There is, however, one non-negotiable. Pete's grandfather and namesake is an ice skater, who still competes at international level. Yes, it's true. If you wondered where I got my sporting prowess and Olympian physique from, now you know. So Pete Jr. was always destined to get onto the ice, and the rink at Olympic Park in Whistler was as good a place as any to start. Mainly because it's free.
I didn't want to push too hard, so Pete started on the double-blades designed for toddlers. He got a nice crash helmet as well and, being Canada, there was a hockey rink for those less inclined to practice their triple-Salchows and double-toe-loops. Dancing, however, did seem to be Pete's thing - his feet didn't stop moving for a second, despite my constant instructions to him to bend his knees and find his balance. Perhaps his twinkle toes will see him becoming a footballer in the Cristiano Ronaldo mold, although I'm aiming higher than that of course.
Eventually the skates were ditched in favour of walking around on the ice, which was better for parental backs if not for Pete's sporting development. Still, if he prefers an ice activity that involves wearing shoes rather than skates there's always Canada's second sport: curling.
Slip sliding away.
Meg, a ballerina and gymnast, took to it like a duck to (frozen) water.
Dance, baby, dance.
Ellen takes the weight off.
Practicing slap shots.
On to something else frozen but tastier: ice cream.
After that it was time for apres skate.
And then it was all over! We sauntered down the Sea-to-Sky and back to Vancouver via numerous viewpoints given how gorgeous the day turned out.
There's our family Christmas card right there.
