And so it Begins: The Great Pumpkin 2009

You may think because I have not talked about pumpkins for a few weeks that pumpkin season is over. Au contraire, my friends. My husband received permission from our neighbor to grow The Great Pumpkin on the field behind our house. Now he is obsessed with building up the soil (one of the most important factors of growing a giant pumpkin). He has created such concoctions as mycorrhizal fungi, Neptune’s Fish & Seaweed, compost tea, molasses and fat-free milk.

Try having that in your refrigerator.

The other day, he announced he was going to run to the bank. A few minutes later, the kids and I decided to play in the backyard. As we walked out on the deck, Bode squealed, “Daddy, dere’s Daddy!”

I was about to explain to him that Daddy had gone to the bank when I looked over the fence to where he was pointing and there was my beloved husband obsessing over the soil.

“Bank, eh?” I queried.
“Well, after this one little detour,” he sheepishly confessed.

Like a moth to the flame, my friends.

Oh, and if you think your obsessions will not rub off on your children?

Think again.

YOUR VOTE NEEDED TO STOP THE INSANITY!!

I have been sick all week but a recent development may have augmented my weakened condition.

I could handle the non-stop talk about pumpkins.

I survived all the summer evenings that Jamie spent at his parent’s house nurturing his orange monstrosity.

I proudly displayed the many newspaper clippings of him and The Great Pumpkin (he was featured six weeks in a row).

I even accepted the concoction of bat guano he had gurgling on our front porch all summer.

But this, THIS my friends has sent me over the edge. It is an email I discovered him typing the other day. And at this, I am putting my foot WAAAAAAAY down.

Carol,

I’ve never raised worms before but have read more than one study on the
value of worm castings to many plants. I grow giant pumpkins (the 1,000
pound variety) and have given my planting beds a healthy portion or worm
castings in the past but have recently learned that almost all store bought
worm castings are sterilized (which defeats at least 50% of the purpose of
the castings).

My questions for you is how often and how much would I need to feed the
worms? How often and how much water would I give them? How much space is required? Come spring time I would love 50 lbs of worm castings to mix into the soil. What would I need to do to do this? And lastly, my plan would be to keep them in a storage room that is typically around 65 degrees. Would I need to be concerned about any smells and what types of foods would you give them to keep the smell down?

Jamie

Jamie says I am overreacting. How would YOU react to having your basement converted into a worm garden?????!!

How a lemon car can teach you that your marital relations need some spice

We bought a new car last week.

Before you send your congratulations, know that this was like those “Oops!” pregnancies and our purchase was unplanned. I am not quite sure how it happened; I wasn’t even ovulating at the time.

From the moment of conception purchase a few years ago, we have had problems with my husband Jamie’s Jetta. But the past month has been a non-stop stream of breakdowns. The car, not me. Mostly.

We had planned to trade it in next year but we were stressed about all the nickles, dimes and dollars we were pouring into its repairs. The worst part of all is the mechanic could not ascertain the problem.

And so we had a tough decision: sustenance for the children or a new car.

Please send food.

I have never made a huge decision so quickly. Well, with the exception of buying the first wedding dress I tried on and oh, can you please throw in that cute veil ASAP because I am late for my volleyball game? Or the fact that I was married within six months of meeting Jamie.

He gives me a hard time about the deluge of children’s items that flood my SUV but nothing could have prepared me for what we discovered when we cleaned out his car.

One could expect some fast-food wrappers.

Several discarded Google maps.

Or maybe a rotting food item…or twelve.

But what Jamie unearthed in the catacombs of his trunk rocked me to my core: an illustrated book entitled The Joy of Sensual Massage.

After drowning in a stupor of silence, I finally sputtered,

“Who gave you this this this this this PORNOGRAPHY?”

“You did. When we got married.”


Sordid Secrets and the Husbands Who Keep Them

My husband Jamie has been sneaking around lately. I figured his covert actions were regarding the gargantuan Mother’s Day surprise party he was likely throwing me.

It didn’t happen.

Or the second honeymoon he was planning.

We already took one.

So when I spotted him slip into the den and close the door, I knew he was up to no good. I waited a few minutes until I heard him tapping away on the computer’s keyboard. And then I went in for the kill.

And nothing could have prepared me for what I found. It was not a lurid chat room, nor was it nekkid women but it was pumpkin porn.

Yes, my friends. My beloved, pumpkin-obsessed husband has started a blog about growing pumpkins. This is not just any blog but a secret pumpkin blog.

“This is why you’ve been sneaking around? You have a pumpkin blog?”
“Errr…yes.”
“Just when were you planning to tell me about this?”
“Errr…never?”

Thus solidifies just how deep his obsession runs. For those not in the know, it started out innocently last spring when he planted the first pumpkin seed. Over the summer, he and our daughter Hadley religiously watered and watched it grow from a molehill to a mountain.

Unfortunately, so did his competitive drive.

Jamie decided to enter it into our local harvest festival and I, good wife that I am, humored him. Until the flood came. It started with his barrage of pumpkin-related emails and then it totally engulfed our dinner conversations.

“I read online that I need to cut the stem right before the competition.”

Grunt.

“It then says I should put the stem into a gallon of water.”

Groan.

“Did you know a pumpkin can lose up to five pounds within the few hours of being cut?”

You get the point.

I was just ready for it to be over. For this to be a chapter carefully folded away into the Johnson Family History of Dysfunction, never to be spoken of again.

Until his 141.5-pound pumpkin won.

Pre-marital move

I hate moving.

It is easily one of The Top Three Things I Hate Doing in this world. Jamie helped his brother move to Utah last weekend while I played single parent at home.

Speaking of which, single parenting is in my Top Three Things I Hate Doing list as well.

Though I somehow lived through it, I almost didn’t survive when I moved to Denver from Salt Lake City five years ago.

So, what do hernias, abstinence and guardian angels have in common? Come find out at Mile High Mamas and share your moving stories. Mine wasn’t pretty.

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Last weekend, my husband Jamie helped his brother move to Utah. It allegedly went smoothly. Well, if you can count the U-haul’s brakes catching on fire going smoothly. Jamie called it a minor inconvenience.

It is a drive we did many times while we were dating. I lived in Salt Lake City while he called Denver home. Prior to our wedding, the plan was for him to fly to Utah and help me move to Colorado.

Until he got a hernia.

He had the choice to have the surgery before or after our wedding. We were holding out for Operation Consummation on our wedding night and call me crazy but a hernia just did not seem like a viable part of the process. “OF COURSE YOU WILL HAVE THE SURGERY BEFORE!” I yelped.

I think I even used all-caps.

And for all those naysayers who do not believe abstinence is feasible in today’s society, throw in a hernia. Trust me, it works.

This left me to execute the move by myself. I threw the biggest, baddest going-away party around – one with loads of food…and boxes (hence the badness).

I was feeling like an empowered woman of the 2002s as I set out on the highway with my Grand Cherokee towing all my treasures. My trip was going well until the weight of the load blew out my tire in the middle of nowhere.

So, there I was stranded somewhere between Green River and Grand Junction when my guardian angel pulled up beside me. Actually, he appeared in the form of a financial analyst who was going through a painful divorce and was returning from a trip to Las Vegas.

He not only helped fix my tire, but followed me to the nearest gas station where we parted ways. A few miles down the road, he flagged me over, concerned about the different levels of air in my tires. He then slowly tailed me all the way to Grand Junction until I was safely in the care of a tire center. Evidently they breed guardian angels in that town.

Too bad he didn’t stick with me the rest of my drive. There was the blizzard atop Vail Pass that delayed me for two hours. Then when I was about two miles from Jamie’s condo, I looked out my window to see something that looked suspiciously like the bar-end on my bike. Turns out the storm had massacred my bike rack and I drove about 10 mph the remainder of the drive as my bike flopped like a dead fish off the side of my Jeep.

When I finally arrived at the condo, I collapsed into Jamie’s arms, blubbering about my ordeal and cursing his hernia.

I later got my revenge: I was exempt from moving and painting our new house because I was eight months pregnant.

Though I don’t know if I can call a weak bladder, killer heartburn and a 40-pound weight gain retribution….

And I’m not just talking about the hernia….

Happy Anniversary to Me..err….Us!

Thanks for all your words of encouragement! Emotions have settled and Jamie has received a lot of support from his former co-workers about how he was treated as a scapegoat. One of the main bigwigs has become a great ally and even had someone draft up a one-sheet detailing the ramifications Jamie’s dismissal has on the company. It doesn’t change anything but does make us feel somewhat better.
Today is our anniversary. To celebrate, we are going to the Denver temple tonight – where we tied the knot five years ago. Back when I still had sleep, a waist and my sanity. My, what a difference five years makes.

Next week, we are flying out to Carmel to celebrate. When the layoff came, I was disconcerted about the timing but I think a little getaway is exactly what we need! And did I mention Grandma is coming to stay with the kids? It will be just like old times. Well, with the exception of my absentee waist.

I hope you had a swell Valentine’s Day! More details to come about ours but today on Mile High Mamas, I revealed what a romantic I truly am. Or am not….

P.S. Thanks again for your prayers and support!!!

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

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Our Memorable Valentine’s Day Cards

His:

To my wife, my true love.

I know a place
where wishes come true
and day-to-day worries
seem insignificant,
and where the pressures
of time and schedules
seem a million miles away….

[Insert]

I know a place
that’s safe and warm,
and whenever I’m with you….
I am there.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Hers:

Honey,

I love you for your brains,
but come to think of it….

[Insert]

Nice butt, too.

Marriage’s Great Deceptions

On behalf of Mile High Mamas, welcome back!

After a wonderful, relaxing Christmas “it” occurred on December 26th – the day I confirmed that maybe I am not losing my mind. And for anyone who has ever been there, lost that, you know exactly what I mean.

Case #1:

My favorite cookie sheet has been missing for months. A sturdy, heavy-duty hunk of metal that has been the conduit through which I have brought many calorie-filled wonders into being. And into my being.

I have greatly mourned its loss. My husband Jamie has known about my devastation. I even debated buying a new cookie sheet whilst in the throes of all my holiday baking but held off because I just couldn’t bear the thought of replacing it.

Case #2:

In the past, a favorite practice of mine was dumping a gallon of drinking water on my lap whilst driving. Until Jamie bought me a glorious CamelBak water bottle, which, in my many years of water-bottle dumpage, is the only one that has never leaked.

Our affair was glorious. Each morning as I drove the kids around town, I lovingly sucked my malleable mouthpiece and never once did even a drop of water escape.

Until I lost the straw.

For those unfamiliar with the CamelBak waterbottle, the straw is to the bottle as the husband is to deception.

Confused? Keep reading.

Revelation#1:

Fast forward to December 26th. Our Christmas tree had been dead for weeks and I could not bear to look at it for another moment. Despite the fact that I had a killer sinus infection and a house littered with new toys, THE TREE HAD TO COME DOWN (you know what I mean if you’ve ever had those moments).

After the last light strand was unstrung and the last ornament unceremoniously dumped in a bag with the promise of future organization, Jamie removed the tree. He went to dump the water out of the tree stand when he stopped. And he called out:

“Hey, Amber. Remember that straw you’ve been missing?”
“Yes.”
“It would seem that maybe I might have kind of well, you know possibly used your CamelBak to water the tree and maybe just possibly your straw might have fallen into the tree stand.”

My beloved straw. Drowning in tree sap all these weeks. No wonder there was a death. (Of the tree that is; Jamie’s future is yet to be determined.)

Revelation #2:

Remember the sinus infection? Later that day, I was down in The Dungeon of Despair attempting to locate the lifetime supply of tissue boxes I recently purchased from Costco. I didn’t find the tissues but when I gazed up, up, up to the top of our storage shelves, I caught a glimpse of a glimmering beacon. A beacon that distinctly resembled my beloved hunk of metal.

I joyfully reached up, only to discover displaced pumpkin seeds reposing on my cookie sheet. Or rather, intentionally placed pumpkin seeds BY MY AWARD-WINNING, PUMPKIN-OBSESSED HUSBAND WHO KNOWS I HAVE BEEN PULLING MY HAIR OUT FOR MONTHS ABOUT THIS DISAPPEARANCE.

And yes, there just may have been the first reported case of Abuse By Pumpkin Seeds had he not promptly (and wisely) removed them.

The only good thing that came out of my findings of December 26th is that I assuredly, certifiably am not losing my mind.

P.S. Now, if I could just find Jamie’s lost Christmas present….

Love and Marriage

I recently learned my good friend Steph is moving to Denver with her family. She has been living abroad–Malaysia and Romania–with her diplomat husband and three children. This absence made her bereft of The Event of the Century: my courtship with Jamie.

They are currently house hunting and so we had them over for a Labor Day BBQ. Before long, the sordid details surfaced. They listened in bewilderment as we recounted our tale, an account that few people know to its fullest extent. It reminded me how far we’ve come and those things that make our marriage work.

Marriage Tip #1: Honesty

Some of our good friends have six kids who are all well-behaved, always on time and downright pleasant. I recently marveled at them.

“…I mean, they’re just amazing. Can you imagine me with six kids?

“Sure I can!”

“Yeah, right. I’m barely surviving with two. I would be a basketcase!”

“Don’t worry, Amber. You were a basketcase long before you ever had kids.”

******************

Marriage Tip #2: Empathy by walking a mile in your husband’s shoes.

The Denver Post recently threatened informed me of a pending soft launch of Mile High Mamas. I was far from ready so spent last week stressing, working and stressing some more. It has been a long time since I have worked under such stringent deadlines and by the end of the week, I was spent.

“Jamie, I don’t know how you constantly work under such intense conditions. The stress just about killed me.”

“Do you see why I need time to unwind when I get home?”

“I sure do. I’ll tell you what: before walking in the door, why don’t you do an extra loop around the block?”

Hunky Hubbyisms Edition No. 243

Jamie: On Proving that Women Aren’t the Only Ones Who Are Experts at Inducing Spousal Guilt

After day two of hauling Bode around in the water in Mexico, I finally sprung and bought a dolphin watertoy for $20, about double the price if we had bought it at home. Bode loved it and Hadley enjoyed pulling him around the pool.

“Jamie, I’d have to say this is the best $20 I’ve ever spent!”

He looked at me, feigning insult.

“Oh really? Mine was our wedding license.”

Jamie: On Building Our Children’s Self Esteem

Our hotel in Mexico had a kid’s club but unfortunately, Haddie was just shy of eligibility.

“Blast! Jamie, it says the minimum age for participation is 4 years old.”

“We’ll just tell them Hadley is a ‘dumb 4.’”

Jamie: On Being a Rock Star

I am not a fan of casseroles. I am even less a fan of our squash garden that multiplies like rabbits. However, after our 50 gazillioneth squash dish, I figured I needed to try something new and stumbled upon a squash casserole recipe.The ingredients were pretty bland with such things as sour cream and cream of chicken soup. It also called for garlic so I overcompensated by laying it on. Thick.

I was instantly remorseful and forewarned Jamie at the dinner table.

“Amber, don’t worry. It doesn’t need to be a rock concert in your mouth every time.”

He took a bite and paused for reflection before commenting: “And this…is acid rock.”