Is anybody else’s husband lawn-obsessed?

Hunky Hubby is in serious need of attending L.A. (Landscaper’s Anonymous) for the hours he pours into researching plants and flowers. In my opinion, having to put in your own yard is one of the major drawbacks of building a home. That and the mortgage that follows.

Granted, I may be a small part of the problem due to a little deadline I gave him to build a retaining wall, fill in our ditch, cover it with rubberized mulch and then build Haddie’s playset on top of it. All by next Friday for Hadley’s birthday. Really, that isn’t too much too much to ask, is it? After all, Rome was built in a day (my blog, my interpretation).

I should have seen the early signs of his mania. Even when the snow was still flying, he was already obsessing. Case in point: the kids and I were playing outside in the snow waiting for him to come home. When he arrived, I went to finish dinner and asked him to help the kids remove their clothes. Sure, no problem.

Until he saw The Package. The package that contained the first seedlings of the season. He voraciously tore into it.

A few minutes later, the abandoned abominable snowchildren started protesting.

“Umm Jamie, did you leave the poor kids by the front door? They really need help getting their snowpants and boots off!”

“Yes. But my package. Came!” (The man is rendered unable to complete a full sentence during his trances.)

“Honey, they haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen this package…ever.”

Photo: Jamie shortly after we moved in with his leftover pile of crap compost.

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

After seven days, Jamie finally brought in the cooler from his car. Any guesses for how many more it will take to remove the rotting food?
P.S. Click here for his rebuttal.

Wordless Wednesday

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

On Friday, we attended a murder mystery dinner. Jamie was the perfect Groucho Marx and I was none other than the illustrious Marilyn Monroe. This is the second time in three months I have played a skank. On our cruise, we did a murder mystery and I was the loose woman who had an affair with the ship’s captain. Coincidence or typecast? Hmmm….

Our friends, Eva and Jon, went all out for the occasion. I mean, it’s not everyday you have John Wayne, Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire, Joni Mitchell, Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Patsy Kline and Judy Garland at your place. We were greeted with a red carpet, showered with gifts and indulged in delicious food. Oh, and did I mention there was a murder?

As “perfect” as everyone thought I was for the role, I was no Marilyn. I’ve never watched any of her movies nor had a fan blowing up my skirt for more than 10 seconds at at time. But I put forth a good effort and even straightened my hair for the occasion. Too bad I had an allergic reaction to my hairspray. This, after spending the entirety of the 80s with the mother of all hair-sprayed bangs.

Even worse was that when prepping me on her voice, my little Groucho made a better Marilyn than I.

I had a grand time acting out the murder. How could I not with lines like “I’m sooooo sick of being a sex symbol and my hour-glass shape.”

Coincidentally, I said the same thing just last week.

Or the very revealing scripted conversation with none other than Groucho (because who could resist that profile?): “Such lovely men at the party like you, Groucho. You’re a kook but such a kind kook. Let’s go find a room somewhere and I’ll show you why blondes are soooo special….Sorry baby, but some gals have a seven-year itch, mine’s more of a seven-minute itch.”

Jamie wishes I said the same thing just last week.

In the end, none of us solved the mystery. Part of it was the script wasn’t very well written (minus my memorable lines), the other part was we’re s-t-u-p-i-d. On our invitations, we were given clothing suggestions. Everyone except for Jimi Hendrix who was required to bring a guitar and wear a large ring. Coincidentally, these were also the murder weapons. Don’t look for us on C.S.I. anytime soon.

When not making our pathetic attempts to solve the murder, there were also memorable dinner conversations. Ginger proudly announced that her daughter won student of the month and her son received early admission into high school algebra.

As we all himed and hawed in admiration, good ol’ Groucho made an announcement of his own:

“Hadley had diarrhea last week and then rubbed her butt all over the wall.”

I could not have been more proud….

Murder Mystery Mom Blog

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

I love cuddling up to a good book but these days all reading seems to be dedicated unto Dr. Seuss. So I had to chuckle when Lynn Bowen Walker contacted me of all people to review her book Queen of the Castle.

Until I noted the subtitle: 52 Week of Homemaking Encouragement for the Uninspired, Domestically Challenged and Just Plain Tired. Now that is something with personal application, especially when it has a chapter heading Housework, Done Correctly, Can Kill You.

And just when have I found the time to be inspired reading her book, you may ask? On this queen’s porcelain throne. I’m sure Lynn would be thrilled to know I garner inspiration during potty time but hey, whatever works.

The book is broken down into weekly vignettes consisting of humorous tips, stories, recipes and the all-important Chocolate Breaks. Oh, and not to be forgotten are her enlightening vocabulary words such as TORPID–Deprived of the power of motion; dormant. As in “Kids, let’s not spend our entire summer like torpid blobs in front of the TV set.”

Deep.

But what I’ve really enjoyed are the inspirational quotes. In honor of Mother’s Day, I thought this address Barbara Bush gave at a Wellesley College commencement when she was First Lady was absolutely perfect:

“For several years, you’ve had impressed upon you the importance to your career of dedication and hard work. This is true, but as important as your obligations as a doctor, lawyer, or business leader will be, you are a human being first, and those human connections–with spouses, with children, with friends–are the most important investments you will ever make.

“At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a child, or a parent…

“One thing will never change: fathers and mothers, if you have children…they must come first.
Your success as a family…our success as a society…depends not on when happens at the White House, but on what happens inside your house.”

Along the same inspirational lines, a closing vocabulary word: CALLIPYGIAN–Having beautifully proportioned buttocks. As in “Honey, does this bathing suit make me look callipygian?”

Sure beats looking fat….

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

I’ve been MIA lately due to my glorious cough-’til-you-puke condition and finally broke down and went to the doc. Sure enough, I have bronchitis and he sent me home with some wonnnnnderful drugs that make the kids sleep through the night. Or rather, make me sleep through the night. Same result in the end.

But onto Getting Back to Nature–

Following my little episode of Parents Gone Wild, Jamie and I scaled up the crimson cliffs that cowered over our grotto and passed out on a slab of sandstone. This was one of my favorite moments on our trip: lazing around together, snuggling and intertwined, just listening to silence.

We watched the colors of the sky shift, like pigment seeping into paper. Blackish blue to midnight blue to dark blue to ebony. We talked of all things meaningful and spiritual. The setting was almost womblike in its reverence as we watched constellations and satellites magically appear.

We then went back to the tent where I puked. Over and over again.

Fortunately, I spared the innards of our habitation and left my mark just outside the door. It was a cacophony of hacking and convulsions. Between each of them, Jamie complained: “You get sick on every trip.”

Cough. Bleh.
“Costa Rica.”
Cough. Bleh.
“Canada.”
Cough. Bleh.
“Vail.”
Cough cough. Bleh.
“Our cruise.”
Bleh bleh bleh.

He really could have worked on his timing. You know, for sympathy points.

Fortunately our trip was so much more than just my violent coughing bouts. We also spent many hours slithering through Devil’s Kitchen’s countless labyrinths, hanging out in Moab for an antique car show and indulging ourselves on our final night at a gorgeous adventure lodge with a private patio that backed out to the Colorado River.

One of my favorite stops after backpacking in Canyonlands is at the Needles Outpost. This little general store has some eccentric wares, along with hilarious grey-haired proprietors who have lived at this veritable hippie mecca for ages. It’s the kind of place I would not be one bit surprised if they grew certain contraband plants out back nor if they smoked them a minimum of well, daily.

My latest experience did not disappoint. As I was paying, the woman looked down at my flip flops.

“I looooove those!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, thanks. They’re actually Crocs.”

“Reallllllly. I so hate their other shoes. They’re sooooo ugly. But those are coooooool.”

“I agree. These are really comfortable, too.”

She gazed at me in awe, zipped around the counter, bent down to analyze them and reverently queried, “Can I touch them?”

The mere scent alone would have warded most people off. But this gal looked like she hadn’t showered in a month so I brazenly said, “Sure!” and proudly displayed my repugnant feet. She ooed and awed over my footwear.

I almost asked if she wanted my autograph but stopped myself. Just in case she would have actually taken me up on it….

A closing thought for all those tree huggers out there: Nothing says “Getting Back to Nature” like this lovely eyesore. I’m glad they included the arrow. Just in case you somehow missed it, of course.

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