Skiing

About two years ago, when my eldest baby was completely crumb, I bought her plastic orange skis. While the twins slept sweetly in the stroller, I rolled her hands on these skis a couple of times and then we removed these skis far away.
And then it surfaced. I had to get out of the pantry. The daughter immediately noted that the sticker with the penguin was “oh, what wonderful skis!” and we went out with her on a dark evening with the air, which had already begun to tingle quietly.
They fixed her legs in these skis and she immediately went, leaving behind a ski track. She hardly needed my hand, but I also really wanted to get up and go skiing - I always loved very much.
Then I began to slide and push off with invisible sticks. "What are you doing?" asked the business daughter.
"What? What? I'm skiing," I answered, no less businesslike.
"Oh, I see," the daughter laughed and sat on the ass. "Lift me up," and when I raised her, I said, "Well, thank you, my little girl!" and rolled on.
I also rode alongside on my imaginary skis and thought how nice it would be to go out in the evening like this and inhale the frosty air with my daughter.

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