Humor | Life Elevated Mom

Candid Living in California

February 26, 2008 by Amber

It was exactly 20 years ago that I last visited Carmel. It was my 16th birthday and my mom planned a memorable girl’s vacation around her business trip to San Francisco. Carmel in particular left an indelible imprint with its meld of Bohemian charm and opulent indulgences. I had never been anywhere like it. No matter what the size, each house touted itself as a majestic fortress and lawns exploded with growth and color. There are no billboards, parking meters, streetlights or street addresses anywhere.

Or high heels. I am still trying to figure out the reasoning behind that city ordinance. Or what they do to those rebellious offenders.

Jamie and I stayed at the Sandpiper Inn, just half a block from the ocean. One of the great things about traveling with him is we love to do the same things. Or rather, he likes to do the same things as me (however you look at it. 🙂

Despite the inclement weather, we were able to capitalize on those moments of calm by cruising the 17-Mile Drive, wandering along the beach, playing in Monterey, hiking Point Lobos State Preserve and trekking to Big Sur.

One thing I learned early on is Californians like to exploit their snoozy Pacific Coast Time by slowing up the rest of the world. Our first exposure to this was when we learned our B&B did not serve breakfast until 8 a.m. For those mathematicians out there, that is 9 a.m. Denver time, which is also equal unto when we go into shock due to extreme food deprivation.

When we were finally fed, we drove over to the state park, only to learn it did not open until 9 a.m. In Amber Time, this may as well be midnight because I had already been awake half the day. We were among the first in line at the gate and the park ranger leisurely commented, “Well, aren’t you the early birds?” Evidently, they have an abundance of worms for folks like us.

After exploring the epic coastline, we drove south to Pfieffer Big Sur State Park. Our plan was to hike to some famous falls in the redwood forest and then grab lunch in Big Sur. We had envisioned it as the biggest, baddest beach town in California. Jamie claims there was a Big Sur waterbed company years ago and even our latest Crate and Barrel catalog has a line of oceanfront Big Sur products.

So, imagine how thrilled we were when we kept driving and driving…and drove right through it. Turns out, Big Sur’s thriving metropolis consists of a last-chance gas station and a couple of decrepit buildings tucked away in the Santa Lucia Mountain range. Who knew?

We didn’t and the only reason we knew we were actually in Big Sur is our GPS lady nagged us that we had missed our destination.

Not that I trust her or anything. When guiding us to San Jose’s airport the next day, she instead led us to the exact center of town. Which incidentally happened to be Denny’s.

Perhaps it was a sign that despite our best intentions for a perfect romantic getaway, that California livin’ just ain’t always a Grand Slam?

Or that we just need to sleep in and skip the outdoorsy crap in favor of more artery-clogging pastimes….

Filed Under: Humor, outdoors, travel

Mile High Mamas – Postcards from the edge (of the potty seat)

February 25, 2008 by Amber

You know the long-standing tradition of adding “in bed” after your fortune-cookie saying? Some examples:

A pleasant surprise is in store for you…in bed.
Something you lost will soon turn up…in bed.

Only instead of “in bed,” say “in the rain.” And that pretty much sums up our anniversary getaway to beautiful Carmel.

Oh, and throw in a few “in beds” for good measure as well. Details will be forthcoming. Well, some of them at least….[wink, wink]

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After 3 years and 9 months, I can almost say that Hurricane Hadley is potty trained. If you are thinking, “Oh, great. Another potty training post. My kids have been trained for years and what does this have to do with me?”

It has everything to do with you…and the rest of mankind. Studies have shown the air pollutants exhumed from Hadley were high enough to break down the ozone layers. The kid was a serious environmental hazard.

Join me as I reflect upon my two-year journey into Potty Training Hell…and Beyond.

March 2006: We brought home our first potty amidst great fanfare. Hadley was enthusiastic about being a big girl and using the potty. It was a bald-faced lie.

Summer 2006: A few of her friends are trained. Our encouragement is met with resistance.

Fall 2006: Shows interest and even pees most of the time in the potty but Brown has yet to make its appearance. “What Can Brown Do For Me?” Find its way to the bleepin’ toilet.

Fall 2006: Announces she is retiring from the potty training business, like it is some annoying boy she is just flinging aside. There is great mourning in the land but we are advised not to pressure her.

Spring 2007: Hadley turns 3 and is obstinate about the mere suggestion of going anywhere near the potty.

Summer 2007: The Descent into Hell. In a last-ditch attempt to potty train her before preschool, The Parents cut her off diapers completely. There were non-stop accidents, wailing, gnashing of teeth and near suicide attempts by the parents. After three horrible weeks, the white flag is waved. A flag that strongly resembles a poopy diaper.

Fall 2007: Enters preschool in pull-ups. The Parents attend the potty training seminar “Oh Poo” at the Children’s Hospital. Hunky Hubby observes the sardine-packed room and comments, “Every single person in this room is a loser.” They and their fellow losers glean some good tips about providing incentives. Strongly advised by the expert not to nag but just provide incentives to children over 3.

Winter Break 2007: The entire family is in town and exhibitionist Hadley starts peeing regularly. The Parents capitalize on the momentum and remove diapers completely from the formula. Continues to pee in the potty but resistant to Brown. Parents provide enough incentives to require mortgaging the house when she finally goes.

January 2008: Hadley is obsessed with The Little Mermaid. The Parents buy Ariel panties under the condition that she would not poop on Ariel. The mermaid was drowning in it within hours. The Parents enforced a clean-up-after-yourself policy. The Hurricane remains unphased and is positively gleeful about clean-up duty.

February 2008: The Parents up the ante and instead of focusing on incentives, they concentrate on punishment. For every day Brown does not make an appearance in the potty, they remove a beloved toy from The Hurricane’s extensive collection. Within a week, Brown makes its first appearance. A Chuck E. Cheese party is thrown; incentives are rewarded but are relinquished with each accident. Two weeks later, she is trained. Mostly.

So, what were the final keys to success? 1) The Hurricane would not do it until she was good and ready. 2) She had to establish her firm dictatorial control over The Parents. 3) She wanted to provide a disturbing glimpse into how her stubbornness will translate in the teen-age years.

The sad thing is our journey is not over because 19-month-old Bode is on the cusp of potty training. And for those people who profess boys are more difficult to potty train than girls?

Please just shoot me now….

Filed Under: Hadley, Humor, travel

Pre-marital move

February 18, 2008 by Amber

I hate moving.

It is easily one of The Top Three Things I Hate Doing in this world. Jamie helped his brother move to Utah last weekend while I played single parent at home.

Speaking of which, single parenting is in my Top Three Things I Hate Doing list as well.

Though I somehow lived through it, I almost didn’t survive when I moved to Denver from Salt Lake City five years ago.

So, what do hernias, abstinence and guardian angels have in common? Come find out at Mile High Mamas and share your moving stories. Mine wasn’t pretty.

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Last weekend, my husband Jamie helped his brother move to Utah. It allegedly went smoothly. Well, if you can count the U-haul’s brakes catching on fire going smoothly. Jamie called it a minor inconvenience.

It is a drive we did many times while we were dating. I lived in Salt Lake City while he called Denver home. Prior to our wedding, the plan was for him to fly to Utah and help me move to Colorado.

Until he got a hernia.

He had the choice to have the surgery before or after our wedding. We were holding out for Operation Consummation on our wedding night and call me crazy but a hernia just did not seem like a viable part of the process. “OF COURSE YOU WILL HAVE THE SURGERY BEFORE!” I yelped.

I think I even used all-caps.

And for all those naysayers who do not believe abstinence is feasible in today’s society, throw in a hernia. Trust me, it works.

This left me to execute the move by myself. I threw the biggest, baddest going-away party around – one with loads of food…and boxes (hence the badness).

I was feeling like an empowered woman of the 2002s as I set out on the highway with my Grand Cherokee towing all my treasures. My trip was going well until the weight of the load blew out my tire in the middle of nowhere.

So, there I was stranded somewhere between Green River and Grand Junction when my guardian angel pulled up beside me. Actually, he appeared in the form of a financial analyst who was going through a painful divorce and was returning from a trip to Las Vegas.

He not only helped fix my tire, but followed me to the nearest gas station where we parted ways. A few miles down the road, he flagged me over, concerned about the different levels of air in my tires. He then slowly tailed me all the way to Grand Junction until I was safely in the care of a tire center. Evidently they breed guardian angels in that town.

Too bad he didn’t stick with me the rest of my drive. There was the blizzard atop Vail Pass that delayed me for two hours. Then when I was about two miles from Jamie’s condo, I looked out my window to see something that looked suspiciously like the bar-end on my bike. Turns out the storm had massacred my bike rack and I drove about 10 mph the remainder of the drive as my bike flopped like a dead fish off the side of my Jeep.

When I finally arrived at the condo, I collapsed into Jamie’s arms, blubbering about my ordeal and cursing his hernia.

I later got my revenge: I was exempt from moving and painting our new house because I was eight months pregnant.

Though I don’t know if I can call a weak bladder, killer heartburn and a 40-pound weight gain retribution….

And I’m not just talking about the hernia….

Filed Under: Humor, Marriage, Utah

Happy Anniversary to Me..err….Us!

February 15, 2008 by Amber

Thanks for all your words of encouragement! Emotions have settled and Jamie has received a lot of support from his former co-workers about how he was treated as a scapegoat. One of the main bigwigs has become a great ally and even had someone draft up a one-sheet detailing the ramifications Jamie’s dismissal has on the company. It doesn’t change anything but does make us feel somewhat better.

Today is our anniversary. To celebrate, we are going to the Denver temple tonight – where we tied the knot five years ago. Back when I still had sleep, a waist and my sanity. My, what a difference five years makes.

Next week, we are flying out to Carmel to celebrate. When the layoff came, I was disconcerted about the timing but I think a little getaway is exactly what we need! And did I mention Grandma is coming to stay with the kids? It will be just like old times. Well, with the exception of my absentee waist.

I hope you had a swell Valentine’s Day! More details to come about ours but today on Mile High Mamas, I revealed what a romantic I truly am. Or am not….

My [Not So] Funny Valentine

February 11, 2008 by Amber

During my single years, the road was rocky as I attempted to find a man who would one day be legally required to be my Valentine.

Some people call it marriage.

My most memorable S.A.D. (Single Awareness Day) was my junior year of college. I had been casually dating a guy for a month. When I say casually, I mean casually. Even though we spent an inordinate amount of time together, he had shown no romantic inclinations towards me.

He was a bit of an anomaly: drop-dead gorgeous and absolutely clueless. Women fawned over him but he was immune to their charms. He was on the fast-track in business school but was also dirt poor and worked as an on-campus janitor at 4 a.m. One gal who lived in his apartment complex offered to drive him every morning. At 3:30 a.m. “Oh, she is just being nice,” he rationalized. “Besides, she drops me off on the way to the track.” The track that did not open until 5 a.m.

I decided that if he did not make his move on Valentine’s Day that he never would. My parents had even sent him $20 to take me to dinner. But the big day approached and nothing happened. No invitation, no flowers, nothing. He finally called me the night before.

“Hey, do you have plans tomorrow?”
“Well, not exactly,” I replied coyly. “What do you have in mind?”
“I have a film I need to see for my biology class.”

Surely he was kidding. It was a cover for a romantic evening when he would finally profess his undying love for me.

“Sounds like fun!” I would play along.

When he arrived at my doorstep the next evening, he was exuberant. “Hey, thank your parents for the money they sent me!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t have to donate plasma this week and was able to put it to good use.”

Good use that evidently did not include taking me to dinner.

I still had not lost hope. Until he took me to the theatre in the biology building on campus. As dread infiltrated my very being, I realized this was all there was. I was simply a buddy he was dragging along to fulfill his class credit. Just when I thought it could not get worse, it did.

The film de choix?

Fetal Development: A Nine-Month Journey.

That was the last I ever saw of him.

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor

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

A story of moodiness, timeliness and procreation

January 28, 2008 by Amber

“Do or do not, there is no try.”

Thus are the immortal words of Yoda.

He evidently was not talking about baby making.

My husband Jamie and I are happily settled into the daily trauma of having two children who kick our butts. But looming over us is the knowledge we are supposed to have a third. I knew it the moment I had Baby No. 2. Because isn’t that what every woman wants to know right after childbirth?

I recently went to retrieve my birth control prescription and discovered as of January 1st, it is no longer covered by our insurance company. Do I take this as a sign that it is time? Or simply a sign that our insurance now sucks?

I am no spring chicken and if I had my way, I would have spaced my children farther apart. Like maybe in separate lifetimes.

You know, for full recovery.

But because that is not an option, this means we will likely start trying sometime this year. For those unfamiliar with P.P.T. (Prudish Procreation Talk), “trying” means “having an inordinate amount of unromantic sex around the time of ovulation.” How’s that for a lack of sugar-coating?

But back to the lack of romanticism – we speak from experience. After a particularly long, difficult day a couple of years ago all I wanted to do was pass out and go to bed. I was moody and every bone in my body just needed rest.

Until Jamie reluctantly entered the room.

“Err, I just checked the chart and today is your highest fertility day.”

Long pause.

“All right. Fine. I guess we have no choice. Get on over here.”

And this, my friends, is how our beloved baby Bode was conceived.

Filed Under: Bode, Humor, Jamie

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?

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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

The only fight I ever lost

January 14, 2008 by Amber

We just returned from yet another family trip. The destination: ideal. The children: not. Unless you consider diarrhea, sleepless nights and getting puked on in the car idyllic. I will do the full write-up next week…should I ever recover. 🙂

This morning at Mile High Mamas is all about confessionals. Namely: what kind of kid were you? I was one who drove kids to therapy. The kind who convinced her friends that flushing the toilet actually purified the water, making it safe to drink.

Yeah, that kid.

So, come on over and share what kind of kid you were!

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Aimee and Catherine recently wrote great posts about bullying and the subject seems to be everywhere in the media. I am always dismayed whenever I hear about it as my heart goes out to the victims and my wrath to the aggressors.

Until I remember my childhood.

Now, I wouldn’t say I was a full-on bully but I was most certainly bossy. I have recollections of making my friends spend hours on my trampoline, drilling them until they performed their acrobatics to perfection.

It is a good thing I did not know the trampoline would someday become an Olympic sport. Otherwise, I would still have them in training.

Despite my despotic tendencies, I still remain close to my tight-knit group of neighborhood friends. But there was one little girl – Jennifer Degenstein – who lived behind my house that I have never forgotten. I had no reason not to like her. She was sweet, cute and shy. But I decided early on that she would have no part in our posse and would tease her to no end about her last name. Never mind that mine was Borowski, which instilled dread in the heart of every new teacher reading the class roll.

Evidently, I was rude but not rational.

On another occasion, I remember the war my friends and I waged against the girls in our neighboring hood (not to be confused with neighborhood because that is just not as cool). It was the very vilest of debates: who had the best kindergarten class. We were in the morning class. They were afternoon folk.

Back and forth, the barbs flew. “Oh yeah, well we have Phillip Cutler in our class and he’s cute.” “Well, the afternoon snacks are stale and yucky from sitting out all day.”

Yep, it got nasty.

We were on equal ground until Rachel – an afternooner – spoke up. And in the days long before VCRs and DVRS, she inflicted the final blow:

“Well, we get to stay home and watch SESAME STREET while you’re stuck at school.”

It was the only battle I ever lost.

Filed Under: Humor

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