Family 50 Quest

They say time heals all wounds—but Colorado might be the exception. This trip has become legend in our circle, retold with equal parts horror and hilarity. Every twist was worse than the last, like the universe had a vendetta against us. If any state owes us a do-over, it’s Colorado.

So buckle up. You’re about to relive the chaos.

The day started deceptively smooth—flights on time, kids unusually angelic. We should’ve known it was the calm before the storm. Denver greeted us with a slap of icy air and a rental car line that snaked out the door like a bad joke. Our pre-booked car seat? Somewhere in the chaos. By the time we hit the road toward Breckenridge, it was pitch black, bone-chillingly cold, and snowing.

We’re from the South. Snow driving isn’t just unfamiliar—it’s borderline mythical. And this was only the beginning.

Our first full day in Breckenridge was also—tragically—our last day of pure fun. It started with Cole’s first encounter with snow. The moment his boots crunched into that powdery wonderland, it was love at first flake. He became a snow addict, refusing to come inside even when his cheeks turned cherry red.

Then the kids turned the tables and made us their sled dogs, dragging them around the backyard in a chaotic, laughter-filled version of dog sledding.

After that came sledding practice. And then, naturally, wipeout practice. Turns out, we were much better at the second one.

The gondola ride was pure magic—snow-draped peaks, wide-eyed kids, and a rare moment of peace. If the rest of the trip had gone differently, we might’ve made it a daily ritual. But alas, fate had other plans.

We disembarked into what we thought was a free parking lot. Spoiler: it wasn’t. And scaling a snow-covered mound in a parking lot? Surprisingly just as exhausting as climbing a real mountain—minus the scenic views.

Then we returned to the condo. And that’s when the trip officially turned from quirky to cursed.

The next morning, the parents went down—hard. A stomach virus swept through like a wrecking ball, leaving us curled up in blankets, clutching a toilet, and praying for mercy. Thankfully, the kids were perfectly happy staging snowball battles and sledding reruns in the backyard, blissfully unaware that their caretakers had become bathroom-bound casualties.

It wasn’t the snow that knocked us out—it was whatever microscopic monster hitched a ride to Breckenridge.

Mardi Gras morning brought beads, snow—and bad news. Just as we were gearing up for a day of fun, a message hit our phones like a cold slap: our flight home was cancelled. Cue Michelle, who spent the day in full crisis mode—juggling phone calls, rebooking flights, and trying to stretch our Wednesday reservations into a Friday reality. The earliest flight out? Friday at 6:00 a.m. The original plane might as well have flown to the moon for how far out that felt.

Meanwhile, Mark pulled off a parental miracle. He bundled up the kids and took them sledding on a real hill—no backyard improvisation this time. For a few hours, the chaos melted away into laughter and snow spray.

Our scheduled last day was supposed to be a smooth flight home. Instead, we woke up to a double-whammy: Makayla and Adam were locked in a stomach bug tag team. Perfect.

The kids, clearly operating on some kind of synchronized vomit schedule, took turns like pros. Thankfully, the condo had two bathrooms—because this was not a one-bathroom kind of morning.

Ironically, they bounced back way faster than we had when the same bug hit us two days earlier. By afternoon, they were chipper, asking to go sledding. We were skeptical, but after seven solid hours of no puking and successful food retention, we thought—maybe, just maybe—we were in the clear.

We were wrong.

We bundled up, loaded into the rental car, and headed for the sledding hill. Spirits were high, snow was fresh, and for a brief moment, it felt like we’d turned the corner. When the snow started coming down hard on the sledding hill, we decided to try another adventure.

Cue the scramble back to the car, where we learned something new: vomit freezes fast in subzero temperatures. Especially in a rental car.

Vacation Finale: From Frozen Vomit to Fish Tanks

After the sledding incident (and the unforgettable lesson in how fast vomit freezes in a rental car), we rallied. The next day, we packed up and drove to Denver, where our rescheduled flight was set to leave early the following morning.

With a few hours to kill before hotel check-in, we decided to treat ourselves to something a little less… traumatic. Enter Denver’s Downtown Aquarium—a magical detour filled with shimmering fish, curious kids, and mercifully zero bodily fluids.

We had lunch surrounded by tanks of exotic sea creatures, and for a moment, it felt like we’d finally hit the vacation sweet spot. The kids were mesmerized by the jellyfish and sharks, and we were just grateful to be somewhere that smelled like saltwater instead of stomach bug aftermath.

It was so much fun. And after everything we’d been through, it felt like the perfect palate cleanser before heading home.

Overall, this trip was one of those shake-your-head, throw-up-your-hands, and just laugh kind of adventures. We stopped asking “what else could go wrong” because apparently someone was listening—and eager to show us.

It’s a shame, really. Breckenridge is stunning, and there was so much we didn’t get to do with the kids. But we’ll try again in a few years—armed with extra towels, stronger stomachs, and a deep respect for rental car upholstery.