Today was one of those days that will probably make me laugh for years to come, but in the moment, it was pure chaos. We spent the morning skiing at Snowbird, and let me just say—Utah knows how to deliver on snow. The powder was perfect, soft enough to cushion a fall but firm enough to carve into. I’m still not exactly graceful on skis, but I made it down the blue runs without any major catastrophes, which I’m calling a win.

We started the day early because we wanted to catch the first chairlift. Breakfast was a quick grab-and-go situation—granola bars and some lukewarm coffee from the Airbnb’s ancient coffee maker. Not exactly gourmet, but it got the job done. Maya, of course, complained that she “needed something substantial,” which is classic her.

By mid-morning, we were all starving, so we stopped at one of those overpriced resort cafes at the base of the mountain. I got a bowl of chili that was, surprisingly, delicious—warm, hearty, and just spicy enough to clear the cold from my nose. Maya ordered hot chocolate because she just wanted something fun.

We were sitting outside, enjoying the view of the slopes and the bright, cold sunshine. Maya had just taken this massive sip of her hot chocolate when out of nowhere, a rogue snowboarder whipped by, spraying snow everywhere. I don’t know if it was the shock or just bad luck, but Maya flinched so hard that the entire cup of hot chocolate tipped forward and poured all over her white thermal shirt.

When I say it was everywhere, I mean it—down her front, on her sleeves, even dripping onto her ski pants. She froze for a second, probably processing what had just happened, and then let out this dramatic, “Are you KIDDING me?” that had me doubled over laughing.

The worst part? The marshmallows somehow stayed intact and just sat there, mockingly, on her shirt like tiny sugary witnesses to the disaster.

She tried to clean it up with a stack of napkins, but it was a lost cause. Her shirt was stained this sad, chocolatey brown, and she kept grumbling about how she looked like a toddler who couldn’t handle a sippy cup. Honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

We spent the rest of the afternoon skiing, but Maya kept insisting that people were staring at her “hot chocolate masterpiece,” which they probably weren’t. By the time we got back to the Airbnb, we were all exhausted and starving again. I made a quick pasta dish while Maya scrubbed her shirt in the sink like her life depended on it.

Now that I’m back in bed, warm under the covers with my sore legs propped up on pillows, I can write it all down. I’ll probably tease her about it for years—Maya and her tragic hot chocolate.

Tomorrow we’re heading to some hot springs nearby, which should be relaxing (and spill-free, hopefully). For now, though, I’m going to sleep like a rock. My legs are dead, my cheeks are windburned, and my heart feels full.