Where Were You?

Ten years ago today I was flying out of the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.

I had just spent the summer in the Middle East and then backpacked Europe with a few friends. At the airport we learned Princess Diana had died the night prior, just a few miles from our hotel. One of my friends even claimed she had heard the chorus of sirens.

Ten years later and the world is still mesmerized by this story. A part of me is perplexed with the amount of attention her life and death have garnered. The critic in me regards her as an unstable bulimic adulteress. But the softer side loved her kindness, the way she could connect with the people and how she was often the victim in a loveless marriage.

I guess all the attention should come as no surprise. I still remember lying on my mom’s fluffy bed back in 1981 and watching the royal wedding. In my 9-year-old head, she was a veritable princess with her puffed sleeves and [not-so] handsome prince. I envied everything about her and fantasized of my own extravagant wedding someday.

Twenty-six years later and I am here with a husband, two kids and a mortgage. It certainly isn’t the fairy tale I once envisioned but it also isn’t the nightmare Diana often lived. Funny how different reality is. But on the flipside, I never could have imagined the pure joy of being ensconced in the love of a great man and cherished children.

Despite all of life’s challenges, I think I’ll stick with our version of happily ever after, thank you….

And so my question:

Where were you?

What Too Much Estrogen Does to Your Brain

I have infected Jamie, He Who Rarely Gets Sick. I guess you could say we have an infectious marriage (if you like cheesy puns). Which I evidently do.

I sucked it up last weekend and still managed to have a great girl’s weekend at play. On Saturday night, I went to a baby shower with all my neighbors that consisted of cruising to a downtown restaurant in a mini-van and talking about the good ol’ days when we would stay out past 9 p.m. Oh yeah, we’ve still got it.

Though it is questionable what exactly ‘it’ is.

Sunday, I met some of the mamas–the Mile High Mamas, that is. I dragged ailing hubby, teething Bode and rambunctious Hadley over to Aimee’s place for a BBQ.

I do not expect a return invitation anytime soon.

Expert photographer Aimee graciously took pictures of Julie, Catherine and me for the profile page. While the four of us chatted on the back patio, the men cooked, cleaned up, changed diapers and watched all the kids.

I think we may be onto something with this site.

As for inquiring minds who want to know: the design is complete and we are currently waiting for The Denver Post staff to pull the backoffice together. I do not have a launch date yet but the end is in site…errr…sight.

Should have stopped while I was ahead, I guess….

The Day the World Stopped Turning

That day was not when my miserable allergies turned into a killer sinus infection.

Though at times it feels like the end of the world.

*Note: autographed copies of me snorting salt water with my netti pot are available upon request.


Or that thanks to my babysitting parents, Jamie and I were finally able to see Bourne Ultimatum (possibly the best action flick I’ve ever seen). This, after several weeks of being rejected/flaked on by babysitters. You know: that same species we throw our money at so they can sit on our couch and eat our food.

That day, the world rocked.

Or the fact that today was the Hurricane’s first day of preschool.

Au contraire. For six blessed hours each week, there will be peace in the world.

But rather, the day the world stopped turning was when I went to Super Target to buy some rolls.

And came out with only rolls.

Mom Bloggers Unite: A New Kind of Recipe Swap

I tried this recipe from Bon Appétit for dinner last night:

Roasted Curried Cauliflower

12 cups cauliflower florets (from about 4 pounds cauliflower)
1 large onion, peeled, quartered
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
3/4 cup olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
3 1/2 teaspoons curry powder
1 tablespoon Hungarian hot paprika
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

Preparation: Preheat oven to 450°F. Place cauliflower florets in large roasting pan. Pull apart onion quarters into separate layers; add to cauliflower. Stir coriander seeds and cumin seeds in small skillet over medium heat until slightly darkened, about 5 minutes. Crush coarsely in mortar with pestle. Place seeds in medium bowl. Whisk in oil, vinegar, curry powder, paprika, and salt. Pour dressing over vegetables; toss to coat. Spread vegetables in single layer. Sprinkle with pepper.

Roast vegetables until tender, stirring occasionally, about 35 minutes. (Can be made 2 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature. Rewarm in 450°F oven 10 minutes, if desired.)
Mound vegetables in large bowl. Sprinkle with fresh cilantro. Serve warm or at room temperature.

P.S. Do not ever try this recipe. It sucks.

So let’s hear it: your favorite recipe swap flop!

Proof There Will be No Rest for the Weary, Even Beyond the Grave

Last weekend, we took the kids to Olde Town for a fun-filled evening at a live jazz cafe and strolled around with ice cream cones afterwards. It was one of those times when everything just felt right.

And so it would seem perfectly natural to bring up the subject of…err…death?

The catalyst for our conversation occured on the way home after we drove past our city’s cemetery.

“Have you ever been in there, Jamie?”

“No, I don’t know anyone who is buried there.”

“Where should we be buried someday?”

“I don’t really care. So long as it is under a tree.”

“You do realize that is prime real estate, don’t you?”

“Just stick me in a box under a tree in the mountains. I’m not picky.”

“Nice to know.”

“We could be double stacked.”

“I’d be honored.”

“But I want you on top.”

The 4th of July Lady

What a craaaazy week full of water, hikes and fun in the sun! For the 4th, I convinced still-sore Jamie to bike across town to a pancake breakfast and even threw in the clause that I would haul the children in the trailer. Because evidently all this heat has made my brain go to mush. Did I mention it was uphill? Both ways.

We spent the rest of our afternoon making ice cream and smoking ribs. We live in a fantastic neighborhood: on a hill overlooking where they shoot off the fireworks. Our development came alive as we closed off our street and had a huge block party complete with a water slide, volleyball and food. Lots and lots of food.

The kids had a grand time viewing the fireworks that night. Truth be told, I had an even grander time watching Bode (who has been walking for a couple of weeks) attempt to wobble down the small hill upon which we were perched. The kid surely has a future in gymnastics. And no, I didn’t feel badly for chuckling at his misadventures. I even gave that last roll/face plant a 10. Because I am supportive like that.

We were only bereft of our beloved neighbors, Mike and Lisa, who recently moved away. In addition to being great backcountry buddies, they were also our posse. Lisa is a complete sweetheart but if you were to meet Mike, you might be wary. With his muscular build, goatee, tattoos and beefed-up truck, he looks like someone you would avoid. Until you get to know him and he is the biggest softy who adored our kids.

A couple of years ago after the fireworks, we wandered back to our house and were shocked/bewildered/ticked off that someone had parked in our driveway. I mean, our street was littered with cars on the road but who would have the nerve to park in a person’s driveway?

Welp, we were understandably torked off. Mike noticed and he pulled his buddies into our inner strategy sanctum. Big buff guys like Mike who were enraged on our behalf. “Don’t worry about anything,” they told us. “We’ll take care of these guys for you” one of them professed as he cracked his knuckles. I think he freelances as a hitman.

“Let’s slash their tires,” one of them suggested. Now, call me crazy but doesn’t slashing someone’s tires kinda defeat the purpose of getting rid of them?

They finally agreed they would park one of their monster trucks behind the car to block it in. And then they would confront them. It sounded like a good idea but I did not want anything to do with the showdown. I suggested to Jamie that we take a picture of the culprit’s license plate in case they try to bolt across our lawn. He agreed.

I went inside to get the camera. By the time I started taking pictures, I, too had become a raging lunatic about the whole situation. As I was recording the evidence, I was interrupted by a small voice that queried, “What is this truck doing here? How are we supposed to get out?” Finally, the culprits.

I snapped. “WELL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE YOU PARKED ON SOMEONE’S PRIVATE PROPERTY AND AND AND….” then I turned. There, in front of me, was sweet little 9-year-old Rachel, the daughter of our cruise buddies Ivan and Karla. Her family had decided to catch the fireworks at the last minute but had arrived after we departed.

“Well, helloooooooooo, Rachel.”

There was no retracting my rant. And since that time, she has referred to me as “The 4th of July Lady.”

I guess that is better than “Psycho, Irrational Wench Who Unleashes Upon Innocent Children.”

Though I answer to both.

I Would Like to Thank the Academy

I am alive but it has just been a busy week with a compendium of activities. I shall give the full report when I can carve out more than a few minutes. For now, I am currently throwing everything together to go to the beach with the kids today. Yes, you heard correctly: I shall immerse myself in sun, sand and water a.k.a. the three plagues of Amber.

However, I would be remiss if I did not thank you, dear friends, for your generosity. First, for nominating me for a Rockin’ Girl Blogger award.

I would like to return the favor to Loralee, Wendy, Kristy, Stie, and Aubrey.

I am also a finalist for “Most Athletic” in the 2007 Bloggy Hoss Elections. On behalf of moms everywhere who wear sweatpants to scale tall mountains because they can’t yet fit back into their sassy little hiking pants, I graciously accept this nomination. Why else should you vote for me?

  • I climbed to the top of the stairs today…without losing my breath.
  • I did leg lunges for an hour yesterday whilst cleaning out the fridge after a 5-gallon container of fruit punch magically combusted. And I am not sore.

The funny thing is I didn’t even know I was in the running. Get it? Most Athletic? Running.

I am still shocked I wasn’t nominated for Class Clown….

Climbing Colorado’s Rooftop

Cue Mr. Manilow….

Barely.

The sordid details upon our return. Oh, and when we can finally move again.

Goody Goody Good Mail!

I got me some Good Mail today! For those not familiar with Good Mail, I have recently signed up with two different bloggers to send and receive little packages and notes to/from a whole lot of fun gals.

Oh, and did I mention I receive things? Cute things? Because it is not enough to obsess over the comments left on my blog. Now I have another outlet for my obsession that involves running to the mailbox every day. I have received some darling packages and I am remiss I have not posted about them. And so let this be my penance.

Diedra, a cute newlywed in Utah, was my assigned swap partner and nailed my package on the head. Admittedly, I was a wee bit worried when I pulled out her “Scrapbook in a Box” because many of you know that scrapbooking ain’t my forte. But then I noticed the layouts were already finished and all I have to do is add my finishing touches.

Now that is a girl who gets me.

She also sent a great recipe book for spring/summer dishes, her husband’s CD (that I can’t wait to hear) and GoLean Crunch, a favorite that will go into our trail mix this weekend.

And so any of you who are vacillating upon whether or not to send me Good Mail, hesitate not.

And NO, Mr. Wells Fargo Mortgage Man, “Good Mail” does not include you.

Wordless Wednesday–How Sweet it is NOT

Our 4-year-old neighbor has recently transitioned from giving Hadley headlocks to hugs. I got worried when they’d cruise around all cuddled up in his Jeep.

But then I reasoned I was overreacting. Until she received his birthday present: a skirt (with no shirt), housed in a Victoria’s Secret bag….