A Lesson in Parenting

I have received several inquiries about the outcome of the Microsoft Office Winter Games Contest. They still have not decided upon a winner and will publicly announce their choice on January 7. Fingers are still crossed several times over that I win and thanks again for your support!

In the interim, we are busy following all the Olympic hopefuls, implementing social media strategies for several Colorado and Utah ski resorts, and enrolling Haddie in skating lessons.

Oh, and Jamie and I have been practicing superior parenting strategies. To illustrate:

The Mother Teaching About Family Bonding

As Haddie and I were crossing the street, I told her to hold my hand.

"Why do we hold hands when crossing the street, Mommy?

Me: "So when we get hit we can go down together."


The Father Expounding Upon Bad Words

Our neighbor Steve was hanging out at our house today. Jamie said something like:

"I'd kill for that. The whole thing is just stupid."

Bode: "Daddy. Dat's a BAD WORD."

Steve: "What? Kill?"

Jamie: "No, killing is just fine. He's talking about 'stupid."


The Children Demonstrating Our Superior Parenting Skills

We have had an unusual amount of snow in Colorado this fall. The kids and I had cabin fever so we hit the playground this afternoon. At one point, Hadley declared she wanted to race her 3-year-old brother. I approved but told her to be careful not to knock him over.

Not even 1 second into the race, she walloped him. He crumbled like a pathetic heap on the pavement.

"Hadley, what do you say to your poor little brother??!!!"

"Bode, YOU WERE IN MY WAY!"

Christmas Previews

It was March 2006 when I first made The Big Announcement at my MSN Spaces blog about our new addition to the family:

Jamie's 300-pound baby.

(Note: Babywearing advocates wouldn't want to get anywhere near this beast).

Almost four years later, a finally-finished basement, and the drama of scraping together enough funds to buy the counter top after our original granite contractor stole our money, our old-fashioned soda fountain is finished.


Couple that with Jamie's 84-inch HDTV and I may never be able to drag him out of his Man Cave again.

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Like many of you, we are in the throes of Christmas preparations. But unlike many of you, I am not stressed out in the least. In fact, this will be one of my least frenzied holidays because we aren't throwing our annual Christmas Eve shindig due to Jamie's parents recent move to Utah.

Being family-less and friendless has its advantages.

We're starting a new tradition and are skiing Loveland on December 24th. We are also guilting Jamie's sister into spending Christmas day with us. This process involves bribery because she'd rather sleep in than spend the morning with my sugar-induced children jumping all over her, slurring Santa praises.

I just can't figure out the swingin' single folks these days.

Something we will have in abundance is fine food. My Christmas baking has already been distributed.


On this year's menu: gingerbread cookies, sugar cookies, pumpkin fudge, Almond Roca and whipped shortbread.

My beloved husband sampled all the spoils and offered his honest opinion.

"This is the best maple fudge I've ever tasted."

"It's pumpkin."

I'm thinking the man should just stick to old-fashioned soda.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth a vasectomy

Warning to men everywhere: this post’s contents will make you extremely uncomfortable. Proceed with caution.

My husband Jamie underwent the "snip-snip" on Friday. We have two beautiful kids and had always planned to have three so did not take this decision lightly. But after a couple of failed attempts at getting pregnant and much prayer, we knew we were done. We both feel strongly we are to bring another child into our home under circumstances other than giving birth.

Can't say I'll miss it one bit.

Jamie sent me an email when he scheduled a consultation with the doctor and said "what a great sacrifice" this was for him.

I get it. Messing with Man's Most Prized Possession is bound to cause extreme angst. But men somehow forget the 40 weeks of misery we undergo, only to be rewarded by pushing out a screaming watermelon. Follow that up with sleepless nights, exploding boobs and Jekll and Hyde hormones. Then, multiply that by multiple children.

I think it's safe to say women have the far worse deal.

I would liken a vasectomy unto READ ON

Happy Birthday to the Lord of the Gourds!

It's Jamie's 39th birthday today.

If you're looking for some sappy post about how wonderful, amazing and perfect the love of my life is, look elsewhere.

He is, after all, the man who ditched me post-childbirth because he was sicker than a dog.


OK, so maybe I might have said, "You're useless to me. Go home and get better."

His work, after all, was done after the "difficult" task of conception.

Almost seven years into our marriage, I am continually amazed and humbled to be married to such a great guy. In this tough economy, he launched his own web development company and works his butt off to make it profitable. He is the king of the one-liners and makes me laugh every day. He's had more medical issues than Job and often lives in chronic pain but rarely complains. He is always loving and supportive of my dreams. He likes The Children when I do not. And most importantly, he makes the world a lot brighter just by living in it.



Even if it is a blinding shade of orange.

His college buddy Todd recently told me that Jamie has a heart of gold and that I am married to one of his favorite people in the world.



I couldn't agree with him more.

Happy birthday to my very own Lord of the Gourds!

Ski Fever

Bring on winter! Colorado has already received an unprecedented amount of snow and I went snowshoeing on Friday.

Well, "snowshoeing" is a bit of a misnomer. More like I carried my snowshoes to the top of Dinosaur Ridge to find deep powder, got lazy about putting them on and ended up just hiking through it.

But my snowshoes were present in the process, which still counts as snowshoeing, right?

I'm skiing Breckenridge today (and yes, skis will be firmly attached). Ski destinations this winter will include Park City Mountain Resort (where I am one of their official "Snowmamas"), Loveland, Aspen/Snowmass, Durango Mountain Resort and possibly Keystone.

After a long ski drought of pregnancies, childbirth and babies, this mama is back in the saddle.

Or rather, the chairlift!

Three-year-old Bode recently had his first taste of skiing at the Colorado Ski and Snowboard Expo. He will be learning to ski this winter and expectations are high. We named him after skiing legend Bode Miller as we watched the 2006 Torino Olympic Games and the little dude did not disappoint.

We'll just have to remember to put skis on him, too.

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Flashback: I spotted the first Olympic cereal box the other day. It took me back to February 2006 when I was shopping with 2-year-old Hadley. As we passed the cereal aisle, she started yelling "Mommmmmmy, Mommmmmmy" whilst pointing.

Confused, I looked around until I spotted the focus of her attention. There, on the Frosted Flake box, was my smiling face.

OK, so maybe it was Lindsey Jacobellis' but the resemblance was uncanny.

Haddie grabbed the box, yelled "Mommy" again and then her focus turned to Tony the Tiger. Still mesmerized, Haddie queried "Tigger?" as if to say, "How could you not tell me you knew Tigger?"

Just think how impressed the kid will be if I win my own Olympic bid and blog from the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Games.

Note: Tigger not included.

How a Preschooler Solved the World's Relationship Problems

My 3-year-old son Bode has the answer to every single person's relationship drama.

Whenever someone (OK, mostly his sister Hadley) ticks him off, like clockwork Bode chimes in: "I don't wike dat."

Which, in Bode speak, loosely means "GET THE CRAP OUT OF MY FACE AND STOP BUGGING ME."

I really didn't think anything of it until my parent-teacher conference with his preschool teachers. They mentioned they have been instructing the children how to voice their discontent instead of just physically lashing out. They said Bode in particular is very good about telling people exactly what he is thinking.

Not surprising with a mother like me.

"I don't like that" has become a staple of our everyday life. My children and I were recently in Canada for 12 days, during which time my husband Jamie had some difficulty getting along with our new kitty.

And remembering to feed him. Remy the Fat Cat came out of the whole experience a few pounds lighter.

The crux of the problem, however, is that READ ON

Blackmail Bliss

Some people look worse as they grow older.



I would like to think I have improved with age.

**Photo courtesy of my father who obviously thinks the 80s were funny. As you can see, there is nothing humorous about them.

A Tale Between Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

My flight from Calgary to Denver, that is.

I don't have a great relationship with air travel and why would I? I've had flights canceled, been stranded, had a bird hit the windshield of my flight, been detained in the Taliban room and thought I was going to die due to extreme turbulence.

These are not the makings of a loving relationship.

My flight to Calgary was about as smooth-sailing as it could have been flying solo with two young children. I remained cautiously optimistic about my return-flight.

When I arrived two hours early at the airport, I was thrilled to see only a couple of people checking in at United. I did the happy dance and leisurely filled out my Customs form before sauntering to the front of the line.

What I did not realize was one of those people in front of me actually represented the entire Austrian Men's Ski Team who had been at the Alberta World Cup in Lake Louise. Thirty men proceeded to butt in front of us in line, overwhelming the lone employee.

That was the worst of times.

The best: have you ever seen the Austrian Men's Ski Hunks Team? 'Nuff said.

More European teams lined up behind us and this mere mortal waited patiently enjoying the views of the gods.

The kids grew increasingly fussy and another employee finally showed up. "Are there any other teams I can check in?"

That's when this strawberry-blond mortal threw an Olympic-sized fit, demanding they first take care of the civilians and she obliged. However, the damage was done. The airport was flooded with athletes and Customs and security were extremely backed up. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, we barely made our flight. And who should be on it?

The Austrian Men's Ski Hunks Team.

This is when it became the best of times again.

They filled our tiny commuter plane to capacity. Hadley was fortunate enough to sit next to one of them.

I kicked her out mid-flight to sit with Bode.

Because that's what any good mother would do.


I chatted with them about their experience in Canada, how they were on their way to Beaver Creek and about Olympic dreams. The Austrians are ski royalty and many of these men are medal contenders.

My fingers are crossed I'll be there in person to cheer them on, which I would be thrilled to do.

Just so long as they promise not to monopolize my airport again.