I have gotten many emails from friends absolutely bewildered that they received our infamous Christmas newsletter earlier this week. Yes, that would be before Christmas. Now, lest you think I am the Queen of Holiday Spirit, allow me to take off my musical reindeer ears and explain.

There are a few reasons why I have already finished our cards and 99% of my holiday shopping, the main one being I am in charge of the mother of all Christmas parties at church next Friday. I couldn’t just plan a boring ol’ ham-and-Santa party for 200+ people. Noooo. I had to wax ambitious during the busiest time of the year and plan “A Night in Bethlehem” (which, for me, is turning out to be “A Night in Hades.”)

This is a recreation of first-century Bethlehem, complete with scrolls I individually wrapped as invitations and a marketplace (that we are constructing from scratch) which includes Middle Eastern fare, a toy shop for the kids, and a Gift of the Magi booth with gold, frankincense and myrrh (to name a few). Oh, and individual coin sachets for bartering. If all this wasn’t a logistical nightmare, there is also a Christmas program to follow.

I knew I couldn’t pull this one off by myself so solicited leaders of other faculties to help, some of whom I have butted heads with in the past as they have second-guessed every decision I have made. I’ll spare you all the drama but this time has been different, primarily because I have refused to be bullied around as I have laid down the law. Because I don’t want highly-controversial eggs at this event. Oh, and because I AM The Queen of Christmas Spirit (lest you had forgotten my reindeer ears.)

The other main reason for my extreme anal retentiveness lately is because I am heading up to the Motherland mid-December with the kids. Jamie has to work right up until the holiday so I figured that there is no better way to spread Christmas cheer than to fly solo and let my kids’ screams resonate throughout the plane’s cabin.

Come to think of it, perhaps I should forego the reindeer ears on that trip. For fear of hunting season, of course….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

For those of you who followed my Martha Freakin’ Stewart post about my sister-in-law’s gift wrapping abilities, she has a defense. And finally, there may be hope for the rest of us:

“Amber: Who is this chick? Oh wait, she’s me. In my defense, I’m not totally insane. We all have our little releases in life. For some it is hiking, for others, apparently gift wrapping. It may not ever save the world, but then again . . . it just might. And to set the record straight, I accomplished the task at midnight, while procrastinating a church lesson I was suppose to be preparing, in a house that was a disaster, with my husband exclaiming, “You’re making what now? Please, can’t we just go to bed?” I’m not sure the moment would have exactly made a Martha Stewart episode.”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

It’s that time of year again when we forget about the disasters of years past and decide to start anew. Yes friends, it was Grandma’s Second Annual Gingerbread House Making Disaster Night.

I have been forthcoming about my lack of domestic prowess when it comes to crafts. It was confirmed last night this transcends to gingerbread houses as well. It didn’t help I had a 2-year-old on my team, either. And a back-seat driving husband who criticized my every misplaced tuft of icing.

It started out badly when I cut the hole too big on my icing sugar bag. In my defense, I am Metric and always have been. And any package instructions in inches never fails to screw me up, even after all these years of living here. JUST GET WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD AND USE CENTIMETERS.

My initial screw-up due to the American Standard System of Measurement inhibited my overall gingerbread performance. Even Jamie’s bachelor brother who doesn’t clean his toilet (I’m still obviously traumatized over the whole thing) started giving me tips. That’s when it went from bad to worse.

And so, the near-finished houses. Any guesses which of these multiple choice options turned out to be ours?

a)

b)

c)

d)

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Happy Thanksgiving and what a holiday it was! In keeping with tradition, we dragged our butterball butts up the Turkey Trot Trail in the morning. It was a gorgeous day for a hike with temperatures in the 60s. Haddie was in her element and we were so proud she did much of the strenuous hike by herself while Bode passed out only after a few minutes on the trail (also a tradition). We figure we burned about 400 calories, juxtaposed against the 5,000 we consumed a few hours later.

And then for out gluttonous Thanksgiving dinner. Jamie insisted on doing our specialty bacon-wrapped turkey and jalapeno dressing (YUM), along with buttermilk/garlic mashed potatoes, fresh rolls and salads. I thought we’d escaped the horror of Green Bean Casserole because Jamie’s sister (who always makes it) was out of town. But lucky for us, this is one family tradition that refuses to die and Jamie’s brother decided to pick up the slack. Because what would a meal be without that green slop?

But the real highlight was the pies. Jamie’s mother tends to overdo it and this year was no different with apple, key lime, pecan, pumpkin pie and cheesecake. This averaged out to one pie per person, odds that agreed with all of us. Except for when it came to rolling ourselves off the couch later that evening.

Despite all the gluttony, there was also gladness when we remembered it was last year at this time that we announced baby Bode would be joining our family. As I reflect upon everything in 2006, we’ve had our tough times: a sickly pregnancy, tough post-partum, Hubby’s crummy health and demanding work schedule.

But the blessings are undeniable and reminders always come in unexpected, brilliant flashes. That moment when we’re snuggled together as a family with Haddie hamming it up and Bode laughing his squishy little guts out at her. Seeing beyond the tough daily grind to the magic of ordinary days: the sloppy kisses, the joys of the kids’ self-discovery, and that moment when Jamie finally walks in the door as Haddie rushes to greet him and we are finally complete. These are just some of my many blessings. I hope you were reminded of yours this holiday season!

Happy Thanksgiving!

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful we’re feeling better! One of the tough things about Bode when he’s sick is his expectation that I need to hold him all the time. While this was exhausting, I didn’t mind doing it because the poor kid needed sympathy as he coped with his first bout of the evil suffering of this world (at least that’s how he worded it, intermingled with a few expletives).

However now that he’s on the mend, it’s been rough trying to get him to stop being so clingy and needy. Since his sleep patterns have recently become so grisly, I had stopped rocking him to sleep in an effort to teach him to self-soothe on his own. And for the most part, it was working. Until he got sick, of course.

When Bode started to feel better, we knew it was time to start training him again. After he was fed, changed and ready for bed, we waited until he started dozing off and put him down. And then the flood works were unleashed because how DARE we put him down in his crib. By himself.

“Just let him cry,” Jamie advised.

“But what if something’s wrong?”

“We both know nothing’s wrong. He’s just tired and is demanding to be held.”

Though I’m not an advocate for the extreme “crying it out methods,” I am a staunch advocate for getting more than three hours of sleep. Something that hasn’t happened for more than a month and was probably the leading cause for getting me sick.

And so we let him cry. And cry. He never got to the hysterical stage (at which point I would’ve cracked) but simply voiced his displeasure. Over and over again.

But when he finally dozed off, he slept the longest block of time he’s done in a month (four hours straight). But not without frazzling us during the whole thing. When all was finally silent, Jamie leaned over to me and whispered:

“We’ve won!”

Because we need the occasional reinforcement that these children don’t rule us. At least not always.

That night, I had feverish dreams that I got knocked up at BYU with Bode and that Jamie abandoned us. I have this dream (and the one where I’m in my final semester of college and realize I’ve forgotten to go to class all semester) at least weekly.

I called Jamie the next morning to commiserate our cry-it-out evening. I ended our conversation with, “And you calloused jerk. How dare you?”

“Huh?”

I then relayed the knocked-up dream. You know: that same one I have had over and over.

Jamie paused and I waited for his reassurance I am indeed psycho and that he would never dump us off at BYU, a.k.a. the sappiest…errr happiest place on earth. But instead, his response:

“Well, after last night can you blame me?”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Bode and I are sick. Dog sick. If it sounds like I am sick a lot, you are correct. I go through a six-week cycle of wellness until The Plague resurfaces. As bad as I feel, it’s even worse having to take care of a little one who is suffering so much. The whimpers (and particularly the screeches) are enough to break your heart (and ears).

The other day was so bad that Grandma had to rescue Hadley and quarantine her from us. Funny, but I always envisioned quarantine to be a dismal place, not one full of sugar, countless toys and Grandma snuggles. She got the better end of that deal.

Once free from the Hurricane (just watching her is enough to wear me out), The Boder and I laid around like slugs. Occasionally, he would make requests: “Hey woman–I need some boob.” Or “Hey woman–I’ve got snot dripping down to my navel.” And I would generously help the little guy out. Because that’s what mothers who infect their young do.

Part of what makes me an absolute misery to be around when I’m sick is the already dysfunctional nose problems I have (see No. 82 and 87). In the last few days I have gone through four Kleenex boxes and am still going strong. Do you know how many snotty-nosed kids in Africa my over-consumption would service?

I must say I am glad for drugs. Lots of them. When I was sick during my pregnancy, I was an absolute wreck. Jamie is my druggist because the guy knows everything about every supplement on the earth. This turned out to be detrimental because he also knew all the things I couldn’t have at that time.

Whilst suffering with Bronchitis mere weeks before having Bode, Jamie discovered a bottle of nose drops sitting on my nightstand

“Amber, you haven’t been using these, have you?”

“Of course I have. It’s the only thing that helps me breathe since you’ve banned all the decongestants from me.”

“You’re not supposed to have nose drops. They are BAD.”

“Why would they be bad? It’s not like they’re going into my system to harm the baby. They’re just staying and floating around in my nose.”

“Not going into your system? Are you nuts? Maybe you’ve never heard of a little high called snorting cocaine. Also ingested through the nasal passages.”

Touché….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Like many kids, I obsessed over my Santa list every year even though the whole story never really added up. I mean, how could a fat guy in a red suit hit every house in the world in a matter of hours? Kids today need not doubt; they have living proof via Norad, which gives a play-by-play of Santa’s tracks.

My parents could also never provide me with a convincing answer as to why he magically appeared at every mall during the season (and always at the same time) or why he couldn’t remember what he brought me the year prior. Yes, I tested him and he always flunked. I couldn’t really hold it against him though, because he always overlooked those years when I ranked as more naughty than nice.

Despite being unable to logically justify his existence, I still believed and would write him long gluttonous letters detailing why I (not my brother) needed that Grease 8-track. I never mailed the letters. I couldn’t. I didn’t have an address. Had I only known I could send my hallowed list to the North Pole, Alaska 99705. Or that there is also an equal-opportunity Santa in Canada, who can be reached at the postal code HOH OHO. Ingenious, I know.

One of the highlights of our sleepless weekend was hitting the North Pole of the lower 48 in Cascade, CO. There we found a child’s wonderland: a Christmas-themed amusement park, complete with The Man in Red, whimsical toy shops, festive rides, entertaining shows and yummy food.

We extensively prepped The Hurricane prior to her Santa encounter. I didn’t want to relate some woosy story about how she freaked out when she saw him but she I had no reason to worry. Like a kid on a mission, she plopped herself down on his lap, recited her list as if her life depended on it, posed obligingly for a photo and jumped down.

She meant business when it came to the rides as well. That fearless little thing not only hit the candy cane slide and the Christmas tree ride, but she also went on every adult ride that she qualified for, some of which even her father wouldn’t go on. We had to grab Bode to accompany her in those instances. Isn’t that what baby brothers are for?

We have long suspected Haddie is a tomboy due to her obsession with sports, trains and the fact that she uses her dolls as speed bumps with her stroller. She has a few girly interests such as make-up and clothes but we figured the test would be when we entered the girl’s toys shop and then the boy’s.

Sure enough, she grew quickly bored in the former but as soon as we entered the latter, she screeched “COOOOL!” and raced over to a huge Thomas the Train track. I won’t go into our sordid history with this evil train but just know our last encounter with him at Toys R Us resulted in drawing her father’s blood as he attempted to drag her away kicking and screaming. Oh, and then she had to be accompanied out of the store with a balloon by the manager. I wonder if this means she’s been banned?

When it came time to leave the toy shop, I stealthily made my way towards the door leaving Jamie in charge. This time was no different. Again, she screamed, kicked and went for his jugular. He eventually dragged her out of there, leaving us incredulous because we’ve never seen her react that way over any toy.

Rest assured, this very train track was at the top of her Santa list. And because she’s my obsessive daughter and recites this list in her sleep, I think I even saw her slip him a $20….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

P.S. Good thing Jamie buckled up. I’d hate to witness the humilation of falling off a miniature reindeer….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

What a Weekend Part II will be forthcoming. Just as soon as I have the time and energy to relive it all.

In the meantime, Jamie called me on his way home from work yesterday with some pertinent information. At least according to him.

“Hey Amber. I was listening to the radio and they had some gender wars regarding what it takes to get a man to help around the house.”

“I am listening. Impatiently.”

“Well, one caller said his wife dresses up in a sexy little maid outfit and asks him to clean. With expected rewards at the end, of course, but it works every time.”

“Yeah, right.” I turn my attention to Bode. “You’re not ever going to be a man like that, right?”

“Amber, he already is. Just look at how he reacts when you nurse him.”

Jamie had a point. The moment I whip it out, a big grin emerges on Bode’s face. He immediately dives in, only to detach several times absolutely beaming. Like he’s in newborn nooky nirvana.

“And so you see Amber, from day one there is a positive association for men with breasts.”

“But what about those baby boys who aren’t breastfed?”

“Well, there are a lot of homosexuals out there…”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog