  Not spring break.  Nope.  That comes later.  (Just a few convenient weeks AFTER Ski Week actually.)  I remember looking at the calendar posted outside his classroom and thinking to myself, (or more likely saying out loud to the innocent bystanders near me):  What. The Fuck. Is Ski Week?  

Funnily enough, growing up in Iowa with ALL THAT SNOW, we didn’t have Ski Week.

We had snow days.

For when, you know, it was TOO DANGEROUS to go to school.

But here, in Fancy Southern California, they have “Ski Week” so Fancy Kids can go and see the snow they are so deprived of.  In case it’s not coming across the way I have intended, I was pretty bitter about the concept of this so-called Ski Week.  That first year of preschool, I had a two year old and a newborn and the THOUGHT of NOT HAVING those 8 hours a week Son went to school because Fancy California Kids had to go skiing made me cry.  My first question was: If we are NOT skiing during Ski Week, may I please still drop off Son at his classroom?  Turns out: no.  You may not.  Second question: Someone tell me again WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?

Short version: schools in certain Fancy Communities were losing money because so many Fancy Families were taking their Fancy Kids skiing over Presidents Day weekend and staying the entire week so schools were losing money so Fancy Communities said WHAT THE HECK!  Let’s make Ski Week a Thing!

Flash forward 4 years.  

What did the Gelato Family do during Ski Week?

Go skiing.  Duh.  

It’s one of those moments when I looked at myself and thought...I am sometimes, once in awhile, hopefully not very often, that very person I used to make fun of.  And, whenever possible, still enjoy making fun of.  I mean, does the very fact that our family went skiing during Ski Week make me...Fancy?  Are people snickering at me?  (Answer: Yes.  Always.  For many more reasons, I’m sure, than skiing on specifically assigned week to do so.)  

As a child growing up middle class in Iowa, I was not privy to such experiences. A great vacation to us was a HOTEL!  With a POOL!  Amazing.  In fact, one of my greater joys in life is comparing Husband’s childhood vacations with my own.  Let’s just say...we never made it to Kauai.  Or Australia.  Or Whistler.  But we did make it to Omaha and Chicago.  And let’s not forget South Dakota.  A cooler full of sandwiches and RC Cola, a deck of cards to keep us occupied, and we were off.  And I remember them all with great fondness.  (Probably more fondness than my mother who I’m sure would have died and gone to heaven if she could have just handed us all an iPad and some headphones.)  So, it definitely is an...adjustment...for me to get my Children to appreciate these vacations.  I mean, it’s certainly not their fault that they are being raised in this Fancy Community, but it doesn’t mean they get to be dicks about it.  Point in case: when we told Son that we were going to go to Mammoth for Ski Week- his response?  “Mammoth?  Again?”  Daughter wasn’t much better: “Do we HAVE to go to Ski School?”  No, you little assholes.  You don’t HAVE to go to Ski School, you GET to go to Ski School.  I mean...WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?  

And then it hit me.

Oh.My.God.  

They’re Fancy.  

Don’t worry.  I know what to do.

Nothing knocks down a little Fancy like some unpaid manual labor.  You don’t do it for allowance, you do it because I told you too.  Also, I’m thirsty.  Aaaannnddd....I could use a snack.  And could you keep it down out there while you’re washing the windows?  Mama’s shows on are.

If anyone’s going to be Fancy in this house, it’s gonna be me.

Here’s to being not so Fancy.  Until you deserve to be so.