To my dearest, beloved children,

You know how much Mommy loves you. After all, you hear me remind myself of that over and over again during those rough times. And you know I have been sick the past few days. So sick that if I was a dog, they would have shot me to put me out of my misery. That Old Yeller didn’t know how good he had it.

Hadley–I know you’re two but this does not mean you are allowed to have an opinion on things and throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. This includes if I am sitting in a position that offends you. Or when you hide your Croc, the only existing shoe that fits since you mysteriously grew two sizes in a month. The good news is your Croc is stashed somewhere in the house. Unfortunately, that is also the bad news.

Oh, and throwing your full-length princess mirror down the stairs is not a way to handle your angst towards the world. Unless, of course, you’re having a bad hair day, which you were not. I should know. I have to hogtie you down every morning in an attempt to do your hair.

Bode–I had such hope for you. I still do. Overall, you’re a sweet little guy and your smile lights up the room. I am admittedly a bit nervous over the sheer delight and cooing you only do when I change your diaper and you’re able to show your wares to the world. Maybe it’s a guy thing.

And I fully acknowledge how wonderful it is that you’re sleeping a five-hour block from 10 p.m.-3 a.m. Your sister didn’t do that until just last week. Oh wait. She’s been waking up all night long lately. But Bode, I really wish you’d go back down at 3 a.m. We don’t need two Hurricanes in the family. Forget love; All We Need is Sleep in this family.

No, children. Don’t worry about me. I am not having a nervous breakdown. Yet. Though if I did, would I get at least a few days of solace at the mental hospital?

XOXO

Mommy Dearest

P.S. Is there a reason that was a horror flick?
P.P.S. Hunky Hubby’s blog today confirms it all….

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

Hurricane Hadley has an abundance of toys, most of which have been given to her or I have bought at garage sales. This abundance (or over-abundance as Hunky Hubby likes to call it) has inspired him to issue a decree that I am no longer allowed to buy her any toys. For the most part, I have abided by this. Well, except for the little golf clubs I recently bought. Oh yeah, and the Play-doh. The kid needed Play-doh, y’know.

Anyway, we were over at his parent’s place for dinner and I asked his mom, Linda, if she was still going to garage sales these days.

Linda: Not so much lately. Why, do you need anything?

Me: Well, Hadley needs some little figurines for her doll house.

Hunky Hubby interjects: NO! NO! NO! Amber, how many times do I need to tell you not to buy Hadley any more toys?

Me: I couldn’t agree with you more. And that’s why I asked your mom to do it for me.

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

So, I survived The Big Breakfast. Barely. Between blowing out the circuits umpteen times and cooking 400 sausages, I didn’t have a spare moment to take a picture of those tasty crockpot eggs. Yum. Rumor has it they were a hit. Of course, my only sources were the two ladies who insisted upon bringing them.

I invited my in-laws over for the breakfast to eat and help with the kids. Yeah, right. Those poor folks got roped into sausage duty and didn’t see beyond the kitchen; I sure know how to show them a good time! Kinda like when I moved from Salt Lake City to Colorado and threw myself the biggest and baddest “Going-Away Party” around. Oh, and maybe just maybe there were a few boxes that needed to be taken out to the U-Haul that was parked outside of my house. Beats me how it got there.

In other news, I had my six-week postpartum checkup today. Jamie, like most new fathers, has been counting down the days until this appointment. The blessed day when his best friend (my OB) tells him that after weeks of banishment from anything the child came out of or eats from, He Is In. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s ready.

Evidence #1
I was schooling Hadley on the alphabet the other day when we came to the letter “O.”

“Open starts with the letter ‘O.’ Jamie, can you think of another word that starts with the letter ‘O?’”

“Orgasm,” he replied. Because every two year old needs to have that in her vocabulary. I can’t wait for her to bring that one up around his parents.

Evidence #2
When doing aerobics the other day, I had my hand over my chest to prevent from bouncing all around and complained to Jamie that I needed a good sports bra. He quietly observed me in action before boldly proclaiming, “Let my people go.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Moses had in mind.

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

The egg: “Nature’s Miracle Food” as the recent ad campaign touts. Whatever. More like “My Nightmare Food.” Now, don’t get me wrong. Even though I’m not a huge fan of them, I don’t secretly plot the demise of eggs in my spare time. I just never realized how controversial they are.

Let me explain. Everyone at church has some sort of “calling,” whether it be teaching Sunday School, working with the youth, children, etc. My calling is “Party Princess Extraordinaire.” OK, maybe that’s not exactly my real title but it definitely sounds better than “Ward Activities Chairperson.” Essentially, I’m in charge of throwing parties. Big ones for the entire congregation.

You would think this is right up my alley because as a publicist, I made a career out of it for years. I relished in the stresses of managing huge city-wide celebrations and handled any glitches like a pro. Because, after all, Murphy’s Law is also My Law.

That said, why the CRAP can I not manage an 80-year-old woman and an equally difficult woman who push me around? Y’see, I’m planning a Labor Day breakfast at church, complete with pancakes, sausage, fruit and juice. My budget is limited so I had to resort to sign-ups. My committee is unfortunately even more limited.

And so I’ve planned and implemented it all on my own and presented it to Said Committee.

“I don’t hear eggs on that menu,” complained Said 80-Year-Old Woman. “We have to have eggs.”

“No can do,” I said. “We can’t cook in the church because of food violations and they would be a logistical nightmare on a griddle outside. We’re not doing eggs.”

Welp, word gets around. Because a free breakfast without eggs would be equal unto The Unpardonable Sin, I guess. I was confronted at church an hour later by another woman.

“I hear you’re not having eggs at the breakfast.”
“You heard correctly.”
“You have to have eggs.”
“No, I don’t and no, I won’t.”
“Well, I’ll just have to bring my own and then everyone will wonder where I got mine and they’ll be mad they don’t get any.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”

I thought that was the end of it. Until Said 80-Year-Old Woman called later in the week to report her reminder follow-up calls for the food.

“Oh, and The Other Woman and I are bringing a crockpot of scrambled eggs. I’ve also asked the Smiths to bring some as well.”

An egg conspiracy? In my committee? I could have ranted, I could have raved, I could have retorted that THERE WILL BE NO EGGS AT MY BREAKFAST.

But I have a better plan. There will be eggs at my breakfast. “Nature’s Miracle Food” will just somehow find its way onto the exterior of certain people’s cars.

Because what would be a Labor Day breakfast without it?….

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