Archives for April 2008

And so it begins….

April 11, 2008 by Amber

Here’s the thing about weight-loss stories: you always see the before. You always see the after. But you don’t see the during – the journey it takes to get there.Even when I watched the Biggest Loser on TV, I frequently fast-forwarded through all the workouts because all I wanted to know was how much weight they had lost. I didn’t really care how they did it. I just wanted to see their big numbers.

Well, this ain’t reality TV. I am not at The Ranch with doctors monitoring my every move and nutrionists constantly amending my diet. I have a life with a husband and kids who eat pizza in front of me. And ice cream. And that blessed cursed cookie dough. [Insert sigh here.]

When I first participated in Front Range Adventure Boot Camp, I figured I would have some great workouts and move on with my life. I quickly realized there was so much more to it. That this could be life-changing if I made the commitment to myself. And to you. And so every Friday, I will weigh in (literally) about my triumphs and trials and I invite you to join in. I also hereby pledge to you that:

1) I will not weigh in wearing only spandex shorts and a sports bra in front of millions of people.

2) There will be no tears because gosh darn it, nobody is voting me off at the end of the show with a cheesy food platter. (Though if calorie-free cheddar was allowed I may make amends).

3) But nobody is offering a prize of $250,000, either.

4) My prize is being around a very long time to see my children grow old. You know. Those same kids who contributed to this weight in the first place.

Well, maybe that cookie dough had something to do with it as well.

Two weeks into my journey, I have lost five pounds. And already, the Biggest Loser Boot Camp is teaching me how to delve deep within myself to realize we are all so much more powerful and resilient than we ever could have imagined.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Moabites, Vampires and Indians – OH MY!!

April 8, 2008 by Amber

Forgive me if I am MIA for a bit – I am recovering from the three glorious days I spent in Moab’s backcountry with my dearly beloved. It has been our tradition to go every year. Well, every year that we have not been pregnant or nursing, which has only amounted to much less than annually.

Backpacking is our way to diffuse stress, reconnect and realize that we have issues. Big issues. While most people relax or go to the beach for their childless vacation, we choose this route through Canyonland’s Devil’s Kitchen that is completely devoid of water, requiring us to haul 3 gallons of it in our packs – packs that weighed more than 40 pounds.

But the rewards are out of this world and we always marvel at the area’s sandstone monoliths that stand as if cast adrift in a red rock sea.

That is the magic and perfection of it all. The imperfection is that somehow only the two of us could almost drown on land.

It started when we realized Jamie accidentally brought my Marmot sleeping bag that has completely lost its loft and any semblance of warmth.

“Amber, what is this dumb bag rated to?”

“It was rated to negative 15 degrees in its prime.”

“Yeah, right. The only thing negative in here is my attitude.”

Evidence that Front Range Adventure Boot Camp is Actually Working

“Jamie, I don’t hurt anywhere except for my feet.”

“Well Amber, I hurt everywhere except for my feet.”

The Ultimate Profession of Vampire Love

During the 10-hour drive, I became addicted to Twilight, the first book in Stephanie Meyers’ series on teen-age vampire love. A-D-D-I-C-T-E-D. After the final page, I closed the book and reverently placed it on my lap.

“I want you to know something, Jamie.”

“What is it?”

“That no matter what happens between us, I would convert to being a vampire just to be with you. Because I love you that much.”

When Jamie wishes he could use his vampire fangs to shut me up

During our hike from base camp to Chesler Park on Day 2, I queried,

“Not that I want any but did you happen to bring some beef jerky with you?”

“No, I left it at camp.”

“But I want sommmmmmmmme!!!”

Jamie’s Payback

A ranger disclosed that our camp had secret pictograph etchings on the wall. As we pondered their origins, Jamie proclaimed they were just ancient graffiti by some teen-aged Indian punk.

“And do you see those tire tracks leading up to them?”

“I suppose you think the Indians are responsible for them? Yeah, right. Like they had cars, Jamie.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the Cherokee?….”

Filed Under: Humor, Jamie, outdoors, travel

Letter Factory Confessions

April 7, 2008 by Amber

When I recently retrieved my 3-year-old daughter Hadley from preschool, her teacher pulled me aside.

“I need to talk to you about Hadley,” she said in that voice. The same cautionary voice my third-grade teacher used right before she wrote on my report card that I had “verbal diarrhea.”

Shockingly, the report was positive.

“Hadley is doing such a great job with her letters! Not only is she really advanced on sounding them out but she is already piecing them together in words. You must be regularly working on them with her at home?”

After retrieving my jaw from the floor, I paused long and hard. Should I tell her that my kids are addicted to “The Letter Factory” DVD by LeapFrog? And that perky tadpole Tad is even inspiring my 1-year-old Bode to sound out his letters, like a stuttering infant prodigy, with very little help from me?

“Why yes, we have been working on them at home. Regularly. Nice to know it is paying off.”

Note: This was not a complete lie. I just failed to divulge who “we” included.

This is not the first time one of my children has been taught and inspired by television. When Hadley was 23 months old she acquired a new best friend I despised. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some snobby mom who doesn’t let her kid play with a certain sort of people. But this friend? Well, he’s purple. And he’s a dinosaur, fer heaven’s sake. And he’s annoying.

Yes, Hadley was obsessed with Barney – the very show I vowed I’d never expose her to. And I didn’t. The blame goes to Grandma who innocently introduced her, obviously not knowing the ramifications. Who could’ve known he would be the ONLY one in the whole world who could calm her down when she woke up moody from her naps? Or that his love song to her at the end of the show “I love you, you love me,” could make her combust into a fountain of tears because she knew their time together was drawing to a close. Or that she would lie awake at night wondering what her offspring would look like if she and Barney ever had babies together.

After watching Barney one day, we went to run some errands. For months, I had been incessantly reciting 123s and ABCs wherever we went. She would occasionally list off a number just to shut me up but really, her attentions were focused on learning the alphabet. So when I was in the car with her, I turned my focus back to numbers as I attempted to teach her how to say she was “2 years old,” in honor of her birthday at the end of the month.

She gave me her typical teen-aged “Why are you bothering me, Mother,” look and then casually blurted out, “1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10.” I stopped, shocked. “Did you just count to 10, Hadley?” She repeated herself, this time throwing in the number 11 for good measure. Showoff.

I was practically jumping for joy! Finally, all those countless hours of teaching her, of slaving over her growth had finally paid off! I had a glimmer of hope that I was making at least some difference in her life! Bursting with pride, I wanted acknowledgment and gratitude for my efforts. “Hadley, who taught you to count to 10?”

“Barney!!!!!!!!”

Filed Under: Hadley, Humor

FINALLY: the way to every man’s heart revealed

April 3, 2008 by Amber

It is currently my husband Jamie’s basketball season and every year, I dread it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those overbearing women who doesn’t let her husband do anything fun. It’s just there’s something else factored in there: near-death experiences. You see, when Jamie played in the past, he was almost always rushed to the ER with a heart arrhythmia.

He has had a long history with his heart. Shortly after we got married, Jamie’s dad found an old video tape of Jamie playing basketball in high school. He eagerly watched the footage and proudly announced: “Do you see me out there?” Thinking he was trying to show off to his new bride, I scanned the floor, looking for his sexy high-school chicken legs but couldn’t find him. Finally, he let me in on the suspense, pointing to a guy passed out in front of the bench: “There – that’s me having an arrhythmia after playing!” Gee. I couldn’t have been more proud.

During the first few years of our marriage, his heart seemed to get increasingly worse. When I was pregnant with my firstborn, he nearly passed out after a game and we had to call an ambulance for him. His resting heart-rate? A whopping 210. He had a repeat performance the following year, only this time Haddie was able to accompany us to the ER. She had just learned to wave and spent the duration spreading good cheer to all the ER patients. I’m sure she thought it was “Wude” that none of them waved back. Go figure.

After that last episode, he finally caved and went to see a heart specialist – one who wasn’t part of the “Just let your husband play basketball and quit nagging him club,” like the first doctor he saw. This guy recommended an out-patient surgery, which Jamie opted for versus his other option: never playing basketball again.

The surgery was pretty non-invasive. Basically, they went into his heart via four arteries (two in his groin) and simply burned out the bad cells that were causing the arrhythmia.

His recovery was smooth, minus a grotesque and painful bruise he had on his groin for a long time. One day during this process, my dear, sweet husband said to me, “This surgery actually confirmed what we have long suspected about men.” I eagerly awaited profundities and I got ‘em with his mischievous answer:

“The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through His Groin.”

At least now it can be medically proven….

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Health, Humor, Jamie

Wordless Wednesday – Can you teach an old dad new tricks?

April 2, 2008 by Amber

Bode has a nifty new trick: he has to turn on the dishwasher every time he walks by.

Do you think he can teach his father how to do it?

Filed Under: Uncategorized

On getting all dolled up

April 1, 2008 by Amber

The other day, the children and I were walking into Office Max to get some fliers printed for Mile High Mamas. Or was it Office Depot? I am continually getting the two mixed up and went so far as to go to the wrong store last week. I blame my mistake on their close proximity to each other and their inability to have an original thought that does not include the world “office.”

Nevermind my blonde hair.

Anyway, we were on the sidewalk of one of the Offices when an SUV of two cute old ladies pulled up.

“Excuse me, dearie!” they beckoned.
Figuring they must need directions, we sauntered over there. “Yes?”
“How old is your daughter?” they asked, pointing to Hadley.
“Almost four.”

I saw them rustling ecstatically around in the car. They then produced two brand-new stuffed toys and shoved them my way. They smiled sweetly and I ascertained they were were the Givin’ Grandmas and drove around trying to help the less fortunate. Until the woman in the passenger seat offered,

“Mildred has been trying to get rid of these for ages!”
Confused, I gave them a blank stare.
“She wins them at the slots, you know. And just doesn’t have any grandkids she can pawn them off on.”

Or more like Gambling Grandmas.

I stifled a laugh, thanked them graciously and then tried to ditch them at the adjacent pet store. You know, one of those big chains that is original enough to have “Pet” in the name. They would have nothing to do with them, which is when I really started analyzing our gifts and made the horrible realization:

Some people resemble dolls that eat all that and look like this:

Which can also be used as voodoo dolls.

Some have a more classic look.

Some dolls have absolutely no business being made.

And disturbingly enough, some recently-acquired dolls are carbon copies of their owners.

Frighteningly enough, they even got the “Where the Wild Things Are” tag correct. Did I mention my childhood nickname was “Animal?”….

So, what kind of doll are you!!?

Filed Under: Uncategorized