A Utah Family Travel Writer's Adventures with Altitude
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OK, so maybe there is nothing great about it as I struggle to recover. The days in Canada were swamped, the nights long. Bode had a cold and was also teething. This meant he demanded that I hold him day and night. I appeased him to avoid the fall-out but I am subsequently under the weather. Just once, could I not be over it?
But overall, we had a blast! My niece’s wedding was held in my parent’s picturesque backyard and the reception at the church across the street. Her mother (my sister-in-law) comes from a family of ten. Add that to my crazy clan and it amounts to an inordinate amount of chaos. And food. Did I mention just how much food there was?
The Cake
My Aunt Sue and I offered to pickup the wedding cake. When I told Jamie, he snorted over the wisdom of the assignment. I will spare you the sordid details of when she and I went to Europe together and spent our entire time lost, dazed or confused.
As for the damage we wreaked upon Said Cake, I blame the speed-bumps.
Oh, and that hairpin turn I did not spot until the last minute.
No worries: it was nothing that some nice little flowers and a big ol’ ribbon couldn’t cover.
And blinders.
The Circle of Trust
Or rather, the heart. My big contribution to the wedding (besides smashing the cake) was raking a huge heart on my parent’s lawn. Just call me stupid cupid.
The Golf Cart ‘O Looooove
My mom and sister-in-law decorated our golf cart for the newlyweds to drive across the street to the reception. It was my idea to attach the cans as a part of our decorations. Because doesn’t every new bride want to be whisked away in her white, clunky chariot?
The Children’s Drug of Choice
Sugar. Lots and lots of sugar.
What Happened to Hadley’s Very Expensive Dress
Poop. Lots and lots of poop. 
All the way up her back. The damage incurred upon Said Expensive Dress was so extensive it had to stay behind to get dry-cleaned.
Evidently, what happens in Canada, stays in Canada.
Dr. Doolittle She is Not
We took my parent’s dogs, Mia and Shanta, out for daily walks to enjoy the fall colors. They are mild-mannered little creatures, except when constantly stalked by The Hurricane. The more docile of the two actually nipped Hadley in the nose. As she tearfully relayed the attack, I asked her what Shanty said when it happened.
“She said ‘Ruff ruff ruffffffff ruf ruuuuuuuf.’”
Evidently, stupid questions beget stupid answers. Even in Canada….
Nothing in life is stagnant and there is no greater testament of this than when I return to my childhood home. My parent’s backyard oasis is always lusher, their house more cluttered with “treasures,” and our home, once on the outskirts of town, is practically the inner-city. Well, minus the gangs (unless you count my band of brothers’ occasional visit).
There is only one thing I can count on: my mother’s driving ability. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Mother is a nightmare behind the wheel. Picture the worst driver in the world, throw in a few blinders and you’ve got dear ol’ Christine. I have not let her drive me for years and I strongly protested when she recently offered to take my daughter Haddie to the “treat store.” When she demanded an explanation, all I had to say was “Parallel Parking” and the bomb was diffused.
One day she was out with my sister-in-law, Jane. Mother (who loves to shop) saw a “cute” store in the middle of a shopping district that she just had to visit.
She spotted an open parking space, put on her blinker and proceeded to parallel park. This attempt in itself was very ambitious considering her abysmal driving record. As a bonus, the traffic light up ahead was red so Mom did not have to worry about cars careening past her.
And so she parked. Or at least tried to. She backed in and out, readjusting herself every few seconds as surrounding cars started blazing their horns. She, of course, ignored them. Horns and fingers are very common things that surface when she drives.
My sister-in-law was not paying attention up until this point. She finally looked ahead to the traffic light that had turned green and then back at my mom’s parking job.
She then realized the terrible truth: my mother had been mistakenly trying to parallel park between two moving vehicles that were merely stopped at the red light.
I love Calgary.
Oh, and made hundreds of pumpkin, cheesecake and lemon tarts. Because this is the unfortunate existence of being the offspring of a former restaurateur: they do not trust catering to anyone else.
“Oh Amber, I am in charge of the cutest things for the bridesmaids. Doesn’t that sound like fun to help me with?”
“No, not a craft, just cute.”
Yesterday, I confirmed that I really am soft on the brain: I flew to Canada with my two children. Solo.
My niece is getting married next week and my husband Jamie could not take the time off work to attend. To be honest, I thought nothing of going it alone. Our recent trip to Mexico was seamless. So seamless I even received the following email from Kathy, a lovely woman we met:
Exceptional? Too bad Kath was not privy to our latest flight experience.
It went badly from the start and the kids were only partly to blame. It took 15 minutes to retrieve Bode’s carseat that a firefighter had practically dead-bolted to our backseat. Next, I had to bribe a porter to haul all my crap, which he unceremoniously dumped a football field away. And then the snippy United Airlines staff member harassed me about failing to go through self-checkout. You know: with my two young children and five pieces of luggage.
Though it may seem to the contrary, I had actually consolidated most everything into one large suitcase and when I say everything, I mean it: diapers, clothes, make-up, the kitchen sink. I also carefully packed two carry-ons: one with bribery food (i.e. sugar), the other with silencing entertainment (i.e. duct tape for mouths).
Then there was security. Do not even get me started with that 75-minute ordeal as the children who were manhandled like mini-Taliban. By the time we finally broke out of there, we were supposed to be boarding. And our gate was B82. If that sounds like it is in the boonies, allow me to confirm this for you.
After a veritable sprint, we were the final people to board. And we were greeted by the greatest bombshell of all:
“This is a small plane. You will have to leave that [pointing to my silencing entertainment] and we will stow it with the luggage down below.”
I looked at her dubiously. “Do you really want me to board this plane without any form of diversion for these children?”
The woman personally escorted me on the plane with the contraband carry-on.
The flight was stressful and long. When we arrived in Calgary, we were informed that two pieces of luggage had not arrived: a carseat and The Mother of All Suitcases.
I practically collapsed at that point and made the avowal then and there that I would never ever again in a million gazillion years attempt to fly alone with my children.
At least not until my return flight next week.
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