November chills

My Indian Summer has definitely turned to winter this week. Time for a new flag.

Church Park Fire

It's been a rough and interesting two weeks around here.

Following my last post, we have met "Shoulder Season" in Middle Park. Summer sweetly lingered through the first weekend of October. Then, in a literal fire storm, winter reared its head.


The fire broke out last Sunday. I was home by myself, supposedly cleaning. I hate cleaning. And, I'm really slow at it. My house eternally suffers for it. Scott called and asked me if I'd heard about a fire near Fraser. He'd received a call from a coworker who was packing his stuff to evacuate. I looked online and the county's emergency website was down. I called my editor. No answer. I called our photographer. Yes, there was a fire. He was on his way. My editor was on a mountaintop somewhere looking down at the fire.

I called my editor again. This time he answered. Yes, he could see the fire and it had doubled in size in the last 15 minutes. I threw one sentence to that effect on the newspaper website and then made a call to the county's emergency public information officer. She said the fire was now 300 acres and that every firefighter in the county was responding. She told me where it was — Sheep Mountain near Church Park, which is located 5 miles west of Fraser. The Town of Fraser is 15-mile-drive south of my house by road, 12 miles as the crow flies. I walked out onto my back deck and looked west. No smoke. I craned my head to the south, in the direction of Fraser. No smoke. I wrote another update online.

The phone rang again. This time it was another coworker who lives up the road from me. "I have pictures," she said. "I can see flames shooting over the ridge." From her house? I looked west again off my back deck. Nothing. And craned around to the south. Nothing. I needed a map so I walked out my front door to the car and — there it was, like an atom bomb had gone off.

What I did not realize, being so new to the area, it that the mountain 5 miles south of my house — the one that appears so clearly as the backdrop in all the photos I take of my kids running through fields — is Sheep Mountain. My heart hit my stomach.


I put photos online and another update. People were being asked to prepare for evacuation. The winds started picking up. I couldn't help but stand there are stare at that cloud of smoke. It was mesmerizing. The slurry bombers came in and for the rest of the afternoon it was a full on air attack and I had a front-row seat. We all did.


From the other side of the mountain it looked like a volcano had exploded.


The weather grew cold and damp that night and hundreds of firefighters poured into the area. They fought to save roads and fought to keep the fire from coming across that ridge. The fire grew to 500 acres and came within 2 miles of houses and a young life camp. But not a single structure burned. Sawyer wanted to know if his Uncle Brian and Uncle Sam had saved everyone from the fire.

In the days ahead, I wrote a least 15 more updates on the fire and two long, feature stories. By the end of what turned out to be a very long week (in one 14-hour day I wrote the story about the fire, put it online, edited fire photos from readers, helped design the paper and then drove two hours to pick the paper up at the press and deliver it) snow had arrived and blanketed the mountaintops. The bone-chilling, moist weather put a final finish to the fire. It is now 100 percent contained and crews are breaking down camp and pulling out.

This was the biggest fire of its kind that Grand County has ever seen. But with 3 million acres of dead trees surrounding us in the Arapaho and Roosevelt National Forests due to the pine beetle epidemic, it won't be the last.

1974 Mother of Two **w/150,000k** — BEST OFFER

Here's the deal. Now that the Beast is in Ford Heaven, I have to take the insurance money and pick out a car that can carry the whole family, the dog and the gear through snow and mountain. Scott took my aging Outback and traded it in on something a bit cleaner with a little less mileage (read: better for his image) that wasn't so thirsty since he drives farther than I do every day.

(My 2005 Subaru Outback)

The OB served us well. It was the first and probably only new car I'll ever own. It was the car I dreamed of having all through high school, college and well into my 20s. And, it was a wonderful vehicle. But, it was too small for a family of five plus dog and gear. Justin is growing and can barely squeeze between the seats. It was never the same after the Subaru Dealer blew up the engine at its 60K checkup. Something to do with an air bubble and a sensor. With 120K, a putrid burnt oil smell when it idled and a question as to whether it would start on any given morning, it's time had come. Some dealer will fix her up and she will give a happy somebody another 100k in her lifetime. (Sniff. Tear. Sigh.)

Scott knew what he wanted. When the truck tumbled he made an instant decision. He didn't want another truck. He wanted a station wagon. He spent an hour online. Drove to Sharpest Rides in Denver. Met Louis. Test drove a car. And, Done.

(Audi A6 Allroad)

So, it's hard for him to understand my OCD car buying issues (I blame my parents who instilled in me a borderline insane practicality where cars are concerned.) The last two weeks has been a living hell for me. I'm up all night on Craigslist and Edmunds with Consumer Reports spread out on the couch next to me, a second glass of wine in hand, vision blurry from staring at the screen to long, trying to sort out the differences between small SUVs and mid-sized SUVs and the nuances in reliability between a 2004 and 2005 of some particular model. God help me.

(2005 Honda Odyssey)
*Back windows roll down in '05 model, not '04

For my 36th birthday, because it sounded better than being stranded all day with two kids and no car while Scott took Justin to the airport, we went Used Car Shopping. It was, in some respects, the best day of the year to undertake such a marriage-endangering venture. Being My Birthday — an official religious holiday — Scott was forbidden from swearing, speaking sharply or showing frustration ALL DAY. His present to me was patience. Even when I led him onto I-25 in the middle of Saturday afternoon rushhour.

Close your eyes and picture the quintessential used car salesman. Got it? Ok. So, Scott had found a salesman in Denver that he was very fond of and insisted that we start with him. After driving into the back alley warehouses of Englewood, I was a bit apprehensive — and then I saw the dealer's motto: "Affordable, Sexy, Sharp!"

"Sexy." It says so right there on the dealer plate like they are selling naked women under the hood or something. So I knew we had to be onto something good. And then I met Louis:


You can't see his bottom half, but let me fill in the rest of the picture for you. Big t-shirt. Baggy jeans. Sneakers. I wasn't sure if he was going to sell us a car or . . . yeah.

So after taking a tour of the "Sharpest Rides" lot and test driving a beat up Volvo XC-90 that left me entirely unimpressed, Louis took us down the road to the "Family Trucks and Vans." Minivans and SUVs galore.

(2004 Volvo XC-90)

Louis walked the entire lot with me and that's when he started to win me over. He'd open a van, stick his head inside and say "whew that stinks ... NEXT!" or thumb his nose a Dodge or tell me straight up that one of the mechanics crashed another car into that one when they were moving things around the lot. OK. This was the kind of car salesman I could appreciate. When we found a car I liked, he handed us the keys and sent us on our way. No pressure. No tagging along. Just. Cool.

Consumer Reports and Edmunds sing the praises of the Odyssey and the Sienna, but with my budget I'm looking at '04 models, and — let's face it — after 8 years on the road, most mini-vans have been through 2 families, 3 shedding golden retrievers, 37 spilt cups of coffee, 205 leaky sippy cups, 5,489 lost Cheerios and not even the new car smell spray can erase the last trip to the petting zoo.

(2007 Hyundai Entourage)

I almost jumped off the minivan cliff when I test drove a 2007 Hyundai Entourage fully loaded with about 70,000 miles and a DVD player. Hell, it's hard to resist with the lazy boy recliners in back and the button that opens the back doors and rear hatch. And I just about drooled over those 19 giant cup holders. The kids were ready give up the house and move in instantly.

I pulled myself back from the ledge after a good night rest and the sudden realization that what I really want for my 36th birthday is something bad ass that can climb steep walls and run completely over Scott's fancy little station wagon.

(1986 Toyota Land Cruiser)

Being as I live at nearly 8,000 feet above sea level in a town that was bummed to lose the "Icebox of America" trademark to International Fall, Minn., I need some sort of AWD/4WD. I need something that looks good when it's dirty but won't look out of place with Winnie the Pooh sun visors in the back windows. I need something that floats over washboard roads in the Utah desert and won't mind the potholes on the way to the trailhead yet can haul preschoolers to playdates and playgrounds.

(2006 Dodge Durango)

I yawned my way through a list of 27 crossovers and small SUVs that were essentially glorified station wagons, crossed off another 7 cars due to unreliable European engineering and turned my nose up at a dozen American behemouths before landing on these three cars:

Toyota 4runner (2004)

Nissan Pathfinder (2005)

and Toyota Landcruiser (2000)

Truth be told, I need a car that I can change the oil on every 3,000 miles and call it good. I can't really afford repairs. And, any car that still fetches $15,000 when its 25 years old and has 150,000 miles HAS to have something going for it, right?

Now the challenge is actually finding one of these cars for sale in the price range they are SUPPOSED to be listed at (according to Kelly's) within 200 miles of my house. Oh Louis . . . .

High Five Dad

While Scott continues to job hunt on a daily basis, he is enjoying (most days) the opportunity to stay at home with Arden and, on Fridays, with Sawyer as well. (Interesting note: For many years Granby has run on a four-day school week to allow kids the opportunity to ski, travel for sports, take extracurriculars on Fridays.)

After three months as a SAHD, Scott has his routine all worked out. There are five libraries here in Grand County (and only 12,000 people) and each library has two preschool story times each week, so he makes the daily circuit and has determined which story hours are the best. But, hitting four story hours a week can get a little redundant, so this month we've signed the kids up for a couple of classes.


Gymbor-wee



On Wednesdays, Scott is taking Arden to a romper room gym class at the new Fraser recreation center that just opened a month ago (wait 'til you see the kids pool!) The rec center has a full competition-level gym. Gymnastics is, oddly, one of the most popular sports in the area. The program was run out of a warehouse in Tabernash for years. The woman who coaches the competitive team also offers classes for toddlers and preschoolers during the day. Arden's getting her start with a little bouncing and tumbling. I love in this video that the moment Arden learns, 'It's a race,' she takes off and blows away the other kid. It's a bargain at $35 for 4 weeks.


"We were far far far away"



On Fridays, Scott is taking both kids to Nordic ski class, another bargain at $20 for 10 weeks, including rentals, passes, lessons and hot cocoa. The first week of ski class, temperatures were as cold as they've been here, registering negative 18 at 9 am. It was so cold, my car battery finally kicked the bucket after five years. Unfazed, we bundled everyone up and Scott headed off to the Nordic center with the kids, only to discover class had been canceled. Too cold. (I didn't think it was EVER too cold in Granby.)

After six days of temperatures below zero, we bundled everyone up as much as possible yesterday for week two of ski school. Even though temperatures weren't above 20 degrees, it was about 40 degrees warmer than it had been all week and the kids apparently thought we'd moved to Florida. So, first of all, in this video, you can see Arden stripping down to her skivvies. I also love that Arden is not the type to follow the beaten path. (You can see her off to the right in the video. Sawyer is the painfully overdressed kid in the green coat and black hat. ) And, I love that Scott is the only parent who hung around to help the instructors, and that he magically knows the kid's names. Must be all those story hours.

At the end of the video Scott interviews Sawyer who states that the best part of the whole thing, was making it back. And, now he wants some food.

Mommy, not me
Last week, a mom-friend we've gotten to know through Sawyer's school (who's also on the library/gym class circuit) invited Scott to join the Mommy and Me group in Granby on Mondays. Thinking this might be a nice addition to the routine, he went . . . and, promptly decided it wasn't for him.

Typical

There are no photos to describe what the past 24 hours have been like for me. So you will just have to use your imagination. The photo here is from a hike two weeks ago with our friend Mary, who visited from the Northern Neck the weekend we arrived.

A very old and dear friend from Salida came to visit me in Granby Friday night. I have seen her only a handful of times since moving away from Colorado and this was to be the first time she would meet my children. Since she doesn't have children of her own and isn't the world's biggest fan of little kids, I was hoping my children would win her over with their charm, wit and utter cuteness. Or at least not be brats.

Five minutes before she arrived, Sawyer said he wasn't hungry, his tummy hurt and he couldn't wait for my friend anymore, it was time to go to bed. (It was almost 6 p.m). I should have seen the warning signs. I should have bolted the door. I should have known.

My friend walked through the door, said hello and set her bags down, and Sawyer promptly welcomed her by exploding from both ends all over the upstairs bathroom. Arden, terrified that I was leaving her with yet another stranger, clung to me screaming while I tried to keep her a safe distance from the contamination. My poor friend sat downstairs, made us some dinner and probably texted her husband several times requesting a rescue mission.

Sawyer was up about every hour for the rest of the night, alternating between vomiting and crying for water, which kept both me and Arden awake. Arden, who was bunking with me due to the puke-o-rama next door, ran around the bedroom munching on Ritz Crackers and drinking milk at 2 a.m. while I desperately tried to sleep a for even two minutes. Meanwhile, something I had eaten was churning in my stomach, and I was trying to imagine how I was going to do this sick and alone.

Eight loads of laundry later, sometime around 4:30 am, I still hadn't slept. Sawyer was finally holding down water but Arden was now too punchy to sleep. She was wailing at the top of her lungs — absolutely and uncontrollably hysterical in a way I have NEVER seen her — and I was facing one of those deep abysses of parenthood. Nothing I did helped. I was completely exhausted and concerned about my poor friend who had sequestered herself in my room, not to mention the neighbors who could probably hear the racket through the walls.

I carried Arden downstairs, bundled her up and did something I've never done in 3 years of parenting. I put her in the car and drove around the neighborhood. Twice. I just crossed my fingers that Sawyer wouldn't wake up. It worked like magic and I got her back to my room. Put her down in my bed and then crashed on her crib mattress in Sawyer's room. An hour-and-a-half later, everybody was up again and for good.

Sawyer seemed to have made a big recovery and was chatting with my friend downstairs, but Arden was still miserable, crying and clingy. I got the kids to sit down on the couch and watch a movie long enough to allow me a shower. That wonderful, refreshing shower lasted for about five minutes before Arden puked all over me and the bathroom.

My brave friend stuck it out, despite my suggestion that she should feel free to leave us with our own misery. She went for a run and, when the kids seemed somewhat stable, I decided we needed a long drive to conquer this day. We headed to Rocky Mountain National Park. Both kids cried and fussed through the whole thing, but we did manage a short walk. Everyone cat napped on and off in the car, and by the time we got home I was exhausted. The three of us passed out together on the couch while my friend was in the shower.

I woke up several hours later, somewhat refreshed, drank coffee, put my on game face. Only then did I realize that my friend had left . . . hightailed it back to saner places. The kids, of course, were now perky and jovial and playing nicely. They took a mellow bath and went to sleep promptly at 7 pm without the slightest sound. Of course, my friend will never believe me.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder there are about a million sayings for it. Murphy's Law. Par for the course. Typical. Really, I should have known that I was setting myself up. Of course I would have the worst night in three years of parenting on the same night it mattered to me the most that my kids were good and wonderful. What's that saying: If you want to hear God laugh, announce your plans.

I talked to the friend later on the phone and she swears she's coming back soon. We'll see about that, but I'm sure I pretty much drove that last nail in the coffin for her as far as having kids is concerned. Honestly, at this point, I'm kinda wondering about it myself.

UPDATE: Sunday night. The universe is laughing at me. I thought I was going to escape this one. Ha. That wouldn't be enough of a challenge. Moving across the country with the kids alone, starting a new job and new schools and then dealing with sickness all weekend, no sleep. Cakewalk. Let's see how I handle it all when I'm puking too. Tried to get the kids to bed before it started. They, of course, would have nothing to do with it. Wish me luck. It's gonna be another long night.