A Utah Family Travel Writer's Adventures with Altitude
On Friday, I blubbered like a baby. It was not because of the lice infestation that pervaded our home. Or my daughter’s chicken pox outbreak.
Though those may have contributed to my fragile state.
It was because READ ON
Well, we’re still alive. Problem is so is our lice. I honestly had no idea what having lice entailed before this ordeal. I always wondered what was the big deal? Buy some lice-busting shampoo, wash your hair, comb it out and be done with it, right?
Oh, so very wrong.
You see, they lay these little white eggs all over your head. So, even though the actual bugs comb out easily, the only way we have been able to get rid of the eggs is to hand-pick them out because they stick to the individual strands of hair. I just spent two hours doing this on Haddie’s hair and feel like I didn’t even put a dent in them. Sadly, she doesn’t even have it as bad as yours truly.
The average person has 120,000 strands of hair on their head.
My mop has an estimated 1 billion.
Feel yourself itching just by reading this post? Welcome to our world!
And so our exile continues, at least for several more days. Thank you for the well-wishes and to my friend Lisa who sent her two children to drop off some delicious cookies.
Though refusing to come to the door and sending your children instead is kind of like sending the lambs to the slaughter, isn’t it?
We hope to reemerge with a full head of healthy hair by 2010. In the meantime, I would love to hear any advice you may have on surviving this.
Getting all hot and sweaty over entering a biathlon in Bryce Canyon on a whim.
Dining with rat poop in Sun Valley’s backcountry yurts.
Taking self-portraits with ugly sunglasses after bagging two 14,000-foot peaks by myself in Colorado.
Instead, thanks to a charitable donation (a.k.a. generous birthday present) from my parents, Jamie and I will be doing this.
It’s good to be old.
Reentry after our week-long Utah vacation has not been smooth and we are still sick. For those keeping track, I have been ill more days than I have been well since January. Evidently my condition is contagious because my laptop blue-screened. Jamie was able to resurrect it but not without having to wipe out my entire hard drive that includes my mailing address book, Google Reader and bookmarks to your blogs.
I sometimes feel like 2009 has it out for me.
So, let me reflect upon better times. We stayed with Jamie’s sister Tammy in Salt Lake City who is the ultimate hostess. Our guest bedroom had designer sheets, fresh flowers and a jelly belly elf who magically refilled our candy tray when we weren’t looking. I am convinced Tammy is Martha Stewart Incarnate because she loves to cook gourmet meals and organize. Jamie claims this began when she was little. While he was at school, she would go into his bedroom and organize his drawers.
For fun.
My idea of entertainment is a lot different and usually involves blood, sweat or tears. Or sometimes all three.
Jamie’s brother and brother-in-law joined us on the slopes one day in Park City and we had a great time skiing with them. Most of the time. I thought that mogul run when I crossed my tips and landed face-first was the worst of it.
I was wrong.
It [literally] went downhill when we discovered Park City Mountain Resort’s Terrain Park. I attempted one jump and Jamie mocked me to no end that I snowplowed prior to take-off.
In my defense, I was going waaaaaay too fast for my comfort.
It was then that I decided I’d better leave the jumps, rails and funboxes to the guys. I opted to be their photographer so as to survive with body in tact. Oh, how disillusioned I was.
I took one set of pictures of them catapulting off jumps. I was ready to wrap it up but pride cometh before the fall. Or rather, my fall because they begged me to take more pictures of them in their element.
I obligingly skied ahead of them, parked myself to the right of the jump and beckoned Jamie to come down. I focused my camera on him and awaited his arrival when all of a sudden, there were stars, stripes, blood, sweat and tears all rolled into one: I got slammed into by a snowboarder. Hard.
It was obviously an accident and after my verbal assault, he apologized profusely and helped me collect my belongings. The camera and poles had been launched several feet away and when I looked down, there was blood: a lot of it. The man’s helmet had connected with my lips, resulting in a large cuts on the right-hand upper lip and left-hand lower lip.
Because heaven forbid the swelling should result in uniform, luscious Angelina Jolie lips.
It was not a good day for my face.
Thus begs the question: whose mug is worse? Hers–
Or mine?
Maybe that Martha is onto something.
Note #1: Darling homemade apron received as a surprise gift from Haddie’s new BFF Scarlet (with the help of her very talented mom Chellie.)
Note #2: And no, I cannot get those #%*&#%(&# tattoos off her face. Hadley’s face, that is. Not Scarlet’s or Chellie’s.
Note: #3: And yes, this was one of my MANY lapses of judgment. Even worse is the butterfly on my forehead.
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And Happy Anniversary to my beloved Lord of the Gourds.
So, we’re sick. Again. And it is coming out at both ends. This time, I blame Bode. We have been in Park City and Salt Lake City the past week and he was likely exposed to The Plague when we left him in childcare while the rest of us hit the slopes.
It is is his version of payback.
Oh, and my laptop died. And I got slammed into by a snowboarder. And then we got locked out on the deck whilst in the hot tub.
Despite all of this, it was one of our favorite trips ever. Minus the aforementioned incidents. Details to come when I can drag myself out of bed and try to convince Jamie to get off his pumpkin discussion boards to let me use his computer.
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On another note, when I was at BlogHer last summer I attended a session with a large number of publicists and mommy bloggers. The jist of it was really popular bloggers whined about the terrible PR pitches they often received and the publicists pretended to care, while in reality they drew pictures of bullseyes with the blogger’s head in the middle.
It was a veritable lovefest.
After the session, a lesser-known blogger asked me, “What about the rest of us who want to receive those crummy pitches about products to review or give away on our blog?”
She had a great point. I personally have chosen not to monetize this blog or do promotional giveaways and I reserve that for Mile High Mamas. However, I know there are many of you who want to be on the cutting edge of new product releases and here’s one way to do it: sign up for One2One Network, an effective word-of-mouth network that allows you to sample products, take surveys, throw in-home parties and do giveaways/reviews on your blog.
I received my first product last week: the soundtrack to He’s Just Not That Into You. I have been promoting the movie’s pre-screening on Mile High Mamas so had high hopes for the soundtrack.
My rating: Jamie hates it and I’d give it about a B-.
The soundtrack has some 80s tunes that I never cared for back in the 80s. However, it does have some redeeming tracks from Maroon 5, The Cure and r.e.m. It’s all about taste and while it’s not my favorite, I wouldn’t negate others from enjoying it. I highly suspect once I see the movie, the songs will come to life, as is the case with most soundtracks.
The movie soundtrack came in a package with some nifty promotional candy hearts with sentimental sayings.
Or so I thought.
A few days later, Hadley and I were making a birthday card for a neighbor and I had the brilliant idea to glue some of them onto the card.
Until we started reading them:
Back off.
Let’s talk.
Whatever.
I’m done.
Best to save those sweet nothings for the next time I have a whole lot of something to say to someone less-than-sweet.
Now, for the good stuff. Leave a comment and you’ll be entered to win a copy of the He’s Just Not That Into You soundtrack to check it out for yourself. And finally, do you ever do giveaways on your blog? Do you sell ads? Why or why not?
If you have not seen this clip from The Ellen DeGeneres Show, you must. I haven’t laughed this hard since the day Jamie took an axe to The Great Pumpkin.
But I guess that was more like an evil cackle.
If you follow me on Twitter (and if not, why not?) you know there has been a respectable amount of stress in my life. One of these pressure points is a little thing called D-E-P-O-R-T-A-T-I-O-N. You see, I am not American but choose to live in this great country and will probably always live here. However at this juncture, I am not willing to forsake all that is holy my Canadian citizenship.
My Permanant Residency Card expires in a few months. It was issued almost 10 years ago after some not-so noble practices. Unfortunately, my beloved Lord of the Gourds did not come into my life until a few years after I needed him.
While at BYU, my fellow Canuck Mike and I used to swap dating stories. Sure, he/she was hot. Sure, he/she was kind. But most importantly: did he/she have GPC? (Code for Green Card Potential.)
Hey, at least we weren’t marrying for money.
Both Mike and I ended up marrying Americans. As a sidenote, one of my favorite Mike stories was after he graduated with his MBA. He had a promising job lead so shot the company off a resume. Imagine his delight when he realized he did not send it from his professional account, but from his personal one. The one entitled “hoserhell.”
He didn’t get the job. Shocker.
Upon graduation, I had no GCP prospects so had to go my own route and apply for Permanent Residency through the government. If I did not have any American connections, they told me it would have taken me 12 years. Fortunately, my grandmother was born in the U.S. so I could go through my mother.
The year that followed was ripped right out of a nightmare. I poured mucho $ into the application process, only to have the government repeatedly change the laws, which required me to start over and over again. I had to fly up to Calgary to go to an “American-approved doctor” (because evidently they don’t have those in the U.S.) and then out to Montreal for an interview. I was yanked into the Taliban room at Customs more times than I can count. In the end, my future residency hinged entirely upon my mother’s ability to pass a driver’s license test, which she flunked three times in one day.
Didn’t know you could take it three times in one day? Don’t tell the three different locations she visited.
It was all a wee bit stressful.
Everything came through in the end but I have been more than a bit apprehensive about what I will have to endure for the renewal. Last month, I sent a big ol’ check to Homeland Security, which felt more like a bribe than a payment but within weeks, they set an appointment.
That appointment was last week.
I barely slept the night before. Would they ship me off to Montreal again? Detain me in the Taliban room? Make my mother retake that driver’s license test and realize she should have been banned from the road 10 years ago when she first took it?
Nothing transpired. They took some fingerprints. I filled out some paperwork. The only conflict was debating if I should check “pink” or “maroon” on the eye color choices just for kicks. But better to play it safe than be kicked out. That was it.
And so my friends, I remain a Canadian yesterday, today and always.
At least until I have to go through the entire process again in 10 years.
Cast your vote here: should I have remained Canadian or instead come over to The Dark Side?
Jamie: [Fondly] Do you remember you were wearing that sweater when we met?
Me: Holy crap–that was six years ago. I NEED NEW CLOTHES!!!!!!!!!
Coincidentally, it is January 21st.
Do you think 2009 is trying to tell me something?
Twitter and the blogosphere have been all abuzz with inaugural observations. I have been greatly amused that many think they are experts on all things political. Some are right on the mark. Others sound like The National Enquirer is feeding them information.
Let us all learn the dangers of this. It is tradition for my entire family to go out to eat Chinese food together when I am in Canada. During one of these recent dinners, my brother jokingly made a snide comment to his wife Jane to which she responded,
Touché.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. Learn More