Bode’s first race

April 19, 2017 by

Another one from the draft folder, dated Oct. 12, 2015. 

Our elementary school has a cross-country team for grades 4-6. I really wanted my daughter Hadley to join because she’s a talented runner but she was reluctant, citing she’s more of a sprint and middle-distance runner, not long distance.

Fair enough. I’m wisely learning to pick my battle with my tween so made the deal that if she joined, I wouldn’t make her do any of the meets…that she could just do it for the joy of running. I motivated her by promising that her increased fitness and endurance would help her with hiking, something she is passionate about (read about her first 14er she climbed last summer).

Out of nowhere, my son Bode piped up. “I want to join the cross-country team.”

“You know it’s running, right?”

“Yes, I know, Mom.”

Bode is many things but a runner is not one of them. First, he has my side of the family’s build (short and stout), not long and lanky like Hadley from the Johnsons. Second, he jerks his head around like a bobblehead because he thinks it makes him run faster. Third, he’s never shown any interest in running and thinks our longer hikes are downright painful.

To his credit, he has enthusiastically attended all his twice-weekly practices, even during sweltering temperatures. And in typical optimistic Bode fashion, he never complained. Another perk I hadn’t anticipated: he has never been better at soccer. That kid can run faster and for longer, which has increased  his confidence and enthusiasm for the game. It has been a joy to watch him this season.

I kept  my promise to not make my kids actually compete until Bode casually mentioned he wanted to try one of their meets.

“You know it’s running, right?”

“Yes, I know, Mom.”

I picked Bode up early from student council and we tore over to a neighboring school that was hosting. He was delighted that in addition to his own peers, most of his soccer team’s buddies were racing as well.

Denver hadn’t seen rain in what felt like months so, of course, the sky was heavy with dark, drooping clouds. A few raindrops started falling so the organizer made the decision to start the boy’s race a bit early. The 1-mile course covered a series of hills and I quickly lost sight of him.

Enter: the downpour.

And then the hail.

Most of the parents ran for cover but I stubbornly stood out there getting pelted. If my boy was going to run through this weather, I was going to be there to greet him at the finish line.  Besides, if anything, seeking shelter from the hail would just make him fun raster, right?

As Bode rounded the final hill, I shouted, “Run, Forrest, Run!” Of course, he didn’t understand the Forrest Gump reference but I beamed with pride as I watched my “non-runner” run his guts out to the finish line.

Bode was drenched and his skin flaming red from getting pelted by the hail but he was beaming. Out of a field of about 40 boys, he took 12th, narrowing missing the top 10 medals but he didn’t care. His first cross-country race taught me a thing (or 12) about what it  means to be a runner. And it’s not about running.He’d tried something new that was hard for him and he did his very best. For him, that was enough.

Though, unlike Forrest, he unambitiously stopped at the finish line instead of running from coast-to-coast for an additional three years.

Better luck next race.

 

Filed Under: Bode, Uncategorized

Confessions of a (Horrible) Cat and Fish Sitter

April 12, 2017 by

My friend Jana was looking for someone to check in on her cat and fish over Spring Break so I volunteered my middle schooler Hadley. She loves animals and her career aspiration in first grade was to run a Cat Hotel until she later learned it’s not cool to be the crazy cat lady until you’re over 50 years old.

I figured she’d be better equipped to take care of animals since she got off to a rocky start babysitting humans when my friend Sarah asked her:

“Hey, Hadley. Do you babysit?”

“I’m not really good with kids.”

As a former publicist, I was appalled at her pitch.  She later told me she was caught off-guard and meant to say I’m not comfortable taking care of babies. She repented of her trespass by volunteering to watch Sarah’s kids for free while she attended a church event. Hadley limped through the door several hours later.

“How was it?”

“Exhausting. I spent the entire night running around after three boys. How do you do this EVERYDAY?”

And suddenly, the heavens opened and the herald angels sang the Hallelujah shout to the tune of “PAYBACK” for all those sleepless, colicky nights.

As it turns out, she enjoys babysitting (or at least the money she makes) so how much better would a gig be for beasts you don’t have to chase?

Hadley’s responsibilities were simple. Replenish Kitty’s food and water every day, clean the kitty litter box and feed the fish. Jana hadn’t formed an attachment to Fishy and went as far as to say she wouldn’t be sad if he didn’t survive, which made us wonder if we were hired to be fish sitters or assasins. Jana told us we probably wouldn’t even see Kitty who accesses the house via a cat door after partying all night with her feline friends and sleeps all day. Easiest cat-sitting gig ever.

Or was it?

Day 1: Hadley opens garage door, goes about her responsibilities with Kitty. Starts to feed Fishy. He is dead.

Or is he?

We text Jana to ask if we should give him a watery burial. She responds, “He sometimes just looks dead and doesn’t move for a while.”

Cool fish.

Day 2: Fishy appears dead in a different position so we figure he’s still alive in his own way. No sign of Kitty but food has been eaten so we’re in business.

Day 3:  Fishy is moving. It’s an Easter resurrection miracle.

Days 4 and 5: Hadley stays at Grandma’s so I take over duties. All seems in order.

Day 6: Hadley continues her responsibilities. Goes to enter mudroom via the garage but the door is locked, which means we can’t access the house and that I was the person who inadvertently locked it the day before. Panic sets in but fortunately, Kitty’s food and water are in the garage so we can take care of her. Tragically, Fishy will go from resurrection to famine within three days. The irony is not lost on me.

Day 7: When we arrive THE GARAGE DOOR IS ALREADY OPEN. “We closed it when we left yesterday, I’m 100% sure of it,” Hadley wails.

We hesitantly make our way through the garage to the mudroom door, which mysteriously opens. Even though it’s been less than 24 hours since our last visit, Fishy appears really dead this time and is floating on his side at the bottom of the bowl. We feed him anyway because he’s a master manipulator and as we’re attempting to leave the house, we realize the doorknob will not budge and we’re locked inside with a fish who could come to life at any moment.

It takes a few panicked minutes until we position the doorknob just right and we make our escape…but not before I put something in the door jam for the next time we get locked out. Or in. Really, the whole thing is confusing.

I hesitantly text Jana that we were able to get back in the house.

“Oh, our friend needed to grab something today,” she responds. “He probably left the garage door open! I also remembered that mudroom door is sometimes hard to open, so you have to twist the knob really hard.”

Hallelujah shout Take 2.

Day 8: Fishy confirmed dead and Kitty is alive. Allegedly. We didn’t see her all week but she ate all her food. It was probably for the best because we saw Fishy every day and look what happened to him.

Day 9: Jana’s family returns home. Hallelujah shout Take 3 as we are relieved of our pet sitting duties.

When I was relaying the tale of our memorable Spring Break to my son Bode, I joked, “Don’t you want to be a pet sitter?”

“I think I could have done a better job than you and Hadley,” he retorted.

The [low] bar has been set.

P.S. Did I mentioned we’re available for hire?

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Hadley, Humor, Uncategorized

Love and Marriage: The Laundry Wars

April 12, 2017 by

This beauty from my draft folder is from a few years ago. Ahh, the memories!

In most ways, Jamie and I have a very traditional marriage. I take care of most household chores and the children. He works, pays the bills and quarterly taxes and raises freakishly large orange creatures.

Remember, I said MOST WAYS. 

I do the laundry. I hate doing laundry but when we were engaged, I saw how Jamie did laundry and I wanted no part in it (his method involved large heaps of clean clothes that were never put away all week long). Though I don’t claim to be the perfect laundress, my process involves washing, drying, folding and putting away the laundry on the same day. I’m also moderately obsessive about doing laundry when we’re on vacation (if possible) and can’t stand coming home with a suitcase full of dirty clothes.

Jamie, on the other hand, likes to mix his clean clothes with his dirty ones in his suitcase.

It’s like nails on the chalkboard, peeps.

I do laundry a couple of times a week so usually stay on top of things, for which Jamie is openly grateful. But the other day, he made an unusual request.

“Where is my Nike shirt?”

“Which Nike shirt?”

“My grey one. It’s not in my drawer.”

“Then it’s probably in the dirty laundry.”

He proceeded to dig through the laundry basket. “HERE IT IS. Why is it not washed?”

“Let’s see. It’s Thursday and I did the laundry on Monday. That means you must have worn it in the last two days.”

I am the master of deduction.

Jamie is picky about what he wears but for some reason, he was hell-bent on wearing that shirt. And this, my friends, is where another laundry pet peeve comes into play. On the rare occasion he does a load of laundry, he only washes his clothes and nobody else’s.

A few minutes later I walked into the laundry room to see he’d thrown a few of his shirts into the wash (another peeve: not running a full load).

“Jamie, do you see this pile of dirty clothes sitting by the washing machine? It would be swell if you’d put some of these other clothes in to wash as well.”

His response? “I don’t want that dirty stuff touching my stuff.”

Dude needs a lesson in airing dirty laundry.

Filed Under: Humor, Jamie, Marriage

Utah’s culture club

April 11, 2017 by

From the draft folder, October 27, 2016.

I’ll admit that moving back to Utah was never in my game plan. Ever. Though I loved my college experience at BYU and living in Salt Lake City for five years, I’ve never been a huge fan of the culture here. The “are you or aren’t you (Mormon)” issue. This come from both sides. When I started my job at Snowbird, the anti-Mormon marketing staff vetted me to see if I was. And I’ve heard some saddening stories about Mormons not being inclusive to those not of our faith. Frankly, I don’t care what what you are. Can’t we all just get along?!

Utah County is home to many of the orthodox Mormons who live in a “Happy Valley” bubble, Salt Lake City is a mix of those in and not of our faith with a liberal streak, Park City is known to have many anti-Mormons and “Jack Mormons”–those no longer practicing. The high school’s drug problem is exponentially higher than anywhere in Utah.

I wasn’t sure what to expect about the Heber Valley but thus far, I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Small-town kindness rules over any religions affiliations. You know, the way it should be. I don’t feel like I’m in Utah, just that I’m in a a friendly place where people go above-and-beyond to help one another. We’ll see if/how that opinion chances once we’re more settled.

Before we had even moved into our ward, I randomly had the Teachers (boys ages 14 and 15) call to see if our family was in need of service that night? “Check back in a few weeks for our move, Dude.”

And then the older girls (Mia Maids ages 14 and 15) thoughtfully left this for Hadley. Jamie was offended by its size.

But I’m just grateful for the warm welcome of our beautiful community.

Filed Under: Utah

Things I Miss About Colorado

April 8, 2017 by

October 8, 2016 was the first night we slept in our new home. Today marks six months since we moved in.

As I was going through my draft folder, I saw that I had started this list “Things I Miss About Colorado” back in October. The longer we’re away, the more I miss Colorado and yet Utah somehow becomes more amenable to me. Every new month brings back Colorado memories and I suspect it will take at least a complete year until I can really move on and be able to truly celebrate the new traditions we’re building.

It’s curious because I really don’t want to move back. I have a firm confirmation this is where we’re supposed to be but I often wish I could go back in time to the way it was when Hadley and Bode would play for hours with their stuffed animals and our world was full of endless days of magic and wonder.

The biggest thing I’ve been mourning is the loss of childhood. Hadley and Bode spent a magical childhood in Colorado and Utah will be their adolescence. My job gave them unprecedented access to grand openings, exclusive previews and travel, travel, travel. I laughed when we returned to the Colorado Springs Grand Opening of Great Wolf Lodge in February. As they gave Hadley her VIP lanyard, she raved, “It’s so good to have something around my neck again!”

Ahhh, the life of a former VIP-turned-regular tween.

Hadley initially adjusted surprisingly well, quickly making friends and landing on the honor roll but has had some heart-wrenching struggles these last two months that have less to do with the move but more to do with toxic middle school. Bode forms much deeper attachments to people and places so the move was harder on him but he is slowly forming deeper connections and is in a happy place with weekly coding classes at the library with his best buddies and spring soccer starting soon.

As for me, I’m still feeling at a loss. Of course, I miss the amazing perks and privileges that came with the life I built in Colorado. But mostly, I miss knowing what new direction I should be taking. I miss being known and needed, and being a builder and connector of people.

Here are other some things from my list of Things I Miss About Colorado:

Our friends. Jamie and I were best friends with the parents of our kids’ best friends. Every time we got together (which was often),  it was a huge party for everyone. We’re making wonderful friends here but it will take years to rebuild. I miss sending an email to see if anyone wants to go for free 7-Eleven Slurpees and a bike ride…and having 30 people show up.

Our house. It had a much better layout and the rooms were more spacious. We’re growing used to some of our frustrations with our new space and will be working a lot to install our yard this spring and summer.

The many wonderful places. Golden. Strolling along Clear Creek. Washington Avenue. The hikes. Chautquaua. YMCA of the Rockies. Playing for hours and biking through Van Bibber Creek.

Target was 2 minutes away, Costco was 10 minutes. Though I’m not a big shopper, I miss the convenience of regular store hours. Small-town living often has shortened hours and the most random closure dates. Yes, Woodland Biscuit Company, I’m talking about the fact that you’re closed on Wednesdays and Thursdays after we drove a half hour for breakfast.

October and April in Denver. Glorious. Mud season in the mountains is not.

Free stuff. Since I’m still running Mile High Mamas, I continue to get invited to a barrage of event, VIP previews and travel invites. It’s depressing not to do any of them (and not be able to afford the ones in Utah!)

Things I don’t miss:

The view behind our fence

Traffic

Pollution

The big city and an endless barrage of franchises

Marijuana in the news every day

 =====

Of course, I could write a separate list of Things I Love About Midway after just six months and I know it will continue to grow.

To combat our family’s homesickness, we are returning for 10 days of play this summer and I cannot wait to visit our Colorado home again.

Filed Under: Colorado

A prize-winning cabbage

April 4, 2017 by

From the draft folder, April 14, 2015.

“I can win a major award!” My son Bode squealed at me across the field as I picked him up after school.

“A major award” conjured up images of “liquid sex” à la  Christmas Story so I waited until he got closer to expound.

“What are you talking about?” I noticed he was holding a plant.

“This!” He excitedly thrust it into my hand. “Third graders are competing in a contest and the winner will win a $100, no, $1,000…or maybe was it $10,000 scholarship if they grow the biggest cabbage!”

I could see it in his excited little eyes. The kid has been bred to grow giant pumpkins.

But wait there, was a catch and he blurted out:

“Everything is great except for…”

“What?”

“The part of the scholarship being reward to a random winner.”

He has more of his dad in him than I’d prefer.

Filed Under: Bode

What not to say to your self who’s been nursing a sick kid to health all week

April 2, 2017 by

From the draft folder, October 22, 2012. Some men never learn. 

Hadley has finally turned the corner from Strep and and fingers are crossed this particular plague has passed by without infecting the rest of us.

By Thursday, I was going out-of-my-mind with cabin fever, particularly since it was the last week before school and talk about a less-than-optimal way to spend it.

I blurted out to Jamie. “I am sooooo BORED!”

What men don’t understand is women need to vent and don’t necessarily need the problem fixed. Jamie offered a solution.

“You could try cleaning the house.”

Filed Under: Hadley, Jamie

Looking for rainbows

March 31, 2017 by

From the draft folder: May 8, 2015. I’m dedicating this to my Grandpa Wilde because it would have been his birthday today.

Denver lies within a semi-arid, continental climate zone so anytime it rains more than one day in a row, it feels like we’ve been plunked down in the middle of the Amazon. I’ve lost track of how many days it has rained, which has put a serious dent in Bode’s soccer season, not to mention my mountain adventures but I’ve been so busy I’m glad I haven’t been tempted to play.

On Thursday night, I was helping the kids with their homework when I happened to glance out the window and saw this:

It’s rained for week and this is the first rainbow I’ve noticed. Note to self: Look up more. Life happens when you slow down to enjoy it.

As much as I miss the sun, you won’t hear any complaints from me; after a dry winter, we desperately needs the moisture. Dear Colorado: It sure would have been nice to have Said Moisture in the form of snow during ski season. Please plan accordingly for 2015/16.

For Mother’s Day weekend, it’s supposed to rain, rain, rain with a possibility of snow.

We’re Moab-bound to the land of sun, desert, mountain biking, hiking and 65-degree temperatures–talk about the ultimate Mother’s Day gift. Have a great weekend!

Filed Under: Colorado

Maximum Interlodge at Alta Ski Area

March 29, 2017 by

My family was first invited to Alta Ski Area when we lived in Colorado. Though we tried to visit during Spring Break last year, we couldn’t coordinate our schedule so just opted to visit after our move. It would take several months of back-and-forth to determine a time because the kids had six weeks of ski lessons at Sundance through our recreation program. 

We finally decided staying overnight on the weekend just wasn’t possible until late in the season so opted to drive to Alta on a Sunday night, sleep at Goldminer’s Daughter and hit the slopes on Monday (the kids had a day off). There was snow in the forecast but we weren’t too worried. Were we not, after all, skiing?

Our hour-long drive was seamless. We unloaded, checked in and ate a delicious gourmet dinner at Top of the Lodge Restaurant as the wind and snow howled the only visibility the distant light of the snowcats grooming the 36 inches of snow from the latest storm…and more was expected the next day. The kids were nervous; they’ve never skied conditions like this.

Tales were flying from real-life storm chasers of epic powder and the previous day’s “interlodge” where people were required by law to stay indoors as avalanche crews blasted the hanging faces of Little Cottonwood Canyon. I wasn’t sure if we’d get snowed in but one thing was for sure: those kiddos would never forget their first time attempting Alta’s legendary powder.

We spent an uncomfortable night in our room, groggily waking up to even more snow. We made our way to breakfast, still uncertain how the day would unfold. As we were indulging in delicious pancakes with cinnamon cream cheese, it was then that we learned Alta had declared “interlodge” and Little Cottonwood Canyon was closed–no one could come or go.

The day was still not lost. There was a chance the resort would reopen and we would have all that glorious powder to ourselves.

Until we learned it got even worse: UDOT declared “Maximum Interlodge,” so not only were we quarantined indoors but we could not go near any doors or windows due to extreme avalanche danger.

Guests in other lodges were led the basement and huddled together for several hours to wait it out. Fortunately, Goldminer’s Daughter’s recreation room didn’t have any windows so we had fun ping pong and pool tournament sand mother-daughter weight room showdowns. There’s nothing like forced bonding but we had a blast!

We had bought some lunch and were trying to select a movie “The Shining,” maybe? :-), having resigned ourselves to staying in our cramped quarters another night when, miracle of miracles, the canyon briefly opened for downhill traffic.

We quickly packed up and joined the legions of skiers trying to catch shuttles to make it back to the airport. Jamie left us to grab the car and after 30 minutes of waiting, I finally went to find him…and our car…stuck under a few feet of snow!

Jamie and an Alta staffer pushed us out while I drove and that was only the beginning of our adventures. The conditions and whiteout were among the scariest I’ve ever experienced (and that’s really saying something when you’re raised in Canada). Jamie did a great job driving and was tempted to turn back a few times but without a safe place, we were forced to resume our perilous drive. It was one craaaaazy experience.

UDOT posted this video of an avalanche near our lodge that same day.

Just a taste of the extensive avalanche results we saw from control work this am 1/23/17 LCC

A post shared by udot avalanche (@udotavy) on


We were later told that Alta regularly experiences “interlodge” but “maximum” is much more rare. What are the odds that during our family’s first visit together, that is exactly what happened?

Don’t answer that.

Filed Under: Family travel, skiing, Utah

The torture chamber of puss

March 27, 2017 by

I was cleaning out my drafts folder and came upon this beauty from October 27, 2015 that was never published. For obvious reasons. Poor Bode!

 

I’ll admit it: I have an affinity for popping pimples. It’s genetic, you know. Every time I go home, if anyone has any semblance of a zit, they’re immediately attacked. Many say you shouldn’t pop them and I don’t…unless they’re big, pussy and have a personal conversation with me, which happens a lot.

I had typical teenage acne but when you’re a zit-obsessed family, you go for the juggler. My mom submitted me to not one but two rounds of Acutane, which cleared out my face (and everything else) forever. I still get the occasional rogue breakout but rarely. Whenever I get a facial, the esthetician always cleans out my  blackheads, except they call it “extraction,” which I suppose is a more professional way to refer to popping zits. But the result is still the same: pure, unadulterated joy.

So, imagine my angst to have an entire playground of puss on my daughter’s face and she won’t let me go anywhere near it. For the most part, I’ve learned to look away except for those rare moments when I’m massaging her hair during church and a pimple literally jumps out at me from her hairline. What am I supposed to do? Attack or ignore it?  Definitely the former, and since we’re in a reverent, public place she can’t react like a banshee and I go back to massaging her hair and all is forgotten.

Last week was picture day at school, the one day of the year when I actually insist the kids look quasi-presentable. Fourth grader Bode came down decked out in a stylin’ outfit I bought from Nordstrom Rack and I almost sent him on his way until I saw it: his first zit. And it wasn’t just any pimple, but the grandmother of whiteheads square in the middle of his chin.

I’ll admit I squealed for joy and dragged him into the bathroom. He was unimpressed. “Bode, normally I wouldn’t care [oh, the lie] but it’s picture day and you can’t have this huge zit on your face. You can either have me pinch it or do it yourself.”

Here’s the thing about Bode: If there was a Richter scale for lack of pain tolerance, he would be a 10,000. It literally took us hours one night to pull a dangling tooth, and the only reason we were insistent was because we were doing a photo shoot the next day for The Broadmoo’s Ranch at Emerald Valley and we couldn’t have him looking like Billy Bob.

Bode wanted nothing to do with the zit popping but tentatively pinched. Nothing. “You have to go a bit harder,” I tenderly coaxed, like the Model Masochist Mother that I am. He tried again. Nada.

The bus was coming so I took over. It didn’t go well. Though I’m well-versed in the art of painless pimpling, this bugger was stubborn and it took me several attempts, by which time Bode was furious as the tears streamed down his face. “I’m so sorry, it’s not usually that difficult,” I consoled him. Even though I knew he was being melodramatic, I felt badly that he felt badly. He blew past me ignoring my attempts at our usual hug and a kiss and stormed to the bus.

I’m bracing  myself for the result of his pictures. Puffy eyes. A red sore on his chin. And a dagger-like glare “my mother made me do it.”

It’s all part of making memories.

Filed Under: Bode
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