Confessions of a Ski School Dropout at SolVista Basin

February 4, 2008 By

I love skiing and even made a living promoting its virtues at a popular Utah ski resort. But I terminated my love affair with the slopes when I had children. Or rather, it fired me. There were a number of different reasons: cost, breastfeeding, babysitter hassles, I-70’s gridlocks and those $400 ski boots that no longer fit because pregnancy had inflated my feet an entire size [insert sob here].

Oh, and my snow pants are too small. But that is a different issue entirely.

After a few years of darkness, I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel: my firstborn is old enough to learn to ski! So when I heard about SolVista Basin’s fourth annual Kids’ Totally Insane Winter Blast at SolVista Basin at Granby Ranch, I jumped at the opportunity. I figured I could swallow my pride long enough to rent some Big-Foot appropriate gear.

I resolved shortly after our arrival that SolVista would be where our children learn to ski because the resort is devoid of crowds, has a slew of family-friendly events, a tubing hill and a ski school that is renowned for its innovative Direct Parallel teaching program. The newly-renovated Base Camp Lodge is located at the bottom of a natural bowl that features mostly green and blue runs – perfect for young families but so different from the more challenging terrain to which I had grown accustomed. You know, back in the days when I could squeeze into my ski pants.

Upon arrival, Jamie and I dumped dropped off three-year-old Hadley at ski school and jumped on the chairlift. We spotted a few alien deer tepidly making their way across the giant sweeps of snow that covered the earth like a moonscape. The slopes were nearly empty as we made first tracks on groomed runs, powder playgrounds and bruising bumps terrain.

We then watched the pitiable ski instructors round up the multitude of jabbering and whining preschoolers. I figured they had to be nuts. Or masochists.

Keeping track of them all was a challenge and Hadley sometimes got left in the dust. Not wanting to be one of those parents, we simply cheered or pushed her along whenever we got the chance.

“Hadley, you have the biggest audience,” her teacher wryly commented.

This is ski instructor speak for “Overprotective Parents, GET. OUT. OF. HERE!!!!!”

And so we did, dining at the delectable Seven Trails Grille. That afternoon, the weather took a turn for the worse. We skied a few more runs before heading in to retrieve Hadley. I was greeted by a frenzied staff member.

“Oh, we have been trying to reach you on your cell phone and posted messages all over the resort! Hadley had an accident.”

Now, I’m sure most parents would have panicked. But as the mother of a potty-training-challenged kid who was enrolled in a ski school where it is required, I just groaned. While the rest of the kids skied that afternoon, she pooped in her ski pants and passed out on the bench. Because evidently defecation is draining.

After Operation Cleanup, Jamie and I took her out for a few runs where she finally started catching on. There was the glory of victory.

And the agony of defeat.

And the promise of many more outings to SolVista’s ski school. If our little Potty Training Dropout is ever readmitted, that is….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family, Family travel, Hadley, Humor, outdoors, skiing, travel

Avalanche Ranch: A Cut of Crystal River Valley Heaven

January 22, 2008 By

“Do you see those snow chutes up there?” my husband Jamie queried as we gazed up at an imposing spectacle of snow, clouds, trees and sky. “If I were to build a place called Avalanche Ranch, I would put it right at the base of that mountain.”

Good thing Hunky Hubby is not in the lodging industry because last I checked, building in the path of an avalanche ain’t exactly prime real estate.

As it turned out, Avalanche Ranch was right around the corner. Before long, we pulled into the family-friendly spread nestled discreetly in the Crystal River Valley. Located about 45 miles west of Aspen, it is its neighbor’s antithesis: unassuming and affordable with untouched grandeur.

Avalanche Ranch is situated on 36 acres with 13 cabins and a ranch house. Winter boasts ice skating, snowshoeing, tubing, cross-country skiing and sleigh rides. Summer is king with fishing, hiking, biking, canoeing, paddle boating, badminton, volleyball and tetherball.

The children made themselves at home in our rustic cabin and destroyed any semblance of order within minutes. The loft was the highlight for our daughter Hadley. Partially because she felt like a “big girl” in her new habitat, partially because she quickly realized her gas fumes condescended directly to our bed below.

Our first order of business was painting the neighboring town red. In so many resort towns, I have a “been there, seen that” attitude but Redstone is charmingly different. It is quirky, fun and eclectic with a smattering of artistic shops and houses, many of which have window paintings by “the town artist,” Robert Carr.

The sign at Redstone’s entrance boasted a population of 92. Our waitress at the historic Redstone Inn informed us her brother-in-law was The No. 92 – a veritable celebrity. She assured me since that time, Redstone has grown to at least a booming 130.

Upon returning to Avalanche Ranch, Haddie and I went for a walk. It was a chilled night with a swirling wind as the snow fell like confetti around us. We pondered the complexities of why cousins Dora and Diego can never marry and I marveled that my little girl is growing up before my eyes. And how I never imagined I would be discussing the intimacies intricacies of kissing cousins with her.

And then we went on to have a night from hell with baby Bode. In his defense, he had been sick the week prior and was not fully recovered. He wailed until about 3:30 a.m. Haddie awoke at 6:20 a.m.

You do the math.

And so I did what any good mother would do: stuck Hadley in the bathroom with a movie and some breakfast while I went back to bed.

Err…right?

=================================

Part II

As an adventure-travel writer, I was always traveling…and adventuring. If I wasn’t backpacking, I was skiing, hiking, canyoneering or biking. Respite and recovery were never on my agenda.

Until I had children. And then R&R became my life’s mantra.

I had plans for our trip to Avalanche Ranch. Big plans. Our little family would go sledding, skate on their pond and snowshoe along Avalanche Creek. We would then sip hot chocolate by the fire and venture into Aspen for some gastronomic delights.

But then we got three hours of sleep and I realized what family travel is really all about: survival.

We drastically amended our itinerary. We visited the animals at the ranch’s stable and drove up the Crystal River Valley past the crimson cliffs cloaked in snow, the commanding Redstone Castle and the frigid Hays Creek Falls. We gazed down upon it all from our perch atop 8,755-foot McClure Pass…as the kids whined about being sequestered for more than 5 minutes.

When we arrived back at our cabin, I was resolute that Haddie and I needed an adventure so I introduced her to snowshoeing. She looked to me as her Snowshoe Sensei as I judiciously instructed her how to not fall on her face. She did a great job trudging around the grounds and we designated the skating pond as our turnaround point.

We arrived at our destination, scooted around on the ice for a while and turned back. We had gone about 100 feet when I looked down and noticed I was missing one of my snowshoes. Figuring it must have slipped off somewhere around the pond, I looped back but found nothing. I started to worry it was buried somewhere beneath two feet of snow and would not be found until spring.

Hadley started doubting me. “How do you lose a snowshoe, Mommy?”

I was losing face with a 3 year old.

“Sometimes snowshoes just like to play hide-and-seek in the snow.”

She didn’t buy it.

After a 20-minute search and rescue operation, we found the subversive snowshoe perched on a snow bank. A snow bank we had scaled shortly after setting out, which meant I had done the majority of my tutorial sans snowshoe – definitely a credibility crusher.

Perhaps Avalanche Ranch should substitute “Slow Parents” for “Children” on their sign….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family travel, Hadley, Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Party All the Time

October 29, 2007 By

Reader beware: there will be an inordinate amount of pictures posted this week because this is what happens in the life of a Halloween-obsessed person. Last weekend, we trunk-or-treated and partied.

There were also fall walks-
Pumpkin patch fun-
And cute babies in general.

And not to be forgotten is Haddie’s 3rd annual Halloween party (which inspired yet another one of Hunky Hubby’s great profundities).

=========================

On Friday, my daughter threw her third annual Halloween bash that included an inordinate amount of hairspray and the disturbing confirmation: Like Mother, Like Daughter. [Insert evil cackle here.]


We also played games such as Pin the Nose on the Pumpkin, indulged in devilish epicurean creations including my green slime chocolate fountain, read a haunting story with Dora the Explorer who made a celebrity appearance and had a free-for-all civilized candy hunt in our backyard.

No children were harmed in the throwing of the celebration. However, there was one tired mama at the end of it all. Between the party, trips and the continuous barrage of Rockies games, it has been a very long time since we have just stayed home and relaxed.

I called my husband to ask if we could do just that. Now, something you need to understand is he is usually the one who, after his long work day, is harassed by your truly to go out. This time, The Man took full advantage of our role reversal.

“…and so I thought we could just stay in tonight.”

“Stay in, Amber? We’ve done nothing but stay in. I want to go play”

“But I’m really tired.”

“Tired? Aren’t you the one who always says ‘I am sick of being at home. We need to go out and do something. The kids need a break. Let’s go for a walk. Super Target is having a sale. Let’s go spy on the neighbors. Blah blah blah blah blah.’”

Note: The Man’s mimicking was executed in a high-pitched voice that I assure you I do not possess. Except for when it was a particularly shrill-inducing kind of day.

After several minutes of this, I finally sighed and waved my white flag.

“OK, Jamie you win. So what do you want to do? ”

“Nothing.”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Bode, Hadley, holidays, Humor Tagged With:

A Sneak Peak at Our Revolutionary Best-Selling Parenting Book

October 22, 2007 By

I never fancied myself to be a ballerina, which is particularly ironic since I’m walking on my tiptoes a lot these days. And also on egg shells.

My daughter Hurricane Hadley has become a tyrant. When I offer suggestions for a snack, I brace myself for the unleashing of how dare I even suggest something so unthinkable as apples. When I pretend to turn her into a princess with my magic wand, I am sent to the dungeons because I held the wand at the wrong angle. Anything sets her off, which makes me wonder if she has some kind of chemical imbalance.

Or if it’s the fact that she’s turning three years old this month.

I had heard from some that the 3s were worse than the 2s. Doubting Thomas that I am, I didn’t buy in. And now here I am: sold out.

We recently had a good day with what I would consider to be a reasonable amount of T.O.N. (Tantrums Over Nothing). We were sitting on our leather sofa watching out the window for my husband Jamie to come home. I looked down at how precious she was being and decided she needed some positive reinforcement.

“You know, Mommy is so happy with how sweet you’ve been today. Thank you for being so nice to your brother Bode and me.”

Within seconds, seconds people, she started acting up and it did not stop the rest of the night.

As we were eating dinner, she miraculously downed most of the curry chicken phyllos I made and I decided again: positive reinforcement.

“Haddie, what a great eater you’re being tonight!”

Within milliseconds, milliseconds people, she choked out her food and spewed it all over the floor. Jamie looked at me dubiously.

“Hey Amber. Here’s a new parenting strategy for you. How about ditch this positive reinforcement crap and STOP WITH THE COMPLIMENTS.”

We’ll begin our book tour next month.

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Hadley, Humor, Jamie

Dumb and Dumber: Mile High-style

September 22, 2007 By

There are some mornings that I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received miminal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.

I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb..limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 25 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!

Last week was no different.

I decided to bike the Clear Creek Trail along Highway 58 from the I-70 junction to Lion’s Park in Golden. Hauling the kids. Uphill. Both ways.

Now, let’s see. Child #1: 32 pounds + Child #2: 23 pounds + 15-pound Chariot carrier + everything including the kitchen sink to keep the kids entertained = a tabulation I care not to compute. Why would I? I lived every stinkin’ pound of it.

I will spare you the gory details but in the end, we miraculously made it. Well, at least the kids did.

Blasted from the Past

I should have learned my lesson from when these same delusions led me to roller-blade that path a couple of years ago. I had started out strong. Smooth, powerful strokes. I was completely alone on the trail, which I love. But then I encountered hill #1. No problem. My pace slowed a bit but I triumphantly summited.

Then came Hill #2, then #3. All was fine and dandy until it came time to turn around.

But then came the “Ohhhhhhhh fudge” (I blame Ralphie from The Christmas Story).

During my jubilation of conquering the trail, I hadn’t realized how truly steep my ascent was. For those who have ever been on roller-blades, stopping while careening 100 miles an hour down a hill can be problematic. For me, it proved to catastrophic. Because in addition to the steep hills, there were also signs everywhere with the squiggly arrow (the official road-sign term, I’m sure). You know, the one that says “You’re dead if you don’t follow the hairpin curves.”

The rest of the story was not pretty. What ticks me off is do you think anyone witnessed my triumphant ascent? Nooooooooo. But now bikers started coming out of the woodwork as I desperately clutched the railing, my legs wedged in a snow-plow…errr..asphalt-plow.

In the end, I only suffered a few scrapes and a bruised ego. But worry not, after these two sordid experiences I have certainly learned my lesson.

Until my next episode of sleep deprivation, that is.

Filed Under: biking, Bode, Colorado, Favorite Posts, Hadley, Humor

Tasting Colorado

September 2, 2007 By

Happy Labor Day weekend!

Or at least it will be after I have thrown my final party for the ward tomorrow: a Labor Day breakfast. Yes, friends. The heavens didst shine upon me yesterday and I have been released as the Party Princess Extraordinaire. I will now be playing the piano for the Primary a.k.a. Youngins, which I will gladly do so long as it does not involve eggs. Of any variety.

On Saturday, we attended a huge party in downtown Denver: A Taste of Colorado. We toured around the hundreds of overpriced booths, gorged ourselves in sub-par BBQ, danced on the tables and got the children sauced.

We also had a grand ol’ time rocking out to a live band, Night Ranger. I couldn’t tell you even one hit song they had back in the 80s but Jamie seemed determined to relive his youth. I indulged him by enthusiastically nodding every time he exclaimed, “They’re tight, they’re still tight after all these years.”

This is Jamie’s way of thinking he sounds like some cool music aficionado.

I debated showing my support by throwing my bra onstage but I just didn’t think my nursing bra I should have retired ages ago would have done the trick. Then again, has-beens breed has-beens.

Bubby got into it by inventing moves we didn’t know he had. Moves that entailed the flailing of just one arm. I called it The I’m Drowning to the Beat of the Music dance.

We kept vowing to leave unless we heard a song we actually recognized. It didn’t happen and so when there was a delay between sets we started walking out. But then they started playing again.

“Hey wait, Jamie. I recognize this song!”

“That’s became they just played it.”

Apparently the kids weren’t the only ones.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Bode, Colorado, Family, Hadley, Humor

Why you should stay on this Mommy Blogger’s good side

August 26, 2007 By

I recently introduced The Hurricane to scissors. I have delayed this tutorial as long as possible because hurricanes, welp, they destroy.

My only motivation for finally showing her is knowing she would have to use them in preschool. And heaven forbid if my kid flunked Scissor Cutting 101 and was held back from kindergarten an extra 365 days.

I rummaged through the newspaper and retrieved some ads from J.C. Penny to use as our testing ground. We started slowly with suitcases and necklaces until Hadley accidentally cut off a model’s legs. She lamented “hurting” the nice lady but I brightly consoled her that she could not feel it because she does painful things such as starving herself for fun.

And so we chopped up malnourished models for the rest of our lesson.

It actually proved to be great failed diet therapy.

Next lesson? Sewing.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, Humor

Love and Lessons in Mexico

August 15, 2007 By

We have returned from our Mexican vacation! All the Amber “Murphy” elements were potentially there: 60% chance of rain everyday, long flights and two small children in the same hotel room. Oh yeah, and the probability of getting sick, which is what I do on every stinkin’ vacation.

But shockingly, the entire trip went smoothly. We had only one brief brush with rain, the kids were fantastic in flight and were even better sleepers at night. It was pretty darn idyllic. Well, notwithstanding the stye that blossomed in my eye and that one ‘lil night when I almost didn’t make it to the bathroom in time, both minor on the Amber Richter Scale of Catastrophes.
We stayed at El Cid Castillo Beach Hotel in Mazatlan. After slugging through the heat and humidity, we were greeted with a fantastic corner room at garden level with quick access to both the pool and beach.

Stellar views aside, the highlight of the room was that blessed, blessed blast of frigid air when we entered. I squealed with delight but watched with dismay as the children’s little fingers quickly formed icicles. Now, there are times in a parent’s life when the best interest of their children is of the utmost importance.

This was not one of those times.
And so I did what any heat-challenged mother would do: I kept that air ‘a blasting, bundled up their little ice cube hands and made a mental note to bring their snowsuits next time.
They are just now dethawing.

Our sole purpose of this trip was to expose the kids to the water. Unlike our usual adventure-travel itinerary, we did not attempt any excursions. We just ate, swam and slept. And then ate some more.

Even in my sand-repugnant state, I envisioned burying Jamie in it, building sand castles and searching for sea shells. All of this would have happened had it not been for The Pool–touted as the largest in Mexico. The same hallowed structure that, with its waterfalls, waterslides and caves, became The Hurricane’s obsession. Any mention of the beach brought about tedious tantrums; not so much because it was the beach but because IT WAS NOT THE POOL.

In her defense, she learned how to swim in that pool and could go for several yards underwater. I should know. She yelled at me to watch her a minimum of 3,602 times.

While Bubby loved the water, he enjoyed being the Don Juan de Mexico even more. It was rare for us to pass even one Senorita who did not coo and paw at him. He would always recoil in shyness and clutch me tightly, which would endear him to his admirers even more. They would approach him, smash their bosoms into his face and a devious little smile would finally emerge. The kid had a system.

So did I, only mine involved tapping into my airheaded Polish roots (which, incidentally are naturally blond so I really don’t stand a chance in this life). When packing to go home, I painstakingly ziplocked all our liquids and carefully placed them in our main luggage. And then took our Mexican vanilla gifts and absentmindedly placed them between a stack of diapers…in our carry-on.

I just hope the mean men in Dallas’ airport security are baking nice cakes right now.

And then there was The Camera. I won’t expound upon the amount of digital cameras I have destroyed this year. Nor how at the last minute we had to take one with film, something I haven’t used in seven years. This would explain why I foolishly opened the #$#* camera before it had rewound. Rumor has it that film does not like to be opened prematurely and rebels worse than a toddler on the beach.

But airport security and film aside, the most important thing I learned was this:

If you don’t like sand in your bed, don’t go to bed sandy.

Don’t say you haven’t been warned by this blond Pollack-Canadian airhead….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Bode, Family, Family travel, Hadley, Humor

Sending out an S.O.S.

August 8, 2007 By

It seems an inordinate amount of time on this blog is dedicated to Hadley. And with good reason. She is the embodiment of her mother, the good, the bad and the very ugly. It makes for some great entertainment but when it gets ugly, it is really ugly.

Just ask my mother. As a young child, I was a terror and my grandma is attributed to keeping me alive the first year of my life because my longevity was the last thing on my mom’s mind. She always knowingly laughs when I tell her about The Hurricane’s latest antics and surely thinks: “Payback.”

That one little word has made her have to forgo the years of post-Amber therapy.

After four weeks of extreme potty training, I am waving the white flag. Hadley has gotten progressively more resistant and more argumentative. Our home has become a battle ground and, evidently, one big potty because she goes everywhere except the porcelain throne.

If you would have told me how difficult potty training would be, I would have laughed. She is a bright, spirited and clever little girl. She has a memory like a horse and is already piecing letters and words together. But this is more about submitting to my wishes, knowing that every wipe of her butt sends me closer to my grave. A very stinky one.

Following every accident, I’ve called Jamie. Because that is what good wives do.

“What do you want me to do with about it?”
“Be there for me to complain about it.”

Because that is what good husbands do.

I hit the wall with the whole thing last Thursday after our hundredth accident and general toddler deviance that involved her “baking a cake” with our very expensive protein powder and Splenda. This, after she plastered the walls with a can of Bode’s pricey formula. I won’t even mention The Soap Incident.

That day, I had Bode’s 1-year checkup. Note: He is 25th percentile for weight, 75th for height and remains off the charts with ear-hair growth. I couldn’t be more proud.

I also had an extensive conversation with my pediatrician.

I.e. “Doc, potty training sucks. She won’t do it.”

He looked at me dubiously before proclaiming: “Well, yeah.”

He went to seven years of medical school to tell me that?

He expounded that by forcing a kid as headstrong as Hadley, it would only be met with resistance, battles, infections and general toddler deviance. That she would only do it when she was good and ready.

After his lecture, he seemed to remember his Bedside Manner 101 class and turned empathetic.
“You seem stressed out, Amber.”

It must have been my protruding vein in my forehead that gave him the hint. That, or the fact I almost wet my pants even thinking about the potty. I have to. At least one of us has to do it.

He advised me to lay off and to stop pressuring her. That when she starts preschool in a few weeks, she will likely succumb to peer pressure and it will finally click for her.

But now, I have another problem: her naughty little brother. All this potty talk has given him an affinity for a certain book every time we sit down for storytime.

How young is too young to stage my intervenion?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, Humor, issues

In Training for the 2014 Olympics; Actual Event Yet To Be Determined

August 5, 2007 By

I think every parent secretly has aspirations of athletic, musical or academic grandeur for their children. Even little achievements such as that first face plant step are met with pride as we vicariously live through them.

The Hurricane has been enrolled in gymnastics this summer and had her first big meet on Saturday. We made a big deal about it and invited The Grandparents who came to our house afterwards for a celebratory brunch.

During warm-up, another little girl showed up wearing Hadley’s exact same leotard. To make light of the situation, I pointed her out to Hadley and commented,”Oh, how fun. You match!”

Instead of delight, they regarded one another with disdain and walked past dismissively. Evidently cattiness starts at a young age. Like, how embarrassing.

Overall, Hadley performed like a champ, expertly navigating the balance beam, flipping on the bars and doing back somersaults on her floor routine. All was going well until the springboard. The kids were supposed to do “The Tigger” bounce through some hula hoops and then launch off the springboard onto a mat. Note: I said supposed to.

Now, to preface this scenario, I need to explain that Hadley has the DNA to jump. Believe it or not, she gets it from me (thought Jamie adamantly disputes this claim). Back in The Day, these short little legs of mine were long jumpers. I would train for hours on our trampoline and I even placed second in the long jump at Calgary’s city finals. Only Claudette Creary, a brawny black girl, could out-jump me. And out-run me. And out-everything me. I wonder if her photo is still on my dartboard back home.

Evidently, I am nothing if not a gracious loser.

So, back to the Hurricane. After breezing through her Tigger bounces, she bolted for the springboard. The problem is, the dear girl did not realize you are supposed to launch off it and not over it.

What followed was not pretty. The dear girl’s takeoff step was about a foot in front of the springboard as she then tried to clear it. For a moment, I swelled with pride as a marveled at my little Hurricane in flight.

But then came the landing.

Suffice it to say, it did not end well for dear little Hadley. Either time.

Maybe we’ll just stick to track-and-field in the future….
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, Humor
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