Thank Goodness It’s Friday! What will you be doing this weekend?
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
And so it is confirmed
September 27, 2007 By
I spent my morning at the allergist yesterday. These people were considerably more accommodating than my previous day’s experience and I did not cry. Not even when they pricked me with a gazillion needles.
“Now, it will only itch if you are allergic,” the nurse told me.
Within moments, I was like a flea-infested dog as my entire back had a reaction.
The results?
Cats and dogs: Mild
Trees: Some
Grass: Some more
Weeds: All
Yes, my friends. I tested positive for EVERY FREAKIN’ WEED. Do you think per chance the lot behind our house may have something to do with it?
And so if I ever want to breathe again, it would seem that twice-weekly allergy shots are in my future.
Or a guillotine.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Breakdown, shakedown, takedown
September 25, 2007 By
I am not a crier.
Of course there is nothing wrong with being in touch with your emotions. And I cry during appropriate life moments: funerals, Oprah, diarrhea diapers and spilled milk. I am just not prone to public outbursts.
Usually.
I finally broke down last week (literally) and went to the doctor with the intent to get a referral for an allergist. My catalyst was Haddie. She was sent home early from preschool with pink eye. Well, early being a relative term because by the time I received the message, there were only 10 minutes left of class. I blame that unreachable hubby of mine. Is it not his responsibility to pick up the slack when I am out serving the better good errr…hiking.
I figured I would kill two birds with one stone and made an appointment with my general practitioner. Now, let me preface this by disclosing I am in my second month of mind-numbing allergies. I haven’t slept in weeks and am on my third sinus infection. Simple stated: My Name is Amber and I am a Wreck.
I arrived early to fill out Haddie’s paperwork and was told upfront by the snippy front desk that they had only booked one of us for an appointment. And the doctor would only see both of us if he had time.
Enter: Nurse Betty. When she came to take Haddie’s vitals, she rudely informed me he would only see Haddie, even though the error was on their part for screwing up the booking. The prospect of living with this misery even one more day was almost more than I could handle. An argument ensued. There was blood. And not the kind triggered by a needle.
When the doctor arrived, I was a snotty, bloody mess. Before he could even open his mouth, I blabbered on about the whole confrontation. If that was not bad enough, next came the very lowest of lows: The Big, Ugly Cry. In front of a man.
Of course, I was horrified but the more I thought of it, the more I spewed big, ugly tears. The same tears that baby Haddie cried when she first watched that demonic purple dinosaur and he started singing, “I love you, you love me” – marking the end of his evil reign.
The doctor consoled me, all the while undoubtedly wondering just how soon I could be admitted into the psych ward. Before long, the office manager came in. You know: that person who only appears to deal with those patients. And then the perkiest, funniest Physician’s Assistant imaginable. It was evident they were bending over backwards to appease me. And so I did what any humiliated, snot-infested woman would do:
I took advantage of them.
Well, more like their medications. In addition to walking outta there with a referral for an allergist, I also casually mentioned a cough that I may-or-may not have at this juncture but what I will likely have at the conclusion of my latest sinus infection. Jamie claims I am a cough-syrup addict but anyone who has ever had bronchitis or a serious cough knows that nothing except for the good stuff even comes close to knocking you out. That stuff only the doctor can prescribe.
Or a Physician’s Assistant trying to appease an irate, sleep-deprived, snot-infested woman.
I’ll take it.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Dumb and Dumber: Mile-High Style
September 24, 2007 By
There are some mornings when I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received minimal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.
I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 24 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!
Last week was no different.
I decided to bike the Clear Creek Trail along Highway 58 from the I-70 junction to Lion’s Park in Golden. Hauling the kids. Uphill. Both ways.
Now, let’s see. Child #1: 35 pounds + Child #2: 23 pounds + 15-pound Chariot carrier + everything including the kitchen sink to keep the kids entertained = a tabulation I care not to compute. Why would I? I lived every stinkin’ pound of it.
I will spare you the gory details but in the end, we miraculously made it. Well, at least the kids did.
I’m sure my remains are still somewhere along the trail….
Blasted from the Past
I should have learned my lesson. Admittedly, these same delusions led me to roller-blade that path a couple of years ago. A path that contained the same hills but with different challenges. On a bike, the climbs are arduous. On blades? Quite the opposite.
I had started out strong on my blades. Smooth, powerful strokes. I was completely alone on the trail, which I love. But then I encountered hill No. 1. No problem. My pace slowed a bit but I triumphantly summited.
Then came Hill No. 2, then No. 3. All was fine and dandy until it came time to turn around.
But then came the “Ohhhhhhhh fudge” (I blame Ralphie from The Christmas Story).
During my jubilation of conquering the trail, I hadn’t realized how truly steep my ascent was. For those who have ever been on roller-blades, stopping while careening 100 miles an hour down a hill can be problematic. For me, it proved to catastrophic. Because in addition to the steep hills, there were also signs everywhere with the squiggly arrow (the official road-sign term, I’m sure). You know, the one that says “You’re dead if you don’t follow the hairpin curves.”
The rest of the story was not pretty. What ticks me off is do you think anyone witnessed my triumphant ascent? Nooooooooo. But now bikers started coming out of the woodwork as I desperately clutched the railing, my legs wedged in a snow asphalt-plow.
In the end, I only suffered a few scrapes and a bruised ego. But worry not, after these two sordid experiences I have certainly learned my lesson.
Until my next episode of sleep deprivation, that is.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Dumb and Dumber: Mile High-style
September 22, 2007 By
There are some mornings that I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received miminal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.
I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb..limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 25 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!
Last week was no different.
I decided to bike the Clear Creek Trail along Highway 58 from the I-70 junction to Lion’s Park in Golden. Hauling the kids. Uphill. Both ways.
Now, let’s see. Child #1: 32 pounds + Child #2: 23 pounds + 15-pound Chariot carrier + everything including the kitchen sink to keep the kids entertained = a tabulation I care not to compute. Why would I? I lived every stinkin’ pound of it.
I will spare you the gory details but in the end, we miraculously made it. Well, at least the kids did.
Blasted from the Past
I should have learned my lesson from when these same delusions led me to roller-blade that path a couple of years ago. I had started out strong. Smooth, powerful strokes. I was completely alone on the trail, which I love. But then I encountered hill #1. No problem. My pace slowed a bit but I triumphantly summited.
Then came Hill #2, then #3. All was fine and dandy until it came time to turn around.
But then came the “Ohhhhhhhh fudge” (I blame Ralphie from The Christmas Story).
During my jubilation of conquering the trail, I hadn’t realized how truly steep my ascent was. For those who have ever been on roller-blades, stopping while careening 100 miles an hour down a hill can be problematic. For me, it proved to catastrophic. Because in addition to the steep hills, there were also signs everywhere with the squiggly arrow (the official road-sign term, I’m sure). You know, the one that says “You’re dead if you don’t follow the hairpin curves.”
The rest of the story was not pretty. What ticks me off is do you think anyone witnessed my triumphant ascent? Nooooooooo. But now bikers started coming out of the woodwork as I desperately clutched the railing, my legs wedged in a snow-plow…errr..asphalt-plow.
In the end, I only suffered a few scrapes and a bruised ego. But worry not, after these two sordid experiences I have certainly learned my lesson.
Until my next episode of sleep deprivation, that is.
Spelling Bees Need Not Apply
September 20, 2007 By
With the advent of winter, I have been looking for some indoor workout options. In keeping with my north-of-the-border roots (which are still loyally planted in tundra), I actually love running in the rain and snow but those two beings I gave birth to prefer not to get pelted and drenched whilst sequestered in their stroller.
Go figure.
So I requested a used elliptical for Christmas. You know, because I need somewhere else to hang my clothes that collects dust.
Jamie has been shopping around on Craigslist. He did a search and found one that had previously been listed out of our price range, but they recently knocked an extra $200 off.
“I contacted the lady via phone and email!” he announced proudly.
“Great, hopefully we hear back.”
“I don’t think she will have many inquiries on it.”
“Oh, why not?”
“She spelled eliptical [sic] wrong.”
“Really? How did you find it?”
“Because I couldn’t spell it, either.”
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Why you don’t ever want to be invited to one of my dinner parties
September 18, 2007 By
I realize I exuded an inordinate amount of energy whining about my previous calling as Party Princess. This is due to a lack of support and resources, not to the actual task. In fact, I pride myself on being able to throw a good party.
Usually.
At the very last minute, Jamie and I decided to invite my in-laws over for dinner recently. After extending the invitation, we then raided the pantry to ascertain the menu, which Jamie determined would be our infamous chicken cilantro quesadillas.
Now, if any of you ever need any party-planning tips, take it from this Party Princess: you can have the venue, you have have the decorations, you can have the entertainment. But you ain’t got nothin’ if you don’t have food.
And so I called my MIL (and the following is a true account):
“Hey Linda! I was wondering if maybe you could bring a couple of cups of grated cheese. “
“Sure, no problem.”
“And since you’ll be in the fridge, some salsa would be nice, too.”
“OK, cheese and salsa. Anything else? ”
“Well, since you asked, maybe some sour cream would be perfect.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“Well, if you have any tortillas laying around, that would be helpful, too. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of dessert.”
We hang up the phone, only for me to realize I am bereft of a key ingredient in my dessert. I call her again.
“Errr… Linda?”
“Yes, I know it’s you, Amber”
“Do you think you could also bring some cream cheese?”
(Sighs) “Yes, is that is?”
“I think so. In fact, why don’t you just take care of dinner all together?…”
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
“The Producers” would be so proud….
September 17, 2007 By
Once upon a time when I worked as the Craaaaaaazy Canuck Ski Reporter for Utah’s radio stations, I developed an innate talent: I learned how to say, “Skiing is cool” in 100 different ways. Try putting that on your résumé.
By the same token, I need some wordsmith assistance over at Mile High Mamas today. The challenge? Don’t ask. Just conspire.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Confirmation that I really am as competition-obsessed as I have always suspected
September 16, 2007 By
I come from a family of competitors. Throw my winning-obsessed husband into the mix and anything competitive is our kryptonite.
You know Rock, Paper, Scissors? Jamie and I instituted this game early in our marriage. Poopy diapers are usually on the line so the stakes are high. And miraculously enough, I win 99% of the time.
Too bad my hard-working hubby is only home 15% of the time.
You know that game where you serenely knock the ball with a mallet through wickets? Some people call it Croquet.
My brothers and I call it Blood Sport.
Growing up, volleyball was one of our sports de choix. All three of us were MVPs of our high school. And all three of us still goad and harass each other to no end anytime we play.
I was asked to be the volleyball coach at church. Saturday was our first game. Something you should know about church ball: athleticism does not abound. At all. I consoled myself by saying they are super sweet girls and I would rather have that than snotty yet great players.
I take it back.
We were creamed, mutilated and trampled upon our first game.
I like to think I handled it well but every single point scored against us was like a daggar to the heart.
Or at least a croquet mallet.
I was resigned to my losing station in life until the second game when I noticed Jamie’s former flame was the coach. Suddenly, my own fire was ignited and it became The Most Important Thing in the World that we defeat her…errr, I mean them.
Our teams were neck-and-neck the whole time but amazingly, we pulled out a nail-biting win. She and I graciously congratulated each other after the game and I was reminded that she is beautiful, sweet and exactly the kind of person you could never hate.
But evidently, the kind you could beat.
[Insert evil cackle.]
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
When Lightning Strikes…Twice
September 13, 2007 By
Part of our family’s bedtime ritual is to pile onto our king-sized bed, play, wrestle, and launch off the edge, nearly cracking our head open (at least that is what happened to Bode last night when Jamie was left in charge for two milliseconds).
We also say prayers. The Hurricane’s petition is usually in line with mumbling something undecipherable in Arabic like she’s praying to Mecca. And so last night, we decided to walk her through the steps of prayer.
Me: First, we address who we are talking to.
Hadley: Heavenly Father.
Me: That’s right! And then we tell him the things we are grateful for. What things make you happy?
Hadley: She included family, preschool, dance class and for once that good-for-nothing dog of Uncle Chris did not make the list.
Me: Next, we ask Him for something. For me, I ask Him to bless me with a good night’s sleep.
Jamie: Yeah, me too.
Me: Hadley, what do you want to ask from Heavenly Father?”
Hadley: TREATS!
Jamie and I both chuckled at the beauty of childhood innocence. And then I saw him step forward as her loving mentor, her spiritual beacon. I waited, fully expectant that he would gently correct her, instructing her that in our prayers, we ask for help with something in our lives or to bless someone who is in need.
At last he spoke.
Jamie: I’m changing my request to treats, too.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 