Family travel | Life Elevated Mom

The Real[ist] Family Travel Writer is Born

July 14, 2008 by Amber

I have always loved to travel. The problem is, travel has not always loved me. I once journeyed to France for a wedding, only to get lost and miss the entire celebration.

I built a career as a travel writer by writing a humor column about my mishaps. During a meeting with my editor, I made reference to one of my misfortunes on the trail and he professed, “You mean this stuff really happens? I thought you were making it up because there is no way all that could happen to one person!”

Welcome to my life.

When I had a family, there were understandably even more challenges. My recent solo trip home with my children confirmed it: I am the Real[ist] Family Travel Writer. While so many writers expound upon their tried and true tips for “The Perfect Family Vacation,” I keep it real. Family travel is about survival. The only two things that keep me sane are my sense of humor and a huge dose of denial. Maybe Prozac would help, too.

And so as the Real[ist] Family Travel Writer, here are some insights I gleaned from my trip that I summed up as follows to my husband: “Hell is assuredly an easier commute than flying solo to Canada with two young children.”

Case study #1

I hate DIA (Denver International Airport). This trip had some new doozies: baggage problems with “easy” check-in that forced me to wait 20 minutes for an agent; an online reservation that never reserved my son Bode’s ticket as a lap child and resulted in even more delays; those many hours we were stuck in the plane on the runway because Denver’s drought chose to end during that three-hour window and the floodgates were opened.

REAL[IST] TRAVEL WRITING TIP: BUILD AN ARK. IT WILL GET YOU WHERE YOU ARE GOING FASTER THAN DIA EVER WILL.

Case study #2

I took a big risk this trip and brought my double-wide Chariot jogging/biking stroller instead of my stream-lined Graco. Navigating The Beast was tough enough at the airport but I faced a whole new set of problems in Calgary. Do you know that adage “What comes up must come down?” Evidently, this does not ring true at Calgary’s C-Train station as my dad and I tried to board the train to go downtown to the Stampede. We scaled the huge ramp up to the ticket station, only to discover there was not a ramp going down to the platform. Huh?

After carrying The Beast down two flights of stairs, it would not fit through the doors. I thought that was the end of it until we tried to board the train and we ran into the same problem. We kicked the kids out and tried to cram it in sideways. Nothing. We finally had to disassemble the #%&*# stroller completely and catch the next sardine-packed train where my poor dad had to stand crammed up against the wall to keep all the parts in place.

The most ironic thing of all? The Chariot is made in Canada and it does not fit through their standard-sized door.

REAL[IST] TRAVEL WRITING TIP: DO NOT TAKE DOUBLE-WIDE STROLLERS TO CALGARY BECAUSE EVIDENTLY PEOPLE ARE SKINNIER THERE AND ALL THEIR DOORS ARE ON A PERPETUAL DIET.

So, why do it? As a recent New York Times headline put it, “Sure it’s frustrating and expensive, but travelers just have to travel.” The article went on to say that many people consider leisure travel to be essential, not discretionary.

My “essentials” included seeing my children play with my parents in my childhood home, holding my Great Niece for the first time, cookouts under the stars, a daytrip to the Canadian Rockies, lazy afternoons at the lake and hanging out with a longtime friend on my parent’s deck under a canopy of lilac bushes and stars. And yes, even going for walks with that #%#& stroller along my beloved Fish Creek Park trail. These make up for all the ulcers.

Mind you, my return flight to Colorado is tomorrow and next month my husband, children and I are braving the 13-hour journey to Yellowstone.

Suddenly, that Prozac is sounding better and better….

Filed Under: Canada, Family travel, Humor, travel

Inquiring Minds Want to Know: Did Amber Survive Her Flight?

July 9, 2008 by Amber

My experience was best summarized by my opening statement during my telephone conversation with Jamie.

“Hell is assuredly an easier commute than flying solo to Canada with two young children.”

Filed Under: Family travel, Humor, travel

One mommy blogger’s [humorous? painful?] path to a nervous breakdown

July 8, 2008 by Amber

There has been a morbid fascination with my exposé of our failed camping trip (read Camping, Crying and Capsizing here). While overall we had a great time with our friends, I left out the sordid details of Bode’s near-fatal (for me, not him) bout with diarrhea for two reasons:

1) If you do not yet have children and want them, I did not want to permanently traumatize you into abstinence.

2) Likewise for those who do not like poop stories because this was the motherlode of crap.

About 2/3 of the way through our 2.5-hour drive, Bode developed diarrhea that exploded out his diaper, congregating in a delicious pool of poop that saturated his car seat and then oozed onto our leather seats below. So while Jamie and Bode were down for a long summer’s nap at the campground, the rest of my afternoon went like this:

Beckoned Tina’s husband Mark to help me remove the car seat. And wisely so because he got a handful of crap during the process.
Went to the laundry room and with great difficulty, removed the car seat’s cover for the first time. Was delighted to find three year’s worth of Cheerios and Nutrigrain Bars marinating in poop.
Rinsed the cover off, threw it in the washer and bought a small box of Tide. Anticipated a nice plastic bag inside so ruthlessly tore open the box. Detergent spewed all over the laundry room. Barely had enough money for the load so was reduced to sweeping Tide up off the filthy floor with my hands.
Ran the load and then scrubbed the car seat in the huge sink. Realized there was no way the straps would dry by morning.
Went to adjacent bathroom, hoping to find paper towels but they only had blow dryers. Sat drying my car seat, completing ticking off a woman who had just gotten out of the shower. Felt like telling her, “”You have straight, thin hair. Rejoice in it. It’ll be dry in minutes” but instead gave her a “You are camping–why are you showering anyway” look.
Car seat mostly dry. Made my way back to put the cover in the dryer but realized I was out of money. Scrubbed my hands from the stench but opted out of drying them because I just spent 20 minutes under the blow dryer.
Inserted dollar bill in machine. It was rejected due to my wet hands.
Dried dollar bill under blow dryer. Continued to receive evil looks from thin-haired woman.
Went back to laundry room. Drama almost over. Tossed the car seat cover in dryer, closed, inserted money. Water started. Wait–WATER? Realized I had mistakenly put it in a front-loading washing machine that was the spitting image of a dryer. A washing machine with an iron-clad lock on it.
Sat through ANOTHER wash cycle, went back to campsite. Sent Hunky Hubby back to deal with the dryer.
Poor Hunky Hubby was up all night with diarrhea. The outhouse never smelled so good.
Vowed to never go camping with children again. At least not when they have diarrhea.
The End.

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As you are reading this, I am flying to Canada. Alone. With the children. Will there be a return of The Diarrhea of Death?

Pray for me, people. Pray for me. And pray for those on our flight. 🙂

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, outdoors, travel

Camping, Capsizing and Crying (all in a weekend at play)

July 7, 2008 by Amber

As backpackers, my husband Jamie and I are minimalists. We pack the bare essentials because we know we will be the ones hauling them into the backcountry.

We had also taken the same approach with car camping…until we saw the light during last weekend’s camping trip to Eleven Mile State Park, a venue that came highly recommended in Family Fun magazine and a rocky, barren venue that I would never recommend in a thousand years. Or in the eleven hundred miles it seemed to take to get us there.

Our friends Tina and Mark are Pack Everything Including the Kitchen Sink kind of campers. There is nothing wrong with this unless you are camping with them and your rations suddenly seem woefully inadequate and you find yourselves begging them to please share just a bite of their pancake, sausage and bacon breakfast to spare you the trauma of your Frosted Flakes without milk.

In addition to having a tent trailer that was stocked to the hilt, they also brought their canoe, a ton of toys, games, bubble whistles, glow-in-the-dark necklaces and a visit from the bead fairy who helped them make bracelets.

My contribution? Paper plates. A lot of them.

Oh, and both of my boys brought diarrhea. A lot of it. But I will spare you the joy of how I spent my afternoon in the park’s laundry room cleaning the pool of poop that had saturated Bode’s carseat during the drive. Jamie’s rendition of Said Illness did not hit until 11 p.m. and he had a grand ol’ time darting in and out of the tent all night and relieving himself in the outhouse.

Because those things don’t smell disgusting enough.

Our first day was windy and cold, which forced us to hunker down in Tina and Mark’s camper. Day two dawned glorious and calm so Mark announced that we would take the kids canoeing and issued a decree for anyone who wanted to come?!

Tina bowed out. She is afraid of tipping over in the canoe. Woosy.

Jamie was still nauseated from his all-night puke and poopfest. Woosy.

So I ponied up. Mark and I sailed across the water with Hadley and his son Nolan. All was going smoothly until we approached the shoreline and three motorboats departed at the same time. Three motorboats vs. one little canoe.

I will spare you the details. Actually, I don’t really remember them. All I can recollect is my end of the canoe was the first to tip and the rest soon followed. Hadley and Nolan screamed hysterically. Mark and I laughed in the same manner.

Ever the loving, concerned friend, Tina was quick to react by barking out orders from the shore:

“I’ll get the towels and Jamie, YOU TAKE THE PICTURES!”

Just not with my camera because it was in my pocket at the time. And for those who are wondering: no, it was (as in past tense) not waterproof.

Hadley speaks of the incident as if she had one foot in the grave. She was so freaked out that family therapy sessions are assuredly in her future.

Rest assured, I will bring the paper plates for that occasion, too.

Later edited: By popular demand One mommy blogger’s [humorous? painful?] path to a nervous breakdown.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, outdoors, travel

Summer Solsticing (and traumatizing) at Granby Ranch

June 30, 2008 by Amber

A week ago, we attended Granby Ranch’s summer solstice. The resort went all out for this celebration that included fireworks, BBQs, chairlift rides, face painting, golf, crafts, a climbing wall, trampoline, massages, pony rides and mountain bike demos. To name a few.

We reallllly wanted to go on this trip because:

1) It sounded fun. Duh.

2) The following weekend would be our dreaded camping trip with the children and we wanted them to have at least one positive experience with the great outdoors. Even if it meant enjoying it from the great indoors of our slope-side condo.

If you’ve never been to Granby Ranch, you must not be a hip, nature-loving family with young children in Colorado because that is 90 percent of their audience. The other 9 percent consists of suicidal mountain bikers who barrel down the resort’s new mountain bike park. The remaining 1 percent? Toileting-papering, hike-traumatizing city folk like us.

One of our best–and worst–experiences was shortly after we arrived. Much to the delight of the children, we rode the chairlift to the summit. The plan was to then hike through the resort’s wildflower-laced meadows and sing “Climb [Down] Every Mountain in a scene reminiscent of the Von Trapp Family Singers.

Yeah, right.

Our children have been on the trail since they were six weeks old so they are well acquainted with the rigors of the backcountry. Just not the hazards of their father.

We were about halfway down when my husband Jamie proclaimed this place was where he nearly killed his father 20 years ago when he convinced him to forsake the bunny slope.

Hadley chose this Valley of Death to announce that she needed a break. Before I could object, Jamie spotted a grove of trees and proceeded to climb over an obstacle course of deadfall before plopping down on a log. Bravely, Hadley followed her daddy and within moments, she let out a death-defying screech. She had sliced up her hand on one of the logs.

Really, the damage of a few slivers was minor. But if you are four years old and there is no princess band-aid in sight, you think your life is O-V-E-R. I will spare you the sordid details of the rest of the hike but let’s just say it was replete with a few of her [Not-So] Favorite Things.

After a full day’s activities, we settled back on the deck listening to live music and enjoying a gourmet BBQ. As the evening progressed, the hilarious Jackman Brothers performed. At Bode’s insistence, I left to replenish his plate with even more food. Because evidently five ribs and countless chicken nuggets were not enough for our 1-year-old garbage disposal.

Upon our return, we made a very disturbing discovery:

Some would consider this to be my husband subjected to the humiliation of getting called up in front of hundreds of people for a corny toilet paper race.

Others—like my father-in-law and daughter—would call it Payback at Granby Ranch.

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Camping Chaos: A Mommy Blogger’s Plea for Help!

June 2, 2008 by Amber

I have finally done gone and did it.

Please excuse my lapse in grammar. I am evidently experiencing such deficiencies in most areas of my life, particularly in the “I Will NEVER do That Again with Young Children” camp.

Speaking of camp, that is precisely what I vowed I would never do again while my kids are toddlers. And yet in what can only be described as a fog, I recently found myself clicking the “reserve” button on our campground registration.

Now, let me explain. My husband and I are outdoor aficionados. Every year, we climb a 14er and go backpacking in Moab together. And every year, we leave the children at home with Grandma.

I have also been a member of a fantastic hiking group for moms – Colorado Mountain Mamas – since my firstborn was six weeks old so my kids know the outdoors.

Just not overnight.

There is a reason for this. When my daughter Hadley was 14 months old, Jamie and I thought it would be fun to take her camping. Fun in the I-want-to-put-a-bullet-through-my-head-by-the-end-of-the-trip kind of way.

Hadley has always been an adventurous kid and loves the outdoors. But there is a world of difference between day-tripping or spending the night in a nice cabin vs. roughing it.

First, there was the issue of a tent. We are accustomed to sleek back-country ones that take moments to assemble. But we somehow thought it was a good idea to buy a tent from Costco that is big enough to house a small army. Have you ever tried to assemble a miniature house while battling a screaming toddler? We learned very quickly that we will never be invited to assist in Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

Second, there was the issue of stuff. Everywhere. In the trees, on the ground – it all ended up in Hadley’s mouth. Our campsite was on a slope so if she wasn’t tripping over every rock or stick, she was eating them or attempting to roll over in the fire pit.

Third, there was the issue of sleep. Or lack thereof. Even though it was July, the evenings were cold. That, coupled with uncomfortable sleeping quarters, led Hadley to wail all night long. Both nights. If our campground neighbors had a choice, I am sure they would have voted us off the island. Both nights.

But I am still disillusioned by the dream of happy campers snuggling by the fire cooking s’mores and hot dogs. Well, minus the fat-free hot dogs, which I made the mistake of buying last time around. Note to the wise: if your hot dog turns putrid grey when cooked and your kid has the reaction you see in the photo, something is very, very wrong.

It has been three years since that cursed trip. This time, I have taken a Strength in Numbers approach and invited my friend Tina, her husband Mark and two of Hadley’s bestestest friends Nolan and Rowan.

This is the same woman whose children have been known to throw massive tantrums about “hiking” a flat 1/4-mile loop.

Should be a banner weekend. 🙂

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, outdoors Tagged With: camping

Confessions of a Ski School Dropout at SolVista Basin

February 4, 2008 by Amber

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….

Filed Under: Family, Family travel, Hadley, Humor, outdoors, skiing, travel

Avalanche Ranch: A Cut of Crystal River Valley Heaven

January 22, 2008 by Amber

“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….

Filed Under: Family travel, Hadley, Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Country Roads to Evergreen Lake

January 7, 2008 by Amber

Our normally tight-knit neighborhood has gone into hibernation this winter. In an attempt to rally the troops, I sent an email inviting them to come skating at Evergreen Lake on Saturday. No one could come but I was saddened that half of them did not even bother to respond.

They could have just dropped me a note stating, “I would rather die than be seen skating with you in public.”

That would have been the polite thing to do. 🙂

It was their loss. Jamie, the kids and I prefaced our outdoor adventure by having breakfast at Country Road Cafe in Kittredge.

From their nine different kinds of eggs benedicts to the famous smashed mashes, this place was love at first sight. Jamie has never deviated from their gargantuan breakfast burrito, the kids adore the fluffy, stuffed pancakes and this time, I experimented with their egg, tomato and cream cheese sausage wrap with roasted red pepper sauce (excuse me while I wipe the tears of joy from my eyes).

From there, it was onto Evergreen Lake – my favorite place to skate in Colorado. I was thrilled because this would be my 3-year-old daughter’s first time on ice skates. Growing up in Canada, I was introduced to skating shortly after leaving the womb. I was raised gliding along frozen lakes, rivers and even our garden that we turned into a rink. When growing up on tundra, you learn very quickly that pretty much anywhere is skatable and that frozen nose hairs are a fashion statement.

Such was not the case on Saturday with our 58-degree temperatures. I thought the balmy weather would be ideal with two little ones but with sun comes slush. And every few feet, our skates sunk into the ice because of it.

Or it could have been due to the extra 30 pounds I gained over Christmas.

Despite the poor conditions, Hadley was a champ and learned to balance herself very quickly. With my assistance, she tentatively took her first steps and started gliding and weaving as she bossed me around.

Pretty much, it was like any typical day in the Johnson household.

After a while, she needed a break. Jamie and I loaded the kids onto sleds and we flew across the ice as we whipped them around in circles.

Or at least we would have had we not been skating through a Slurpee. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of what those poor sled dogs experience in the Iditarod.

And ascertained that is probably why the driver always shouts out, “Mush.”

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, outdoors, travel

The Broadmoor = Kiddy Heaven

December 10, 2007 by Amber

During my career as an adventure-travel writer, my accommodations ranged from the most opulent mountain lodges to the cold, hard ground. And to be honest, I loved them equally.

Until I gave birth.

And then camping involved wrestling young children away from the fire pit and sleepless nights in the tent as they howled like insomniac wolves. Given my passion for the outdoors, I hope to someday return to the extreme backcountry with them. Like maybe when they are 20.

In the meantime, I have been on a quest to find family-friendly accommodations and will highlight a different destination each month.

My latest pursuit led me to The Broadmoor. You know, that one hotel in Colorado Springs that has been the nation’s longest continuous winner of the Mobile Five-Star and AAA Five Diamond Awards. I did an online search for travel reviews and stumbled upon a crotchety old man who described The Broadmoor’s influx of children and activities as “Kiddy Hell.”

It was then I knew it would be my heaven.

We stayed at The Broadmoor for the first time on Saturday. We are generally not 5-star folks but I am a firm believer that the occasional splurge is good for the soul. And it seemed like such a pity to have never been to a legendary hotel practically in our backyard that places such an emphasis on children.

December in particular is a family-oriented month and we dove into a variety of activities, starting with Breakfast with Santa. It was located on a beautiful set in the ballroom complete with Santa, Mrs. Claus, elves and enough calories to last until Christmas. This was my brazen daughter Hadley’s first visit of the season with Santa and she has been prepping for weeks.

But as we approached the stage, she choked. Ever the concerned mother, I thought only of our requisite annual shot with The Man in Red and hissed,

“If you ever want another present from Santa again, you WILL get up there.”

I just wonder how I will convince her to still do it when she’s 20.

Maybe it will be during one of our camping trips.

From there, it was onto cookie decorating, a quick stop in The Little Theatre for a showing of “A Christmas Story,” and the highlight of the day: storytime with Mrs. Claus. I have been to my fair share of children’s shows and storytimes but I have never encountered anyone as engaging and hilarious as Mrs. “Beth Epley” Claus, who has been performing her songs and stories at The Broadmoor for 19 years. She has children who return every year to see her and she was the highlight of our weekend. Well, she and the Kobe beef at the Tavern restaurant. I do have my priorities.

Even though The Broadmoor is 89 years old, it only took Saturday’s storm to leave the expansive grounds looking renewed with a delicious frosting of snow. The snowflakes whirled around us in a flurry of white, like pigment seeping into paper. The children were mesmerized – and cold – so we hit the indoor pool at The Broadmoor Spa.

After splashing around for a while, we stopped to admire our luxurious surroundings as my husband Jamie proclaimed:

“Hadley, this is what it looks like on the other side of the tracks.”

And I am so glad to have caught a glimpse.

(Originally published at Mile High Mamas).

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, travel Tagged With: Broadmoor