It has been 11 years since the day I almost died.

I seldom reflect upon it anymore, nor have I really written about it. Well, except for when I poured out my soul for an essay contest in college, only to win an honorable mention. Guess I would’ve taken first if I’d have actually died. Nothing like tales from the crypt.

Lately, memories of the accident have come back to me in consuming flashes. At first they were haunting but I have recently taken another approach to their message: to reaffirm the simple blessing it is to be alive.

It was March 1996 and my friend Heidi and I planned to ski at Park City Mountain Resort. I was the Executive Director of PR for our student government and had been heavily promoting this student-sanctioned ski day. And so what better way to publicize it than to skip school and do it?

I had intended to clean out my car but didn’t have time so we threw our skis in the backseat and grabbed some fast food instead. We were driving on the I-15 gabbing away when we encountered a slow-moving semi truck in the middle lane. The left-hand lane was blocked, so without hesitation I moved to pass the semi in the right lane.

That was when it happened.

Without seeing us, the semi changed into my lane, sending us reeling across the three lanes of traffic into the median. We bounced off it in a deadly pinball game, only to land underneath the back tires of the truck. It proceeded to run over the backseat of my car and spew us back out onto the median.

This is the account the witnesses gave. My experience was very different. I felt the initial impact and knew we were spinning. But then there was light. It wasn’t something that I saw but rather, it was something that penetrated me to my core. I lived an eternity in those few seconds that I could never even try to describe other than to say I have never felt so divinely protected.

When we finally stopped, there was a long pause as we sat in stunned silence. I chose to break it.

“Heidi, I don’t think we’re going skiing today.” Hilarity ensued. We surveyed the damage. The semi’s tire tracks were merely three inches from my seat, completely destroying the back of the car where our skis were located.

“I’m sure glad I didn’t clean my car today.” More laughter.

Within moments, a trauma nurse and police officer were on the scene. “These girls are delirious,” they prescribed.

I didn’t have heart to tell him we were always like that.

Eventually, they had to call in the jaws of life to get us out. We were rushed to the hospital and were miraculously given a clean bill of health.

Well, minus some inevitable bruises and whiplash. The next day when I was limping around my apartment, someone asked how I was doing.

I looked pointedly at them before blithely replying, “I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi.”

Duh.

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

When Hunky Hubby’s hatred towards anything floppy goes too far. And is unleashed upon The Innocent with his pastel vest, Buddha belly and snazzy jig to the tune of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.”

I won’t include the ransom note because it’s just too traumatic. Oh, and also because he destroyed all the evidence….

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

EASTER BUNNY: BEWARE.

Do not hop on by our house. Hunky Hubby is ticked at all your species for crapping all over our yard your feces, digging holes and eating his precious garden. He has been teaching his innocent daughter how to terminate and destroy you. Because she’s just that fast.

Of course, Haddie has yet to associate Said Species with the same that will be showering her with chocolate and jelly beans in a few short weeks. So you’ll probably be safe. For now.

(Photo caption: Little Bunny Haddie during more cuddly times.)

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Speaking of lies we tell our children, Jamie and I recently discussed the ramifications of believing in Santa. We both agree that while we don’t put a ton of emphasis on it, there is something magical about the fantasy that a fat guy in a red suit can satisfy our innermost wishes.

Jamie: “If you think about it, so many people make Santa such a taboo thing but no one seems too interested in shooting down the fact that so many of our kids’ favorite characters aren’t real. I find it hypocritical that parents encourage children to believe in Elmo but make Santa out to be the bad guy.”

Amber: “Gee, I can’t wait to hear the reasoning behind this one.”

Jamie: “Yeah, imagine if we told them Elmo wasn’t real and was just a puppet who has a hand stuck up his butt.”

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The Sound of Music is my all-time favorite movie and I have an immeasurable amount of respect and admiration for Julie Andrews’ talent.

Mary Poppins was on television recently and while it’s not one of my favorites, I was drawn to watch some of it. Mostly, I just wanted to watch her float out of the sky with her umbrella, conjuring up similar fantasies that I, too will be rescued from these children by a magical nanny. I’m still waiting.

Anyway, as she was belting out a song whilst cleaning up the toy room with the children, I marveled at her.

“You know Jamie. They just don’t make actresses like Julie Andrews these days. She is so classic, so timeless and so classy. She really defies all the trash we see today.”

“I think I saw her toples$ in a movie once.”

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

Every neighborhood has ‘em.

You know: the one white-trash family that just oozes with socially unacceptable behavior such as loud music, big engines, cold beer and jacked-up trucks.

I just didn’t know “they” were “us.”

It all started out innocently the other day when I took the kids for an early-morning run. Since the temperatures were still brisk, I opted against getting them dressed and kept them bundled up in their fleece PJs.

Now, something you should know about me is that even though I’m lucky if I get a brush through my hair, I am pretty anal about ensuring my kids are properly groomed. But I figured this was a worthy exception to get an early start to the day. You know. To beat those sweltering 60-degree temperatures that would soon descend upon us.

Something else you should also know is that it was garbage day, certainly not the best of times to be running due to the surrounding stench. I was the last 1/4-mile into my run up the big stinky hill to our house when I spotted It: that which led my great downfall to white trashdom (and coincidentally, it was white…and trash). Someone had left a wicker chest out by their garbage.

I stopped. It would be perfect in our basement for Haddie’s toys. I investigated. It was in great shape, too. Or at least it was before my attempts to transport it.

There was a problem, though. It was really big, which made our progress really slow. Oh yeah, and did I mention the hill? My little charges were patient in the beginning but after about 15 minutes of dragging it, fussiness ensued. I decided I needed another plan. I could take the kids out of the jogging stroller, put the trunk inside and let them walk. Well, at least the big one. My main concern was that Hadley was still in her pajamas and what would the neighbors think?

I did it anyway.

And so there we were on our leisurely Monday Morning Dumpster Diving Stroll around the neighborhood. Haddie in her soiled PJs, Bode with his frumpy hair.

Then Haddie started limping. “I have cereal at the bottom of my PJs,” she whined.

I looked down and sure enough she had lumpy feet. But at this point, the only way to get the cereal out of her one-piece pajamas would have involved stripping her down completely. And if PJs by Day were white trash, having her wander down the street with her sagging pull-up diaper was veritable trailer status. And at that, I drew the line.

“I have an idea! Just stomp really hard and it will turn your cereal into little crumbs. And then we’ll just follow them home like Hansel and Gretel!” I have always been a master of resolution.

She looked dubiously at me, made a meager attempt and then limped the rest of the way. It was memorable to say the least but we survived and the kids have a new toy box.

Would I do it again? Sure. Only next time, I’ll just need to remember to bring my shopping cart along….

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

Last Saturday morning, Jamie rounded up the troops to help him weed the front yard. You know: because the weeds were green for St. Patty’s Day.

Haddie pulled, Bode ate.

Passersby surely thought, “Oh, what a cute family working together.”

I have two words for them: slave labor.

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

I have had some inquiries since the Chuck E. Cheese fiasco regarding how potty training is going. In a word: it’s not. OK, that’s more like 2 (or 2.5 if you want to get picky like my former editor and count the contraction.)

(though I think I’d fire the ad agency that coined this winner stating it is worth it to pee your pants if you’re just able to use the hula hoop again.)

But instead, I’d target this: lazy husbands everywhere.

An award-winning campaign strategy?…

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

I have news. Big news. No, I’m not pregnant so I guess it isn’t that big (in which case, it is I who would be big). But I have a fun project underway that has the potential to become a veritable nightmare a lot of work with no rewards really cool.

You see, I figured I just wasn’t busy enough juggling two small children and spending my days fantasizing about sleep and potties. I recently contacted Denver’s two newspapers with a proposal: to run a “Mile High Mamas” blog. This would be a forum for Colorado mothers (and anyone else) to read humorous blogs (written by yours truly and others), share helpful parenting tips and provide an excellent resource for area activities.

At least that was the formal wording I used in the proposal. But y’all know what that means in Amber speak: TO PARRRRTY!

Miracle of miracles, both newspapers loved the idea. I have decided to go with The Denver Post because they have some fantastic plans in the works.

Oh yeah, and because the other guy didn’t call me back afterwards.

This is in the very preliminary development stages (they’re still assigning the project to a designer) so will probably be at least a few months in the making, if not more.

And so I turn to you, my dear friends, for some advice:

Does your area newspaper do anything similar? Do you know of any humorous bloggers in Colorado? What kind of things would you like to see to build an interactive network amongst mamas? What great mom sites (not necessarily blogs; more informational such as BabyZone) do you visit and why? Any standouts for design? And am I ever going to get eight hours of sleep again?….

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

(Subliminal messaging: Go to Top Momma, click on this cute baby picture of Hadley in her red snowsuit at least 100 times and then go back to your day).

Now, onto our regularly scheduled message….

There is an ongoing theme in our family: keys. Or should I say a lack thereof.

Our latest key story surely confirmed to Hunky Hubby why he loves me soooo much. Upon leaving YMCA of the Rockies, he looked everywhere but could not find our extra room key to turn back in during checkout.

I eventually found it while I did laundry. Assiduous wife that I am, I called him immediately.

“Hey Jamie–I found your key!”

“Really? Where?”

“It was at home in the dryer. No wonder you couldn’t find it….”

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

For all those out there who’ve wanted to photograph that priceless moment after their kid does a face plant but felt too guilty about it, I have a solution.

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