My job as a parent is to torture my children, and I'm very, very good at my job.
They have to clean their pretty, custom-painted, private rooms before they're allowed to play with their electronics (quelle horreur!); and on a sunny, gorgeous Sunday I sometimes wake them up to go skiing.
"Wha? It's 7am on a Sunday. What's going on?"
"We're going to Telluride, Cayenne. WooHoo! Let's hit the slopes!"
"It's 7am. On a Sunday." Roll over.
"Acacia! Tiiiiiime to get up. Telluride, baby!"
"Why are you waking me up? It's Sunday and it's early and..." she falls asleep mid-sentence.
"Yoo-Hoo... wakey wakey."
"Wha? Huh?...... Can we get doughnuts for breakfast?"
Oh why not. Bribery is also a parental tool. Doughnuts all round!
These poor children, having to ski in such horrible conditions.
At least they're not on that stretcher passing Cayenne.
And then, just when they thought they were having a good time, in order to ski the awesome slopes they saw from the chairlift - "Let's go do those!!" -
they had to walk and - yes, it's true - carry their own skis up to the last part.
That would be Acacia in the pink. Like she just climbed Everest.
See the smile on Nicolas's face? That's the look of a parent who has succeeded in torturing his children juuuuuuuust enough to have a brilliant day.
(The ride home was far more exuberant than the way there.
"Oh man! Remember Baldie? That was EPIC!"
"Where should we have dinner? Let's go to Francisco's. Yum!")