The Noro virus visited us for Christmas this year. It raced through Owen's school the week before his Christmas break. When Dave retrieved him on December 18, he passed Colton, my friend Ashley's son, getting sick in the hall. Despite the upcoming Kindergarten party, Dave and I planned to quarantine the kids. Too late. Owen got sick from 1 to 11 am. He required us both to comfort and assure him. Once he started on Gatorade and saltines, my thoughts switched to obsessing over who would be next. I bleached any surface I could spray. (I also quickly finished sandwiching and froze the Christmas cookies in case I went down. Wouldn't want to lose an entire batch of spritzers.) I continued to panic 48 hours later when Dave, Emily and I appeared fine. I would have needed Prosaic had I lived during smallpox.
On Sunday, we drove halfway to Dusseldorf to visit with Courtney, Dave's cousin in from New York, when Emily threw up. "I feel much better. We don't need to turn around." Never begin a three hour car ride with a child who refuses breakfast but insists she is fine. "I just really wanted to go."
Christmas Eve, I spent the night sick which explains this sole picture from Christmas morning. Santa brought Saige, her (expensive) dog, and a life size bear.
On the 26th, we left for paradise - I mean Garmisch, a Bavarian town surrounded by the Alps. EVERYONE raved about this mountain resort that hosted the 1936 Winter Olympics. I remained hopefully yet skeptical through the eight hour care ride - which should have been four. Turns out Boxing Day is a popular for travel. Instead of staying at Edelweiss, an American military resort, we rented an apartment through Homeaway. Clean, updated, and comfortable. No lice, stray cats, or bed bugs.
Off to a late start the next day, I felt relief when we easily parked our car at the resort and enjoyed an all you can eat breakfast buffet. (The kids did the eating - Dave and I limited our diet to toast.) We gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows in awe of the surrounding mountains and peaceful atmosphere. An hour later, we found the insane crowds at the ski slope. After driving around for 30 min, we parked illegally while Dave signed the kids up for ski camp for the next day. ("Where's Daddy? Why can't We get out of the car? STOP SINGING Emily. STOP YELLING Owen. It's not fair.")
Unlike for other trips, I left Rick Steve's at home. I planned very little. My manager suggested we see the Zugspitze, the highest mountain in Germany. We found signs on the main road and followed them for 20 minutes to a parking lot. Again, packed. Our car spun out as we tried a snowy parking area. Completely frustrated, we created a spot. We decided to avoid the two hour line in the trams and instead took the train to the top. 45 minutes later, we arrived at what seemed like a movie set. Colorful skiers speaking several languages, warm sun reflecting on the bluish snow, mittened hands grasping beer mugs, bright orange sleds moving down the slick hill.
We decided to rent sleds for the kids - despite neglecting to bring ski pants or water proof gloves. Again, a 45 minute line - absolutely no efficiency.
After one time down, "I'm hungry."
More sledding and then we braved the crowds to take the train back down. Owen said, "Oh great, we are not going to get to go swimming," to which we laughed. He screamed in frustration and the German family walking behind us laughed. Universal.
A we walked to our car, Dave paused, "Look at this view. One day, when you are sledding with your kids, you will think of our family together and how we went sledding in the Alps."
