How to ski with kids—when you’re also learning how

“By the way, we’re headed to a black diamond trail,” said James, my downhill ski instructor, on our chairlift ride up the mountains of Canada’s Mont-Tremblant. I couldn’t believe what he was saying, considering only four days earlier I buckled on ski boots for the first time and learned how to “pizza” and “French fry” (ski speak for stopping and moving forward) alongside a herd of Canadian toddlers—including my own kids, ages 2 and 4. But as I had learned repeatedly over the past few days, put your trust in your ski instructor and all will work out.

While rocking a black diamond hill (twice, actually, plus plenty of blue and green runs before and after) was an unexpected accomplishment, an even greater feeling was riding green trails alongside my daughter, who by the end of our first family ski trip had the makings of a future skier.

It’s intimidating to hit the slopes for the first time as an adult when you have your own kids in tow, but for our Florida-based crew, the opportunity to bond while learning how to ski was part of the reason we booked this spring trip to Quebec in the first place. So how did we balance our own individual intros to skiing with a fun family experience that would leave us wanting for more? With plenty of encouragement, for one, plus the following practical tips:

My dad taught me how to drive. My brothers taught me how to throw a spiral. But was I going to rely on them—all of whom grew up in warm climates—to teach me and my kids how to ski? Nope. Instead, I turned to the resort’s ski school.

Like most resorts around the world, Mont-Tremblant offers both group and one-on-one lessons. My kids and I took group lessons in age-appropriate troops, allowing us to focus on ourselves and our own ski aptitudes, something I couldn’t have done had I been paired with them. I knew my kids were in good hands, which allowed me to focus on my own learning. Even better? My kids had fun without their mother hovering over them, silently willing them to be the next Mikaela Shiffrin.

During my ski lessons, I learned the best elixir for fear is trust. When my instructor suggested I stop relying on my poles for turns and instead work on flexing my ankle for subtle curves, I listened. And guess what? He was right. My turns were cleaner and more controlled. Did they look pretty? No, but that sense of accomplishment was enough to make me comfortable after I finished blue and green hills, then eventually a black diamond.

When the kids’ instructor, Danoush, said both kids were ready for a green run, I had my doubts. Thankfully, Danoush did not. She assured me that they’d enjoy the challenge after graduating from the bunny hill. And they did. I can still hear them giggling now, as their gentle falls created a pileup of preschoolers flopping on top of each other.

If I had to plan it all over again, I would have checked local school schedules and avoided skiing the same week that Quebec’s schools had off. The hills were crowded with vacationing elementary schoolers and their families, creating a bottleneck at the chair lifts. A year later, our family planned a ski trip in Norway during the middle of the week when Norwegian schools were still in session. It made a huge difference as we were able to ski with little traffic on the hills.

We also found that pacing ourselves made for a more enjoyable experience. There’s nothing worse than having two toddlers at the top of a mountain who are hungry, tired, and cranky. One morning ski run and a post-lunch jaunt were enough for my kids.

During my first few runs, I felt all of Canada was staring at me falling and awkwardly rising whenever I took a tumble on the slopes. Then, I remembered a beautiful moment in my daughter’s burgeoning ballet career. She arrived at her first-ever dance lesson—a casual affair at the local children’s museum—late and ill-prepared. A rookie compared to the other girls, her novice skills stood out in a sea of uniform toddlers in tutus and leotards. And she couldn’t have cared less. She still twirled, passé’d, and plié’d happily—and without consciousness that her movements looked unlike the rest.

I realized that most skiers, from the elite to the novice, were mostly focused on their own runs—and not mine. Becoming a mother has taught me several lessons, but perhaps the most important one is to be less self-conscious. And to plié and pizza like no one is watching.