Ain’t no mountain high enough...

Three kids, two women, one minivan, no haters, and that’s where this story begins… kind of. First, let me apologize for dropping the blogging ball… yet again. Between the trip to Appalachia for my mom’s birthday in March, the ski trip out West with TB and her kids in April, and my beautiful step-daughter wrapping up her Freshman year of college in May, life has been insane, which, for us, seems to be par for the course. Seriously, I no longer think I’m going crazy with everything on my plate, I think I am crazy. I just go sane from time-to-time. You’re welcome.

At any rate, Winter Park was AWESOME… for the most part. Stay with me here, I swear I’ll try to bring it full circle. The skiing was incredible. We hit almost every mountain (except Cirque) until Vasquez Ridge hit my nephew right back. True story: We were off the beaten path in some powder stashes, when TB’s son took a jump, landed it, and went head over ass over snowboard. We initially thought it was nothing, since he was coherent and mobile. It wasn’t until he screamed and collapsed that we realized something was clearly amiss. After getting him down the hill to the medic station, we learned that he had damaged his ureter (the tube from your kidney to your bladder) and had to be ambulanced to Denver.

I’m pleased to report that he’s absolutely fine. In fact, he was back on the slopes just hours after he was discharged, which only proves my point that seventeen year olds not only believe they’re invincible, they actually are. Not kidding, at forty-three, I’ve injured myself yawning and decided to stay in bed simply to avoid further bodily harm. Like they say, “An ounce of prevention is probably why I have several pounds of ass that I can’t get rid of.”

Anyway, while TB was in the hospital in Denver, I had the other two kids at Winter Park. In other words, I needed to make a contingency plan to get them back to the Mid-West, should she need to stay in Colorado with her oldest. Now, before I say anything else, let me say this, “HUGE SHOUT OUT TO ENTERPRISE RENT-A-CAR IN AURORA, CO. You have a customer for life.” Why? Not only were they super friendly when we picked up the car on the way to Winter Park; they were beyond cool when I called and explained what happened and why I might need another vehicle. Not only did I get the same guy who helped us the first time, he totally remembered us. I shit you not, that sweet twenty-something college kid said, “Yeah, the lesbians! Three kids, two women, one minivan, no haters. Of course I can help you out. That sucks about your son. I hope he’s OK.” All I could say was, “Thanks, man! Book it on my wife’s account.” Turns out we didn’t need it, but it’s better to be prepared for an emergency that never happens, than not be prepared for one that does.

Later that night, when we knew everything was OK, I told TB what happened. After ten minutes of laughing until we cried, she said, “You know, I wish we were lesbians, just so we could piss off homophobes.” Now, frankly speaking, I think the moral here is three-fold: One, hate is not a family value. Two, don’t surround yourself with people who think it is. Three, if you’re going to pass yourself off as someone’s wife, you better know her birthday, last four digits of her Social Security number and height. However, if they ask you for her weight, lie. That way the person on the other end of the phone knows your relationship is legit. #EnterpriseIsForLovers, #StraightButNotNarrow, #IhaveNoIdeaHowHashtagsWork

Talk to you later.