American ski school - a revelation

I really didn't know what to expect from ski school in the US. Two years ago when we went ski-ing in France, it took Littleboy 1 a good four days to actually join in with the class, rather than sitting in what we dubbed the 'crying hut' all morning.

As I described here, perhaps it wasn't surprising, given that the ski school met each morning at the bottom of a mini cable car. You waved goodbye to your child as he entered a crowded sort pigpen, clutching his little skis, surrounded by howling French children, and was taken off quickly by a ski instructor. It was emotionally draining, both for him and us, not to mention disorganised and chaotic - on the first day he came back with the wrong skis, and we never found the original ones (luckily the hire shop was very understanding....)

This time I was reassured by the fact that the two boys would be together - I thought this would be comforting for Littleboy 2 who had not skied before and is prone to tantrums when things aren't going his way. But I guess I was still a little apprehensive - would they be too cold? Would they lose their hats/gloves/goggles? (Littleboy 1 lost two pairs of mittens last term at school, so his track record is not good, and his brother has a tendency to take things off and throw them indiscriminately on the floor). Would they resent not ski-ing with us?

But American ski school was a revelation - or at least, the school at Smugglers' Notch, the resort where we holidayed. (It has in fact won many awards for its ski school - which is known as the Snow Sport University, a slightly pretentious name, but perhaps justified.)

We dropped the Littleboys each morning in a large, heated hall. On the first day it looked like chaos but in fact, it was highly organised, with each child being allocated a group led by two instructors. The children took off all their outer garments and immediately started playing with Lego or colouring. Meanwhile, their accessories and ski jackets were placed inside their helmets (labelled) in a crate, ready for when they started skiing. They managed not to lose a single item all week - not even a tiny ski glove went missing. (In fact, the only person who lost something was The Doctor, who sadly dropped a very nice hat I bought him last Christmas).

They were then taken to the ski slopes, where lessons began. Whereas in the French ski school, Littleboy 1 seemed to spend the best part of two weeks marching around in a circle on skis, in one week here both boys not only learnt to ski, but by the end of the week were ascending the mountain in a chairlift and skiing down a green run in formation behind their instructor. They even competed in a little 'race' one day, in which (hilariously) an instructor with a mike announced them as if they were Lindsey Vonn about to compete for Olympic gold.

They had frequent hot chocolate breaks, a hot lunch, and at 2.30pm finished ski-ing for the day. They then were entertained indoors (one day a magic show, sometimes a film) until the parents collected them at 4pm.

By the second day they were so excited to go to ski school that they barely even paid attention as we waved them goodbye in the mornings. They loved their instructor, were always enthusiastic about what they had been doing, and generally seemed to be having a fantastic time.

As well as going to sneak a look at them on a few occasions, we could also track their progress online due to a GPS device that was strapped to their leg all day and recorded every turn they made. At the end of the week they received a detailed report of what they could do, as well as a lovely 'diploma' from the Snow Sport University (yes, Americans just love to graduate!).

Now I don't want to knock the Ecole de Ski Francais too much - I'm sure we'll be going back to them, and they do a decent job - after all, The Doctor learned with them as a child and he is a brilliant skier. But we both agreed that there is much that they could learn from this system - efficient, very child-centred and also reassuring for the parents, so that everyone can enjoy their week.

As for the boys, Littleboy 1 was consistently praised by his instructor for being the strongest in his group - although his tendency to head straight downhill rather than turning, when he gets the chance, has not diminished. He has also already (horrors) asked if he can learn to snowboard (the answer was no, not until you can ski properly.)

But I was particularly impressed by Littleboy 2 - only just four - who progressed very well and did not complain about the cold once (unlike his parents, wussily huddled in the bar with our Irish Coffees). During the week he also appeared to have acquired a girlfriend - we arrived one afternoon to find him arm in arm with a little blonde chick who seemed to be all over him. It won't be long till he's chatting up chalet girls, I'm sure.........

You know you're in Vermont when...

Happy New Year everyone!

Apologies for the break in transmission - I've been away in the wilds of New England. Well, not quite the wilds, actually in a very nice civilised ski resort - of which possibly more later, but first of all here is my little homage to Vermont. A state where I would be very, very temped to go and live.

You know you're in Vermont when.........

1. You pull in at a Welcome Center off the interstate (these usually appear just after the border of a new state) and in addition to the usual selection of maps and tourist information you are handed a free cup of Green Mountain Coffee.

2. You seen road signs that say 'Moose Crossing' and 'Bear Crossing'. While you do not actually see these animals, you have great fun getting the children to look out for them - and let's face it, you need all the distractions you can get after an epic seven hour car journey...

3. The roads are lined with log cabins, maple syrup farms and beautiful brick manor houses. Not a Home Depot or Starbucks in sight.

4. You notice the Christmas decorations are far more low-key than in New York. Just a tasteful wreath or two. No inflatable Santas. Interesting.

5. The scenery is staggeringly beautiful, particularly after a snowfall when the trees are caked in powder and the icicles are bigger than any you've ever seen.

6. Lift attendants in the ski resort say 'have a great day' and 'enjoy it up there' as they steady the chairlift for you to get on. (Similar people in France usually just grunt dismissively and let the chair thwack the back of your legs).

7. Your children learn to ski doing a 'pizza wedge' rather than a snowplow.

8. You might not be able to get a vin chaud (mulled wine) at a mountain restaurant, as in France. But then you discover the Black Bear Tavern in the Base Lodge. Which has much more interesting warming drinks. My favourite was hot chocolate with Amaretto and Grand Marnier, with whipped cream on top. Mmm.

9. You wear more layers than you have ever worn skiing - balaclava under a Peruvian alpaca hat, woolly jumpers over fleeces, hand warmers in your gloves and toe warmers in your boots. You also opt for a helmet as someone has told you it's warmer as well as safer. But it's still bloody cold.

10. As a result of 8) and 9) you spend even more time in the Black Bear Tavern. Which possibly improves your ski-ing......who can say?

The best of 2010 - books, films and TV

I spent a precious half hour yesterday morning curled up in bed reading the New York Times' end of year cultural round-up. I don't know about you, but I love reading these retrospective features and the way they put the year into context. (I know how hard they are to put together, too - when I worked on a magazine and we had to sum up our 'top 10s' from the year come December, no-one could remember a thing and we had to rack our Christmas party-addled brains to recall what had actually gone on in the industry. There was always something major that got left out and, naturally, people complained about it in January.)

So, anyway, this year I thought I'd put together my own personal roundup. I can't give you any kind of meaningful comment on art, dance or sculpture - I'm just not THAT cultured, I'm afraid - but I can give you films, books and TV. Without any further ado, my top cultural picks from 2010 are:


Books
1). The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood. The greatest living writer in my opinion, and still at the top of her game.
2.) The Help by Kathryn Stockett. A gripping read, and a real eye-opener about life in the Deep South in the not too distant past.
3). The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell. I love this writer. Black Swan Green is fabulous but this story set in 19th century Japan, though long and complicated, is also rather brilliant.

Film
1) An Education. Entertaining and thought-provoking coming of age story. I loved it.
2) The Social Network. Very clever and laugh-out-loud funny - whatever the veracity of its potrayals.
3. Toy Story 3. Still brilliant - and now the boys know who Woody and Buzz are too.

TV
1) Mad Men. Season 4 was superb - particularly the scenes between Don Draper and Peggy. Still far more nuanced and intelligent than anything else on TV.
2.) The Ugly Betty finale. I always enjoyed this series, and was sad when it was cancelled. But I think they got the ending right (UK viewers, I don't know if this has aired, so I won't spoil it).
3.) Sherlock. I only caught this recently, but thought it was great - make some more, please. So much better than the dreadful Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes film, which I also saw this year.

So what were your favourites? Was 2010 a vintage cultural year for you?

Manhattan at Christmas

I went into Manhattan this morning to meet someone about possible freelance work. I had an hour or so to kill before our meeting, so I took the opportunity to wander the chilly streets of the City, taking in the Christmas lights and decorations. Sadly I didn' t have my camera, but here is a verbal snapshot of what I saw....

A giant Smurf above the front door of Macy's. And lots of fluffy Smurf toys piled up inside. (Smurfs must be having a comeback - I remember my sister having a similar fluffy Smurf in about 1985. These were selling for a lot more than I am sure hers cost).

A giant Christmas tree made of poinsettias in the lobby of a bank building. I was rather taken with this.

Very lost-looking tourists outside the Waldorf-Astoria. (There was a great story about the W-A in the NY Times last week. A couple had their room given away because some Saudi princes were in town. They were furious - they were given instead rooms at the Hilton, but were quoted as saying that it "just wasn't the same - people were carrying pizza boxes in the elevator!" )

A delicious array of fragrances at Saks Fifth Avenue,including lots of Jo Malone, with which I liberally sprayed myself. (I went upstairs to look at the clothes, but was quickly put off by the price tags, and shocked by the rails full of fur coats. Decided I am more of J Crew and Zara type of girl.)

A Christmas market just off Fifth Avenue that seemed to sell nothing but furry hats.

Several groups of Salvation Army people singing carols on street corners.

Two people carrying gigantic bunches of balloons - they looked as if they were about to float and take off. They must have been for an office party, I reckon.

Quite a few people with British accents on the streets, several complaining about the cold. (Wear a hat, woman!)

A schoolbus full of kids brought to see the massive tree at Rockefeller Center, delight lighting up their faces.

It was certainly very Christmassy. I was trying to think about how it compares to London, though, and realised that I didn't see any one focal streetwith huge arching Christmas lights, (like Regent Street for instance. Although now I can't help thinking of poor old Regent Street being full of rioters shouting 'off with their heads' at the royals). On the other hand, New Yorkers do not stint when it comes to trees festooned with lights, huge wreaths and baubles adorning storefronts and wonderfully Christmassy smells - roasting chestnuts on street corners, stalls selling hot chocolate.

And of course, when it comes to home Christmas decorations, Americans far out-class the Brits. Not only on the outside (stay tuned for photos - I hope to get some next week) but on the inside too - according to this story, several rich Manhattanites now hire interior decorators to dress their tree. My interior decorators, on the other hand, were the Littleboys, armed with a bunch of paperclips. And the outdoor decorator was The Doctor, armed with a stepladder and two strings of Christmas lights to be strung around a little fir tree (as opposed to the several thousand strings, together with reindeer and sled combos employed by some of our neighbours). We will, however, be spreading some Christmas cheer with a mince pie and mulled wine party this weekend. I'll be interested to see how those very British delicacies go down......

A very special story

First things first: this is not a sponsored post. I've been asked by PRs to review many products this Christmas, and I've turned them all down. They are usually things either totally inappropriate for the Littleboys - eg. tights(!) - or things that would be impractical to ship to the US, where the PR in question clearly has not realised that I reside.

I would rather, instead, write about a Christmas gift that I truly admire and have bought on several occasions. And one with which I have something of a personal connection.

Let me tell you a story first. Almost eleven years ago, I started a new job on a magazine. I sat down at my new desk, and smiled at the girl opposite, and it was the beginning of a firm friendship. While at first we bonded over the usual things - office gossip, tipsy work nights out - our friendship outlasted the workplace, and long after she moved to another magazine we would still meet up for lunch, coffee and a heart-to-heart over a glass of wine.

It was during one of these heart-to-hearts, in late 2003, that I announced to her my secret news. I was leaving the company, going travelling and then setting up as a freelancer with a view to starting a family. And then my friend announced her own secret news. She was also leaving; and planned to start her own business.

I was pretty surprised by this, and thought it was an incredibly brave move. But she then explained her absolute gem of a business idea - the creation of personalised books for children, using not only the child's name, age and other details but their photograph throughout the book as the hero or heroine of the story. The idea, she said, had come from books that her grandparents had lovingly created for her as a child, cutting and pasting the photos - now, with digital printing, it could become a reality on a much larger scale.

And so Itsyourstory was born. Six years later (my friend somehow having also found the time to have three children and move the entire family to Somerset) the business is going strong, with a range of 18 books to choose from as well as other products such as calendars, party invitations and letters. There are stories suitable for all ages and all occasions - birthdays, Christmas, even a super-hero story. In every story, the child is the star, and all kinds of information about their life - from their best friends' names to their favourite food and TV show - can be included in the tale. You simply go online to upload your child's photo and all the details, and the books are mailed out to you.

The Littleboys will each be getting an Itsyourstory book this Christmas, and I am confident that they will absolutely love them; you see, I've already seen the combination of delight and amazement before on nieces and nephews' faces as they open the books and realise that they are the main character. So, if you're short of a present either for your children, a relative or friend's child, pop over to the site and take a look (you can also follow them on Twitter). My friend has even set up a 20% discount for readers of this blog, valid until January 31st (although if you want it for Christmas, last orders must be made by this Friday, December 17). All you need to do is type the voucher code NAPPYV20* during the first stage of the order process on the website. I can guarantee you'll love the books. And you'll be supporting a very special friend of mine at the same time.

*excludes P&P.

The Gallery: White. (And the birthday boy)

Unlike the rest of you back in the UK, we haven't had any snow yet in New York this year. Well, there were a few flurries on Monday, but it didn't settle - much to my relief, as the Doctor was away at a conference and I didn't much fancy digging out the driveway by myself. (I'm pleased to see, though, that there have been 12 inches in Vermont. Roll on ski-ing).

So, when it came to selecting a picture for this week's Gallery, I had to choose some photographs from February, when we had our biggest snowfall of last winter. It was a real powder snowfall, and when the sun came out after the blizzard, everything sparkled. And I thought I'd choose a picture of Littleboy 2, too, in honour of his fourth birthday today. He would have loved snow on his birthday. Ah, well.

It's a little bit funny.....

I made a discovery yesterday.

Americans don't use the word 'bit'. At least, not when they're talking about something other than the thing that goes in the horse's mouth.

I had a friend round, and her son was helping the Littleboys construct a marble run. Littleboy 1 was acting as the foreman, and was rather bossily ordering the other two about. He kept asking them to get him a 'red bit', a 'yellow bit' and so forth. At one point I had to intervene, and (being shamefully less good than my five year old son at actually following the instructions) I then asked him if "that bit goes there?"

"Oh," said my friend. "I've finally worked it out. Bit means piece."

She had thought we were referring to some technical marble-construction terms, and explained that, to her, bit was, well, getting the bit between your teeth. And thinking about it, Americans don't tend to say "It's a bit strange." They would say something was 'a little strange'. (US readers, If I'm wrong here, do let me know...)

It's strange how these little bits (ha!) of information can still surprise you. I remember being astonished last year to discover that Americans don't say they are 'cross' about something. It's mad, or angry. I found this out because someone was saying how cute it was that her son picked up British expressions from Thomas the Tank Engine. So, saying that I am a little bit cross about the fact that Littleboy 1's basketball lesson was cancelled today without our knowledge, would presumably be either quaint or completely meaningless to them. (I am more than a little bit cross about that, by the way. But I'll get over it).

Still, I feel as if I am being constantly educated. Today, for instance, I have been informed sternly by sons that 'dreidel' - a Jewish Hanukkah toy that they have been learning about at school - is not pronounced to rhyme with sidle, but cradle. At least I have the boys to put me right......