WTF - Skiing and What Exploded?

Our second day of skiing was fantastic. It went below freezing so the groomers went out clearing this huge mogul field and creating a fantastic run for the day!

Mogul Field definition please, a place where you accidentally ski in, bounce around like a ping pong ball then crawl out sweating.

I met a new friend in the morning. Paul watching my first run, probably realizing the little sphincter palpitation I had standing for the first time at the top of SuperStar, decided I needed ski lessons. Of course I'd been by myself all of day one, dumped by the kids after embarrassing them at the Gondola so I welcomed the company. I did the one ski thingy, the hold my poles in front of my thingy, move your hands in front of you thingy, to the lean in your boots thingy. I mean, I know how to ski but it was nice having the company, plus skiing with Paul kept me off the Gondola and over at a nice chair lift I'm used to!!

The Killington Mountain Lodge, 1.5 miles from the resort is a great value for the money, $59/night including a breakfast buffet! The lodge included a pool table, games, a bar (hallelujah) and a 20 person outdoor hot tub. It wasn't the newest place but it was clean, the rooms were big enough and did I mention it had a breakfast buffet (insert feeding teenagers on a budget right here.)

Of course the boys called the room "crusty" and for the rest of the trip they kept saying, "Is it time to go back to Crusty yet?" or "Who has the key to Crusty?" "We can save $5 a day is we don't have the maid clean Crusty making Crusty more crusty!" (Insert teenagers laughing here)

Crusty, definition please,
anything old, or dirty or questionable
Example please: a clean hotel room except for a dark fingerprint on the remote to the TV ("It's blood isn't it Mom, did someone get murdered in this room?")

The only real problem on this trip is the exploding suitcases. I swear I open the hotel room door and before my foot steps in, all three boys are pulling the rip cord on their suitcases!

The first day, I left the boys in the room, go down for an extra key and by the time I walk back up to our room, the suitcases regurgitated all over the room, two boys sitting on the bed watching cartoons, one boy in the bathroom.

For a good half hour, maybe longer. What is he doing in there?

"Pooping," someone says.

"That long?"

The other two look at me, "Yeah, it always takes that long."

"It can't take that long, it takes me 5 minutes. Is he writing a novel in there?"

"No, just pooping," they reply going back to the cartoon.

This could be a long trip, I think as I step over shoes, skateboards, snowboards,

wait, is that a pair of my underwear?

I'm wondering "What is that smell?" until I step on a wet sock and realize everyone's snow socks are soaked and sweaty from two days on the snow. When the child finally comes out of the bathroom, I hold my nose, throw some shampoo in the tub, putting all the socks in and run in them before hanging to dry, at least the bathroom now smells like Panteen.

I think I'm better off using the public restroom in the lodge than attempting our room bathroom. I'll go down there, and maybe forget about Crusty with a glass of wine!