Park City Mountain Resort: A Cut of the Good Life

“This is my best day ever!”

Thus squealed my 4-year-old daughter Hadley. It was Day 1 of our family vacation to Park City Mountain Resort last year. I suspect her proclamation had very little do with the 8-hour drive from Denver we had endured and everything to do with the soak in our private hot tub at Ski Lift Condominiums that overlooked the pulse of Park City’s Historic District.

I moved away from The Greatest Snow on Earth seven years ago. And while Colorado is certainly not lacking in great resorts, there’s no place like home. I once made a career out of extolling the virtues of Utah’s powder playgrounds so I was thrilled when I was named as one of Park City Mountain Resort’s Snowmamas. This was my first time to return with family in tow so expectations to reap what I had once sowed were high.

Family Vacations Without the Kids

I love my children. Really, I do. But sometimes family vacations don’t have to be entirely about the family. Early in my children’s lives, I sacrificed the number of days I spent on the slopes. At Park City, those days were no more.

Clubbin’ at The Clubhouse
We dropped 2 ½-year-old Bode off at The Clubhouse, Park City’s hourly childcare center that accommodates children ages 2 months – 12 years. This was the first time I have left my self-professed Mama’s Boy in unfamiliar surroundings and I was a bit nervous.

My apprehension lasted exactly 2.5 seconds when the doting staff offered to change his noxious diaper prior to my departure. I then watched as my Mama’s-Boy-no-more joyfully delved into the onslaught of toys and activities that included arts and crafts, reading time, games, and song and dance activities. He had snacks, a healthy lunch he actually ate and naptime in a tranquil, darkened room. After his revelries at The Clubhouse, he was asking,

“Mommy? Mommy who?”

Park City Mountain Resort’s Signature Ski Program

With one down, I had only one more to go. I enrolled Hadley in PCMR’s Signature Ski Program. Classes feature a child-specialist instructor and blend ski instruction with additional activities in their world-class mountain school.

This was Hadley’s third time on skis and her previous attempts had been sketchy at best. But after two days in the program, she was getting on and off the chairlift by herself, snowplowing, turning and stopping. I couldn’t have taught her better myself.

This is exactly why I left it to PCMR’s professionals.

When Grown-Ups Become Kids Again

For two uninterrupted days, my husband Jamie and I played to our heart’s content. We demoed top-of-the line skis from Park City Mountain Rentals. We tackled expanses of untracked powder, experienced thrills and spills on the moguls and marveled at the sea of awe-inspiring Wasatch mountaintops. Jamie’s family joined us for our second day and we played on the terrain park’s jumps, rails and funboxes. OK, more like they played while I took their picture.

I was not that intent on reliving my thrill-seeking years.

To add a dash of variety to its on-mountain activities, Park City Mountain Resort has added the Alpine Coaster, a cross between an alpine slide, a roller coaster and my husband’s worst nightmare.

You see, Jamie avoids roller coasters like a colicky baby shuns sleep. And the alpine coaster’s elevated track has more than a mile of loops and corkscrew turns that I was sure would send him over the edge.

Turns out I should have been more worried about my sanity. For about 10 minutes, my open “car” slowly climbed high above the resort center and then it turned back downhill on a gravity-fueled series of hair-pin curves at 30-40 mph. I screamed like a girl the entire time.

Good thing I am one.

Park City = Good Eatin’

Skiing is a lifestyle that involves all sorts of pleasures, excellent food being among them. Park City does not disappoint.

On-Mountain

My expectations are generally low when it comes to on-mountain cuisine because greasy burgers and French fries seem to be the staples. Not at Park City Mountain Resort. My husband and I had possibly the best chicken nachos and Kobe beef burger I have ever eaten at Legends Bar & Grill. Kristi’s Café had a delicious selection of gourmet pizzas, [non-greasy] burgers, pasta, and a soup and salad bar that puts most buffets to shame.

Off-Mountain

Ski Lift Condominiums have more than just luxurious accommodations going for them: they are centrally located on Park City’s Main Street, which boasts some of the best dining in Utah. Much to my delight, many of the restaurants offer kid-friendly menus and diversions.

On our first night we ate at Zoom, a Sundance-owned restaurant where the children ate the white cheddar macaroni and cheese while I indulged in the Wood-Grilled Filet Mignon. Another night, we ate at Butcher’s Chop House & Bar (http://www.butcherschophouse.com/) where the kids ordered chicken and papaya quesadillas while I opted for the “Le Chateau” Filet Mignon.

Sensing a pattern with my choice in menu items?

Let’s face it: when your life is all about “Ground Beef” at home, sometimes it’s nice spoil yourself with “The Filet Life” when on a family vacation.

And Park City Mountain Resort certainly delivers.

Photo credit: Park City Mountain Resort.

This week in mommy blogger history

So, we’ve been busy.

Getting snowed in with record-breaking snowfall and trying out the kids’ new shovels.


Building snow caves.


And yes, we’re in Colorado (though it looks a lot like Canada)

Playing with the newest addition to our family.


Making a Dry Ice Crystal Ball at our annual Halloween bash.


(And miraculously, I did not blow up the house).

Making “Incredibly” eerie ghost sounds with balloons.


(I learned all these cool science experiments at a Steve Spangler Science event I attended. Checkout Mile High Mamas Creative Corner for more fun ideas).

And just being cute.


(Hadley is second from the left and had long since removed her bat costume. Bode is a firefighter on the front row).

The in-laws rushed their move along and were thrilled to leave this week because they “did not want to move in winter.”

Sucks to be them.

The Crazy Crew

Amber
Shameless Columnist, Travel Writer and Mommy Blogger. Devoted Wife. Frazzled Mother.

Former Crazy Canuck Radio Personality, Prolific Publicist, Public Speaker. Defender of Truth.

Most likely to be found lost in the backcountry with her family.

Frequently has delusions of Superhero Grandeur.

Jamie

Hunky Hubby, Faithful Father, Outdoor Aficionado.

Web Design Business Owner, Entrepreneurial Genius.

King of the One-Liners. All around swell guy.

Obsessed with Growing The Great Pumpkin.


Hurricane Hadley
Gregarious, Fearless and Larger-than-life.

Loves Skating, Skiing, Drawing, Hiking, Swimming, Skiing and Humbling Parents.

Born 10 days early when her father promised to buy her a car on her 16th birthday if she was born that day.

Somehow controlled the elements even in the womb.

Colicky baby, spirited third grader.

There may be casualties.


Bode “Bubby”
First boy ever to love Wii and soccer..

First grader who is already showing his academic prowess. Is snuggly, sweet, and loving.

Except for when provoked by his sister.

Named after skiing legend Bode Miller and has taken to  skiing like a fish to water like Bode Miller to the slopes.

Parents already plotting his Olympic future.

Final photo: The Crazy Clan on a sleigh ride at Durango Mountain Resort. February, 2010.

This is the week we’ve been dreading

My in-laws are moving to Utah at the end of the week.

They have been an integral part of our survival since I moved to Denver seven years ago. When I had my children, my mother-in-law helped me in every way possible without ever overstepping her bounds.

When Haddie was little, she took her every Wednesday so I could have a break. My in-laws would watch our kids when Jamie and I wanted to go backpacking, on week-long cruises or just on a date night.

Basically, our life is over now.

Or at least it will suck as much as the rest of you who don’t have family nearby.

On Saturday, my in-laws took the kids for the their final playdate and sleepover at their house. Jamie and I went on a date to new-to-us Purple Ginger Asian Fusion, snuggled in bed all afternoon watching football and then attended the Tennyson Center’s ’50s event benefiting the fight against child abuse. We attended with three beautiful bloggers and their greasy husbands.


Jamie was the only greaser who realized five minutes before we were supposed to leave he did not have a white T-shirt so he wore a gray one.

And then he refused to roll up his pants and grease his hair.

Basically, he was the worst greaser ever.

We called the evening “The Last Supper.” Cuz it kinda was for us with the loss of our babysitters.

On Sunday, the children at church had their annual Primary presentation. Hadley gave a stirring performance with her memorized line, “Read the scriptures and have family home evening.” She sat on the front row of the stage and proceeded to yawn, stretch, check for loose teeth and basically do anything that did not require being attentive.

That’s my girl.

That night, we had Duane and Linda over for dinner and carved the children’s pumpkin. We topped the evening off with pumpkin gingerbread and caramel sauce for dessert.

The rest of this week will be a frenzy of helping them pack, move and then mourn. A couple of weeks ago, I volunteered to spearhead their Craigslist furniture postings. They had several big-ticket items they wanted to sell like their piano, dining room set and kitchen table. I wrote eloquent posts, really I did. I made people want to buy up every last item.

So, imagine our shock when they did not have even once person call them all week.

“You’ve overpriced everything,” we told them. So my father-in-law went back in and reduced the prices. We had already lost one week in their very small two-week window.

It was then that he realized one minor detail: I had listed the wrong phone number.

On Every. Single. Listing.

You see, there is this glorious little tool called a cut-and-paste. And when you include one incorrect fact, you are able to unknowingly duplicate it many times over.

That’s what you get when you’re entrusting the sale of valuable goods with a medicine-induced blond Canuck.

And yes, I am available for all your copywriting needs.

Pumpkin Lovers Unite (and indulge in my recipes)

With Halloween upon us, my family is in the throes of Everything Pumpkin. While Jamie may be obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin, I am consumed with eating it.

I’ve always liked pumpkin pie but my obsession did not begin until I was pregnant with my daughter. Mid-October, I called home to my Canadian family as they were enjoying their Thanksgiving dinner.

Without me. The nerve.

When my mom mentioned they were eating pumpkin pie, it was then something ugly was triggered in that pregnant lady brain. It’s tough to decipher but it was along the lines of this: Must. Eat. Pumpkin. NOW!

And I did. That very next day, my mother-in-law brought home one of Costco’s glorious pumpkin pies and it was gone within 48 hours.

I don’t even remember chewing; I think I must have inhaled it.

She shall hereby be known as The Enabler.

Most crazy pregnant ladies overcome their cravings but mine never went away. Fall is a trigger for eating pumpkin and my poor family has endured pretty much every pumpkin dish you can imagine.

Think I’m joking? I have made READ ON

Peace, Be Still

When you are quarantined for weeks on end like us, you sometimes get a wee bit stir-crazy. One night, the kids were literally bouncing off the walls (and us) when Jamie attempted to calm them down.

“I am going to tell you a story about Jesus,” he announced.

Both kids immediately plunked themselves down beside him in a gesture no less miraculous than the story of the loaves and the fishes.

“Jesus was on a boat with his disciples and fell asleep. Suddenly, a great storm came and his scared disciples woke him up and said ‘Don’t you care that we’re going to die?'”

Both kids gazed at him in awe as if he were Jesus Himself.

“And Jesus arose and said to the sea, ‘Peace, be still.’ And do you know what? He calmed the seas.”

There was a long pause as the kids reflected upon the story and then in silent unison, they both leapt on top of Jamie and started take him down.

Jamie: [Authorititvely:] “Children: PEACE, BE STILL.”

No reaction whatsoever as their abuse continued.

Me: [Stating the obvious]: “I hate to say it but you’re no Jesus, Jamie.”

First Magazine

I was in First magazine last month. I meant to mention it earlier but it kinda slipped my mind. Or rather, I tried to forget it. You see, I’m a wee bit annoyed. I submitted a story about my most embarrassing moment. It was no shock they ran it because let’s face it: my moments are pretty embarrassing.

They came and did a full-blown photo shoot at my house a few months ago. The subject? Me. And I had to look horrified, over and and over again until they got “the perfect shot.”

For inspiration, I imagined what it would be like to give birth to octuplets.

Here’s the thing, though: some journalists get a bad rap because they misquote or downright lie. Correcting grammatical errors or reworking the text for length considerations are give-ins. But to completely change the outcome of the story? Ridiculous.

I also let it slip my mind because they chose a rather terrible picture of me and gave me a full-page spread. This alone has trumped any embarrassing moment I may have had.

Here is what I originally submitted:

 

It was my junior year in college. Well, my first of three junior years if you’re really counting. I had just been accepted into the broadcast journalism program and had the illustrious job of Grunt around their newsroom.

 

One day, the newscast got preempted. To kill time, one of the cameramen asked Tony (a fellow Grunt) and I if we wanted a lesson. Tony started behind the camera and I trotted over to the news desk, intending to give the best fake newscast imaginable.

 

I’m not sure when things started getting out of hand. Was it when I did my muscle poses at the weather board? Or when the cameraman taught Tony how to frame a shot by zooming in and out on my chest as I hammed it up by shaking ’em like I was in a mariachi band?

 

I was in the midst of my finale when a voice screeched out from the control room. A voice that still resonates today:

 

“CUT THE CAMERA! WE’VE BEEN ON THE AIR THE WHOLE TIME!”

 

Turns out, the newscast had not been preempted after all and had gone live at the top of the hour. For fifteen long minutes, my muscles and cha chas were splayed across the airwaves.

 

My face heats up just thinking about it but my debut was undoubtedly legendary. After all, it was probably the only program to ever receive a PG-13 rating on that community station. Or maybe more like an ‘R’…..

Here is what they published:

 

“I let loose on live TV for everyone to see!”

 

I enrolled in college after taking a few years off–and even joined the college news show. One night our producer informed us that the newscast was canceled for a special program, so we decided to put on a face newscast. I trotted over to the news desk, intending to give my best phony report imaginable.

 

I’m not sure when things got out of hand, but soon enough I was doing muscle poses and shaking my br*easts at the camera. We were 15 minutes into our “goofcast” when a voice screeched out from the control room: “Cut the camera!’ Turns out, our “pretend” show was live at the top of the hour! I nervously smiled and told our viewers that we’d be back after a few messages. I think our newscast was the only one in history to receive a PG-13 rating on a community station–though it would’ve gotten an R.

I don’t care that they cropped it but to add that stuff about taking a few years off and then my calm and composed wrap at the end?

They obviously don’t know me every well.

They added an addendum beside my story that said, “Appear calm on camera–even when you’re not” and gave a lame quote from a video-editing company about how you would never react or run away.

I complained to my husband Jamie (whom I regularly exploit write about on my blog) and he warily looked at me and said,

“Gee. Now you know the feeling.”

Grumpy Old Woman

Mom Canuck always said if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all.

Which is why I’m not saying much this week.

I had to postpone Haddie’s annual Halloween bash because this plague is still leveling me and I haven’t slept in days.

Does bronchitis feel like death? If so, I think I’m suffering from both.

Speaking of death, we were sad to hear of the passing of our friend (and bishop) Darrin’s grandfather. Of course, he was likely in his late 80s and such a passing is to be celebrated. Since Jamie and I have been so near death the past few weeks, we discussed our ideal age to meet the grave.

Me: “I want to live until I’m 89. Only if I’m healthy, of course.”

Jamie: “No way. 85 tops.”

Me: “Yeah, you’re right. You’re going to be a grumpy old man.”

Jamie (glaring at me): “I wonder why.”

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

On another note: what do you do when you’re bored out of your mind and can’t sleep all night?

The Monster Mash, of course.

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Note: Family Member #5 is the kitty that will be joining our family next week. That’s blog fodder just waiting to happen.

The truth: revealed

So, I’m curious to hear what your experiences with Parent-Teacher Conferences have been?

I am meeting with Hadley’s beloved kindergarten teacher today for our first meeting. I’m not sure of what to expect but am not too worried because Hadley is shockingly well behaved in the classroom. She only ever had one *incident* in preschool.

And then she suffered Abuse By Carbs.

When I scheduled the appointment, I mentioned it to Jamie.

Me: You should come to Hadley’s Parent-Teacher Conference with me.

Jamie: I’m not taking the blame.

It’s my party and I’ll blog if I want to!

October marks my official 4-year anniversary in the blogosphere. On a whim, I started my personal blog Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck on MSN Spaces in October 2005. None of my friends of family understood what it was.

“A blob? Why would you want to start a blob?”

Or “don’t you think it’s a bit narcissistic to think people will want to read about your life?”

From Day 1, I obsessed over what should I write. I carried a notebook with me as everything (and everyone) in my life became blog fodder.

And then I got my first comment. From a stranger. I was initially confused. Why would this fellow blogger care about my little corner of the world? Slowly, I got it. This corner was part of a growing community of fellow freaks who shared their intimate details online.

And then I became hooked.

The following year, I switched over to this more personalized site at Blogger and a true “mommy blogger” was born. You have been my little community of mamas. You have come to my blog, I have come to years. It has been legalized stalking and vicarious living at its best. We *get* each other. There is no sugar-coating motherhood like I had endured at countless playdates.

But then the blogosphere evolved

READ ON