A recent wave of snow came as an answer to my overheated prayers but also left me scrambling with an activity to keep Hadley busy at the beginning of the week. My resolution was not a favorable one: to hit the mall and shop for maternity clothes. I’ve already expressed my disdain for everything that is not Super Target so imagine the angst an entire building full of shops must give me.

Coincidentally, my mall de choix had a Super Target. I realized what an addict I truly am when I pulled into this unfamiliar parking lot and immediately my 1-year-old Haddie squealed “Target!!!!” (which also translates into “FREE COOOOOOOKIE!!!”)

We hit the cookie counter and merry-go-round before I mustered up the nerve to enter Motherhood Maternity. I grabbed about five pairs of pants and shorts and crammed into the dressing room with Hadley. Now, I thought children were supposed to be innocent and non-judgmental. Not The Hurricane. When I grabbed an item, she’d scrutinize it, scrunch her nose at me and pronounce:

“Nooooo, BIG!”

This happened not once but every blasted time. Like I needed to be reminded. I was tempted to ask my little fashion consultant what was too big: was it the size of clothing that could drape a tent or my gargantuan stomach that spilled out over the waistline? But instead I patted her on the head and told her to enjoy this time now while her chubs and dimples were still cute; she’ll know the harsh realities soon enough.

WAIT. SCRATCH THAT LAST SENTENCE. THIS JUST IN FROM ABC NEWS: Controversial new testing to begin measuring the Body Mass Index (BMI) to determine if kids under 2 are obese? How do you like them apples?

Somehow, I think Jabba (as she was known in her younger years) would’ve been the poster child for it. Kinda takes the fun out of alllll those free cookies…..

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

I fully acknowledge the wonders of nursing. Those darn lactoferrins and lipases in “Mama’s Manna” far outweigh anything those manufactured formulas can offer.

But guess what? I hated nursing. Maybe if I had a baby who actually latched on and didn’t constantly leave my mammaries ready to explode like a ticking time bomb because she just didn’t like ‘em. Or if I didn’t spend the first months of Hadley’s life hooked up to torturous devices that are intended to pump out every ounce of milk [and dignity] you have left. This, after spending hours in excruciating pain with your legs in stirrups with Your World on display as complete strangers shout “PUSH!” Yes, welcome to the Joys of Motherhood.

It’s not that I didn’t try to nurse for four of the longest months of my life before Hadley went on her booby strike forever. I met with numerous “lactation specialists” during that time and Haddie’s stubbornness far outweighed their expertise. Lactation specialists. I didn’t even know such a job existed. I think Jamie is ticked he didn’t know there was an occupation that specialized in mammaries otherwise he never would have pursued a career in the unfulfilling Internet.

Despite all the hardships I endured as a hormonal milker, I shall once again attempt to nurse Junior because of the overwhelming health benefits. And because there’s no way I can reclaim my “Mother of the Year” award if I don’t. I’d be willing to bet if you read the bios of past winners, they boast such statistics as “Breastfed Junior until his 4th birthday and he has never been sick a day in his life from all the antibodies received.”

Jamie has consoled me that “his boy” won’t give me any problems with nursing. “He’s a BOOB MAN, I’m SURE of it!” he has proudly proclaimed. That is, until the other day. Until he watched a rather enlightening program on the Discovery Health Channel.

J: “Yeah, they had a special on last night that focused on babies.”
A: “Cool! What did they say?”
J: “That studies show nursing actually reduces your libido.”
A: “Hmmm…interesting.”
J: [Jokingly] “Yes, and this is why I have decided I am now completely against it.”
A: “Oh, really?”
J: “I’m just looking out for your self-interest, Honey.”

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

One of my favorite foods in the world is seasonal fresh fruit salads. On a recent trip to Costco whereupon I stuffed our entire cart with a year-supply of fruit that would, in actuality, only last me a week, I turned to Hunky Hubby.

“Hey, Jamie. Would you eat this if I bought it? Do you like honeydew?”
“So long as it doesn’t have anything to do with a list.”

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

OK. So I was a bit out of the bloggin’ loop last week. Call it my pregnancy’s “nesting instinct” but my jaunt to Super Target started me on a shopping spree in hopes of getting the house ready for Baby. Jamie says “WHATEVER.” And that women don’t “nest” until mere days before their due date; months prior does NOT count.

Regardless, during my $120 static guard shopping spree, I picked up some cute plastic pastel plates that were on Easter clearance. In my mind, I knew Jamie would fuss because we’re in the midst of landscaping our backyard and don’t even have a real patio upon which to use them. But I call it women’s premonition for what happened next (or just her desire to acquire really cute dishes). I mean, I could be like my mother and have a dish set for every occasion with four working china cabinets throughout the house. She made the avowal that she would not buy another set of dishes again. Unless they’re really cute, that is. Atta girl.

But back to my inspirational purchase. The next day at a garage sale in an upscale neighborhood, I found the perfect little patio set to go with my plates (kinda like purchasing the perfect belt and then buying an entire outfit to match). I called Hunky Hubby and suspiciously, coyly started our conversation:

“Hi Handsome, have I told you how much I LOOOOOOVE you today?”
“What is it? What have you done? What do you want to buy? How much is this going to cost me?”

He knows me so well. Somehow, I convinced him we could not live without it. I even talked the woman down to $40, a steal for a wrought-iron set.

My mother-in-law was with me during the purchase and fell in love with a designer oriental end table but reluctantly opted not to buy it because of the price. That night in bed, I devised a plan to go back and surprise her with it for Mother’s Day. Saturday morning, I loaded The Hurricane up and headed over. Now, in my long life of gift-giving expertise, here are a few tips to pulling off the ultimate surprise.

1) Make sure you do not pull up behind the surprisee at the site of purchase.
Yep, imagine my dismay when we pulled in and Haddie started squealing, “Grandma, Grandma!” Sure enough, she had arrived at the exact same moment.

2) Look coy, like you have no idea what they’re doing.
“Oh HI, Linda! Why are you here?”

3) Finally, do not let them know your master plan and jump in before they do.
I failed miserably on this one. Linda’s way too quick and by the time I unbuckled the Hurricane, tempered the tempest and made my way over there, the item was bought. And not by me. SUCH timing.

And this, my friends, is how NOT to surprise your mother-in-law on Mother’s Day. Oh well. At least I have super cute dishes and a new patio set. And to appease my husband, I hereby vow to not buy anything else to match. Unless it’s really cute, that is….

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

Don’t go into shock but I waxed domestic today. Well, kind of. Our kitchen chairs have been in dire need of a makeover so my gracious mother-in-law offered to “help” (which, in Amber-domestic-speak means “do”). She even dragged me into a fabric store last week and I didn’t kick and scream even once. Progress, my friends.

Really, the part that sucked the most was ripping out all the staples. Then, as soon as Linda reached for the staple gun to apply our new fabric, Hadley started freaking out. She’s not scared of too many things but that blessed little girl wailed every time the gun resounded. Linda suggested I remove her from the situation and go buy some Scotch Guard while she finished up the job. I eagerly agreed but not before I slipped Haddie $5 for her timely performance.

We then condescended to The Land of Temptation. Y’see, the Devil planted himself three blocks away from my house by way of a brand spankin’ new Super Target. I do not consider myself a shopper but it is physically impossible for me to enter that store without buying the place out. I’m still trying to figure out how to explain to Jamie that the can of Scotch Guard cost me $120.

One purchase I made is something I have been dreading. Something that no swollen pregnant lady should ever have to make: a house-sized tent. I think some people call them maternity bathing suits. I, of course, have no intention of being seen in public in this so-called tent but that did not lesson the painful experience. I don’t care who you are and if you have one of those disgustingly compact little bumps on your tummy while the rest of you remains skinny. The fact remains that NO PREGNANT WOMAN should ever wear a two-piece.

I opted for a simple black suit that only immediate family will ever witness in our backyard. Y’see, our recent 70-degree “heatwave” sent me straight to the store yesterday to buy a blow-up swimming pool wherein I can sit my bloated pregnant butt and wait out the summer. Hadley took one look at the busty, svelte model on the packaging and delightfully announced “Mommy!”

SOLD!

And I then slipped her another $5. At this rate, the kid will be a millionaire by her 3rd birthday.

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

People think I am exaggerating over my aversion to heat. Well, I’m not. My body has some serious objections to it and it commonly breaks into a heat rash at the first hint of summer. Factor in my pregnancy and my swollen body is like an inferno.

After a 75-degree day recently, I lamented to Jamie how swollen my feet were.

“Honeeeeeeeeeey, look at my poor feet. They look like hobbit’s feet.” Sniff. Sniff.
“No, don’t be silly!”
“Jamie, be honest.”
“OK, they look more like troll’s feet.”

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

Easter morning dawned bright and beautiful so we went for a walk to a nearby pond to feed the ducks. Upon our return, we were discussing Haddie’s and my Easter dresses for church. Jamie, not wanting to feel left out from the conversation announced his choice of outfit.

J: I think I’ll wear my nice brown suit.
A: Great idea! [in actuality thinking that's the only one he ever wears]

Then, trying to make him feel good, I started grasping at straws to make his choice of outfit fit into the Easter spirit. Oh, and also because he refuses to be caught dead wearing pastels.

A: Well, you know Jesus’ hair was brown. And and and the Easter Bunny is brown, too!
J: The Easter Bunny is white, Amber.
A: [With light bulb switching on] GASP! You’re right! We have a Caucasian Easter Bunny. That is sooo prejudice. Do you think they have brown Easter Bunnies in, say, Africa?

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

There are very few topics that are off-limits at our house since we had Hadley. One of her favorite subjects is the potty. Or more specifically, everyone else’s bathroom habits.

H: “Grandma–poopy?”
Me: “Yes, Hadley.”
H: “Uncle Chris–poopy?”
Me: “Yes, Hadley.” And I then explain how they go in the big-boy and big-girl potty.

She is particularly fascinated by Jamie’s bathroom habits, primarily because he doesn’t allow her in the bathroom while he does his business; he says he doesn’t want to “confuse her.” Personally, I don’t think it’s fair that I am expected to share audience with her while he is able to blissfully lock himself up and pee in peace. There is something very unsettling about having a toddler observe and imitate your every move during your most ….errr..vulnerable moments.

On a related subject (and believe me, this does relate), one of my favorite stories in scripture is when Jesus lovingly washed the feet of his apostles during The Last Supper. This passage has so resonated with me over the years that when I did a study abroad in Jerusalem and spotted a beautiful olive-wood carving of this scene, I promptly bought it. I keep this little statue in our den and have treasured it over the years.

Recently, Hadley and I were playing in the den when she looked up the carving and delightfully exclaimed, “Jesus!” I was pleasantly surprised she recognized him from the rendering because I have never before pointed it out to her. Just as I was about ready to expound upon the doctrines of the passage befitting to a 2-year-old, Haddie said it all:

“Jesus–POOPING!”

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to view that statue in the same light again.

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

With the advent of a potentially colicky and sleepless baby (he will, after all, be derived from my gene pool), I have a new project: searching for a preschool for Hadley. Since she’ll only be 2 in the fall, I cringe at the thought of a full-time daycare program. What I am instead seeking out is a little school where I can drop her off for a couple of hours each week so I can have some alone-time with the baby and Haddie can have some much-beloved social interaction. In theory, it will be so Junior and I can hit the trails with my hiking club but in reality, we’ll probably spend many of those mornings sleeping. Sweet, sweet, sleep.

You’d think finding such a preschool would not be a difficult task but it is. Most preschools don’t even take younger kids. For those who do, they require either three days a week or full-time enrollment, neither of which are a desirable option to me.

My neighbor recommended a school to check out so Haddie and I did a tour last week. We both fell in love. The moment we entered the classroom, she delved right into their activity without a second thought (shyness is obviously not one of her attributes. Again, my gene pool). The staff was perfect, the location perfect and it would only be for two hours a week. Did I say it was perfect?
I was about ready to sign away on the dotted line until the end of the tour when we passed The Mom’s Room.

Nice Tour Lady: “And this is where the moms meet while their kids are in class.”
Me: “Where the moms meet? What do you mean?”
Nice Tour Lady: “All parents of the 2-year-olds are required to stay on-site during class.”
Me: [hedging] Why is that?
Nice Tour Lady: The district requires it of all public preschool programs.
Me: Oh. [Quickly envisioning my break from the Hurricane slowly slipping through my fingertips].
Nice Tour Lady: Is that a problem?
Me: Errr…no. [What I was on the verge of saying: I'D HAVE TO BE CRAZY TO SIGN WITH YOU. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED PLACE WHERE WEARY PARENTS CAN JUST DUMP THEIR KIDS OFF?]

Call it the pregnancy hormones? I expect to receive my Parent of the Year nomination any day now.

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

I always thought we had the best babysitter in the world (Grandma) until last week. While Grandma still ranks up there (in a large part because she’s free. Oh, and because Hadley worships the ground she walks on) Grandma now has some serious competition.

Enter: Alexis, the daughter of our lovable Type A neighbor. Alexis is so eager to join the babysitting ranks that she spends her free time googling “babysitting” and planning activities and handouts for the kids. Fer heaven’s sakes, she handed me a babysitting business card. What 12 year old has a business card? When Haddie returned home with her last week, she also gave us a typed piece of paper with the following information on it:

What Did I do Today?
When Alexis was babysitting me we had lots of fun! Tonight we:

Made butterfly puppets
Played with the kitty
Made and played with play dough
Watched TV
Danced to fun Veggie Tales music
Played with stuffed animal bunnies
Played Ring Around the Rosie
Played with Marshall

It almost brings me back to my good ol’ over-achieving days as a babysitter. If I had indeed done up a spreadsheet of our nightly activities, they would have read as follows:

Pretended to play with kids while watching Miami Vice
Put kids to bed as soon as humanly possible to free up the rest of the night
Raided kitchen cupboards for food
Talk to friends on the phone
Fell asleep on the couch. With the lights on, of course, so as to look alert and attentive when the parents finally walked through the door.

Can anyone else relate out there?….

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