I just returned from two hours at the dentist. Y’see, I broke my crown a few weeks ago. The culprit? Noooo, not hard candy or anything you’d think that would make a tooth self-destruct. But rather, I was eating an omelet at Country Road Cafe. Now, this just wasn’t just any omelet, but a chicken, broccoli and tomato omelet with the most heavenly chipotle cream sauce. I’d almost say it was worth it.

In addition to my crown, I got some bad news today after the dentist reviewed the X-rays. Any guess on how many cavities I have in this big mouth of mine? Not 3, 5, but 7 FRICKIN’ cavities! How is that humanly possibly? I brush AND floss every day. It’s not like I’m Billy Bob from Arkansas who has never been in a dental office!

As I sat there examining my X-rays, I grew suspicious of my new dentist. How do I know that she’s really legit? Maybe she just got a black marker and shaded in allllll those teeth. I love when they explain everything to you like you know what the freak is going on. Even worse is I always nod like I know what the freak is going on.

Though I never even had a cavity before college, I am not a stranger to dental trauma. I still remember when I was on my mission and living in a little Swiss city, Bienne. My comp was Katie Ingersoll, probably one of the nicest and sweetest gals out there (and as one tactful elder once told us–we were polar opposites. What was he trying to say?)

Anyway, I had a tooth that was giving me major problems so we shopped around trying to find a dentist that spoke English (French and German were the city’s main languages). We found one; only problem was, his assistants didn’t speak a lick of it. The gal he assigned to me was a Pollack mercenary, whose only English words were “open” and “close.”

I showed her my bad tooth and before I knew it, she started drilling away on the wrong tooth. Did she try numbing my mouth first? Giving me painkillers? Such would not be befitting of a Pollack mercenary. I had never been in more pain in my life. Sweet Katie was crying out of sympathy through the whole ordeal. Or maybe her ears just hurt from all my screaming.
In rebellion, I finally clamped my mouth shut (yes, smart alecks out there–that is humanly possibly). Through the international language (charades), I told her she was drilling on the wrong tooth and she’d better numb my mouth or else (Canadians have a few mercenary tactics of their own).

She finally gave me some shots and started working on the correct tooth. Only problem is the shot didn’t take effect until the bus ride home. So there I sat in pain as I wondered if the Swiss have a higher pain tolerance than Canucks. I was so flaming mad that my only consolation was to think of all the mean Pollack jokes out there. Until I remembered that I, too was Polish. What a predicament. I hope none of you are ever in it.

So back to the present day. I called my beloved cavity-free husband to get some sympathy after my appointment. We calculated our dental bill out to be hundreds of dollars. I joked, “Well, Merry Christmas to me.” Problem is, he didn’t joke back when he said my present would be a nice bow for my mouth.

Merry Christmas.

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

Especially during your death-bed repentence brush en route to the dentist. The frothy toothpaste does wonders to a new wax job.

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

After surviving craft night with only a poorly-painted sculpture and a few glue-gun burns, the rest of the weekend turned out just grand.

The big news? Our volleyball team won the stake championship. I was as shocked (OK, more so) than anyone. The game wasn’t even that close but probably would have been if our three weakest players and the other team’s two star players had been there. I’ve gotta be honest–I wasn’t too disheartened when I reviewed the team roster. If it had been a full ship, the playing field would have been leveled. Not that I mind. Victory is sweeeet anyway it comes! We’re off to the regional championships in November.

I even tried to take a team picture. It took a while to get everyone rounded up and posing prettily, only to discover my camera batteries were dead. Such is my life–anticlimax is my specialty.

Jamie, Haddie and I then headed up to the hills to enjoy some fall scenery. Only the locals and I know about this gorgeous hike nestled up a verdant canyon. The views of the Front Range are some of my favorites–the charming mountain hamlet of Kittredge, swarmy golden foothills and lofty 14ers that provide the backdrop to it all. Oh, and vacant trails–a rarity in Colorado!

From there, we went to the mother lode of all breakfast places: Country Road Cafe. Seriously. If you’re ever in Colorado, you need to eat here. This place serves up the most delicious carb-loaded food I’ve ever had. One heaping serving is a day’s worth of calories. My hiking friends and I are addicted. Anytime we hike anywhere near it, we make an excuse for the detour.

Later that afternoon, we hit a doughnut-and-cider hoedown at the church. Jamie hadn’t been feeling well and it suddenly augmented around the impending threat of line-dancing lessons. Haddie and I opted to play football outside with the boys. She had a great time chasing everyone around but just couldn’t figure out why no one wanted to pass to her. Sexism starts at an early age, I told her. It’s never too early to start teaching her the harsh realities of life.

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

I owe my beloved husband an apology. Not only have I been on his case all week about losing my keys but I also dedicated an entire blog entry unto his negligence. Imagine my shock/dismay when I was fumbling around in my purse today and stumbled upon them wedged between two of Haddie’s diapers (yes, I also keep the kitchen sink in there). Though their reappearance in my purse is rather suspect since he was the last one to have them, I shall not make any accusations re: the matter (besides the aforementioned “suspect” one, of course).

I have another confession to make: I sent Girlie Jeep one step closer to the grave on Friday. Y’see, Haddie really should take the fall. She’s the one who had the poopy diaper in the store. I changed her when we got out to the car and of course, there were no garbage cans to be seen. This one was a reeker so I immediately found a carwash where I disposed of it. How was I to know that I couldn’t do a tight 180-degree turn out of there without hitting the stupid garbage can? I jumped out after if happened but saw no damage to the body and forgot about it.

It wasn’t until my loving [and forgiving?] husband was graciously waxing my Jeep on Saturday that he discovered the damage: I had smunched the running board on the driver’s side (the passenger’s side running board was previously demolished and removed after a run-in with a boulder in the backcountry). The evidence before him, I had to fess up. He gave me a look of bewilderment and disbelief that he reserves just for me and my Murphyisms. I don’t know why he always acts so shocked. He read every single Murphy-laden article I had ever written before we got married. There was FULL DISCLOSURE. At least I didn’t hit another car or a building. Oh wait. I already did that in college…

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

After 16 months of being indifferent regarding my existence, Hurricane Hadley has suddenly become obsessed with me. Overnight, she has changed from this independent spirit to a kid who can’t let me leave the room without throwing a fit. Jamie has become the devil incarnate and Grandma Johnson is, as ever, the trump card that Haddie will always love above all.

Jamie didn’t feel well so I braved church alone with her. Nursery was out of the question. Though she won’t be of “legal age” for another month, I’ve been dropping her in there periodically and she has loved it. I mean, what’s not to love: countless toys, kids, singing time, snacks…what more could a 17-month-old want?

Apparently, her mommy. And she kept asking and asking and asking. OK, more like screeching at the top of her lungs. Since she became mobile, I haven’t been able to take her into any other meetings because she likes to perform her Elmo dance at the podium (charming to the bored congregation; not so charming to the teachers.) So I sat in on nursery and marveled how, at a year old, they can’t wait to get in. At 18 months, they can’t wait to get out. Isn’t life just like that sometimes? Sadly, I have a few friends whose views on marriage are the same.

The nursery was in a bit of turmoil because the room smelled like cat urine (the big news of the day). Obviously, the hygienically-obsessed nursery leader did not want her children playing in a kitty-litter playground so we spent a good deal of time outside. Most LDS churches are, by nature, pretty generic. But this building was a former non-denominational church. The grounds are gorgeous, with a grove of trees swimming in a sea of leaves.

Like caged animals, those kids relished their newfound freedom. They ran, laughed, played, hid in the trees, and rolled in the leaves. Seeing those kids laugh and race around gave a little reminder about how the simplest things really are the most joyful.

Haddie’s definition of joy is snack time. Today, she sat in a big-girl chair and stole candy from her unsuspecting neighbor. As my little klepto sat munching away, I got a bit teary-eyed about how grown up she is becoming. Every day, I’m struck with her beauty, her innocence, her enormous capacity to learn. That’s the amazing thing about motherhood. No matter how crappy and hard some days are, the paybacks are huge and are often the simplest things in the world.

It reminds me of my 18-month mission to Switzerland. I had been out for a few months and my stellar trainer, Soeur Ripley, had been transferred. My new companion was going home in eight weeks and I was eager to show her my new “ville” (city). I took her around to all my favorite landmarks, fountains and ruins. Nothing seemed to impress her. Finally,completely blasé, she informed me she’d been in Europe for 16 months and had “seen it all.”

Her reaction wasn’t as surprising as my own. Instead of being hurt, I felt pity for her. She had completely lost touch with what it means to exist, to live. The lesson I learned made an indelible imprint on me: the day you stop recognizing and appreciating everything and everyone that surrounds you, this is the day you stop living.

Oh, and just remember…sometimes it’s as easy as stealing candy from a baby.

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

I finally figured it out. The secret that parents everywhere keep from their single friends. After having children, you never get a full night’s sleep again. First, there’s the colic. Then, they teethe. Then they become mobile and are too wound up to sleep. And then the toddler tantrums begin. The term “Terrible 2s” leads those ignorant souls (such as myself) to believe you have until age 2 before these meltdowns begin. Not so. Hurricane Hadley started them at 15 months. So consider this a warning to new parents everywhere. I guess this is what I get for giving birth to Mini-Me! Hopefully the next one will take after nice, even-tempered Jamie!

Haddie and I just returned from a walk down south with some of my Mountain Mama friends. For those who don’t know, I’ve been in a hiking group since Haddie was six weeks old. These days I’m toting around 30+ pounds with her, my pack and water…quite the workout.

But I met a new gal today who lives mere minutes away from my house. When I asked her how she found out about the group, she said she read an article in the paper last spring about it. Imagine my pleasure when I found out it was something I wrote! I guess I am used to the scathing rebukes such as those that resulted after my health club expose. For the record, I didn’t mean any harm when I wrote that the staff had “more brawn than brains” at Lifestyles 2000. Some people are too sensitive.

After Haddie’s nap, we’re heading out to “Fabulous Friday.” For those who don’t know what this is, let’s just say it’s anything but fabulous. It is a gargantuan craft night that the ladies from church put on once a year. After reviewing the tacky crafts they had on display, I opted to stick with my resolve of never going to those things. Until the homemaking leader dragged me out of class and made me sign up. So $30 later, I’m stuck going to this dumb thing to make tacky crafts that I’ll never use. Tell me just how fabulous that is?

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

My recent appointment as the volleyball coach for our church young women’s team has brought back a flood of volleyball memories. I still cringe at those excruciating volleyball camps I’d endure every summer that would render me so sore I could barely move. Then there was the time I met a guy I was sure was “The One” but dumped him on date No. 2 because he couldn’t play.

But my favorite was when I decided to stop into a bridal shop with a half hour to spare before a league volleyball game in Provo. In that small window of time, I tried on a wedding dress and bought it along with all the fixin’s (veil, shoes, tiara, etc.) The shop workers said most gals bring an entourage of people and shop for weeks. I kindly explained that I had a game to get to. They didn’t get it. They probably still don’t.

Initially when I heard the news I’d be coaching, I was excited to get back to my roots! Since moving to Colorado, I have yet to establish any volleyball-lovin’ friends besides Jamie (you didn’t think I’d marry him if he couldn’t play, did you?)

But then I saw the team, Big Red. Possibly, this was the most unathletic group of girls I’d ever seen. Practice confirmed this. I didn’t quite know how to deal with girls who were afraid of the ball. I went home dejected, ranting to Jamie how we were going to get creamed.

Then a miracle occurred. Somehow, somewhere, skilled players showed up on game day. And together with the other gals, they won. And they have kept winning. Saturday is our final game before the tournament and we are the only undefeated team in the league.

Never one to balk at a challenge, I have taken those fraidy-cat gals under my wing and host drill-sergeant practices every week. And if the ball ever drops? Push-ups for the whole team. Sure, they whine and complain, “But Amber, this is just CHURCH volleyball.” But you know what? They shut right up when they kept on winning.
And I’m sure they’re counting down the days until I coach ‘em for basketball season….

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

If asked what is your favorite day of the week, what would it be? Undoubtedly, I am one of the few who prefers Wednesdays. My reasoning? Jamie’s mom Linda relieves me of my duties and has an afternoon out with Hadley. It’s tough to say who loves these outings more…her or me. Probably her. Before I even start to leave, Haddie waves “bye bye.” Attachment disorder she does not have.

She also does something only exclusively for Linda, something I call the Grandma Run. The second she spots her, Haddie races across the room into her arms. For Jamie and me, occasionally we’ll get a smile or a brief acknowledgement of our existence.

The one time the little Boo raced to greet me after an evening out with friends, I swung open the door, only to knock my eagerly-awaiting baby back into the wall, thereby banging her head twice. Daddy got an earful that night! It reminds me of my dog Lacy from my youth. As a pup, I was her favorite. Until I smacked her right in the face with the soccer ball. Dogs (and babies) do not forget. I think Haddie still blames me for the trauma of the birth canal.

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

If there’s a chance to throw a party, I take it! Especially one that commemorates a hallowed day of the Motherland, such as Thanksgiving. This October celebration has brought some interesting and amusingly ignorant comments. From Lisa’s (Jamie’s sister) friend: “Thanksgiving in October? Wow. Do they even celebrate Christmas up there?” From my next-door neighbor “I didn’t know Mormons had their own Thanksgiving.” (Somehow, she mixed up Canadian with Mormon.) I jokingly retorted, “Yeah, and we invite the pioneers to come sit at the table and eat turkey.”

This Thanksgiving was to be a grand occasion. Not only was I going to enlighten Jamie’s family on our traditions but I was also going to watch my Calgary Flames slaughter the Colorado Avalanche, all the while expounding upon the true doctrine of this Canadian sport. What could be better?

I slaved for two days over the menu. Sunday was dedicated to making pumpkin pie and the award-winning Oats and Honey Granola pie featured on Oprah. Five hours into the process, I was reminded (as I am every time) that I hate making pie. Somehow, a year in between pie-making sessions always distills my memory.

Monday was dedicated to the turkey and fixins’. My little half-breed didn’t understand the importance of this day and was whiney and needy during the preparations. Then the family arrived. Devoured. And raved. But how soon their gratitude was forgotten when they turned on the tele.

Gone was the respect. Gone was the love. What remained was a bloodbath of cruel Canuck-bashing remarks. On our hallowed day, even. First, it was 1-0, then 2-0, 3-0. I stopped watching after five goals. At that point, I announced the party was over and they’d better depart before I chucked pumpkin pie after them; the granola pie was too good to waste.

The final score: 7-3. The final score chez Johnson’s: Jamie 0, Amber 1. Sure, I lost my brazen bet and owe Jamie a backrub. But he and the clan will be in the doghouse until the next Thanksgiving comes along and I make another attempt to indoctrinate them all.

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

As I sit here tonight pondering the great profundities of marriage, I marvel at Jamie’s sordid relationship with keys. If he’s not ruining them in the wash (long story over that one), he’s borrowing mine and losing them (a recent development). I have been reduced to using my spare key. No cool key ring. No collection of umpteen keys for which I no longer know their use. I feel lost without all of them. What if I finally figured out what half those keys are for?

I should have seen the early signs. It began on our honeymoon in Costa Rica. We were staying at Tabacon, a gorgeous area with active volcanoes. We stayed in a charming hamlet with our own private patio and yard where we could watch the volcano erupt. That first night, I was experiencing eruptions of a different sort–the kind that Montezuma’s revenge brings. The perfect addition to any honeymoon.

Jamie was on the back porch when I dragged my sorry body from the bed to join this once-in-a-lifetime view. The air outside was dripping with humidity while the air conditioning inside was cranked to icebox temperatures. For this reason, I closed the door behind me. We enjoyed the view for a few minutes until I decided I’d had enough. I went to let myself in…and realized the door had automatically locked behind me.

Because I was sick and in my PJs, my gallant new husband volunteered to crawl over the bushes, traverse the sharp volcanic rock pathway in bare feet and get a spare key from the lobby. His journey took him more than a half hour. When he finally made it back, I heard him run the keycard and walk through the door. He then proceeded to put the keycard down on the television, walk over to the deck, and ask what he missed, just as he closed the door behind him. From there, everything was in slow motion as I leapt for the door, with a resounding “Don’t shut the doooooor” and then “SLAM!”

We sat there, shocked. Then laughter erupted louder than the volcano. Jamie waited for a while before making his journey back again. The guy at the front desk gave him a strange look but said nothing.

The beginning of the end?…

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