Some of you may not be aware but Hadley is the worst picture taker ever. This is not an exaggeration. The only reason you occasionally see quasi-cute pictures on this blog is because 1) I have a digital camera and take a oodles shots in hopes I can get just one keeper and 2) I bribe, threaten and beg her to “Please, just smile once for Mommy or I will personally remove Dora the Explorer from this earth.” Gotta strike ’em where it hurts.

Jamie has always been completely against getting professional pictures taken. So my act of rebellion during his business trip was to drag the kids into Kiddie Kandids and submit myself to a nervous breakdown.

We went early before the store opened and there was already a line. As I waited, Bode chose that small window of eternity to do his irregular poop. You know: the one that has been backed up for a week and is like Mount St. Helen’s every time he erupts (the next explosion will surely be during our plane ride to Canada on Monday). Good thing the pictures were full-frontals; there’s something kinda unappealing about a lovely brown stain all the way up his back.

The actual photo session was frustrating because we couldn’t get the kids positioned correctly and our inept photographer wanted The Hurricane to hold Bode. Because she obviously doesn’t value his life as much as I do.

“You mean to tell me out of your gazillion studios across the country that you don’t have anything to prop him up?”
“Not for the ones who can’t sit up yet,” she said accusingly.

Because it’s obviously lazy Bode’s fault he’s still a baby and can’t do it on his own yet.

It went downhill from there as The Hurricane defied our efforts to lure anything but scowls, escape attempts and canned smiles. Bode, on the other hand, did marvelously. Problem was the person beside him in the picture. As we reviewed the photos at the end, I weighed my options.

“Can we just crop her out?”
“You want to cut your daughter out of the picture?”
“Don’t you think she deserves it? He was at least making an effort to smile.”

The photographer analyzed me, trying to figure out if I was just kidding. I mostly wasn’t.

In the end, we ended up choosing the only halfway decent one of Hadley but unfortunately one of the few where he wasn’t smiling. I later regretted this decision and wish I had chosen one of his many cute ones with her canned smile.

Just to truly memorialize the occasion, of course.

In Part II of On the Road to the Loony Bin, I will detail the flight I take by myself with two kids up to Canada tomorrow. Just be glad you’re not on Flight 666. Oh, and pray for those other passengers….

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

Prior to having Bode, I had the goal to nurse him for six months. This was lofty given my negative experience feeding Haddie who, after three months of resisting, finally went on strike and I dried up forever. I was happy. She was much happier. And I dreaded ever doing it again.

But this time around was much different with my “boob man” Bode. For some reason, I am reluctant to admit that I have enjoyed nursing him. Though I won’t miss being constantly attached at the hip with him (or rather, boob), there is a part of me that will miss the way he grins like he’s in nursing nooky nirvana every time he dives in.

We’re taking a cruise without the kids at the end of January but that still seems so far away and I wasn’t planning to start weaning until after New Year’s. Jamie has been pressuring me lately to start now. I honestly thought it would be a breeze because Bode eagerly takes one bottle a day from Jamie prior to bedtime.

I was wrong.

My plan last week was to replace one feeding session with a bottle. Unfortunately, I discovered that though Bode is delighted to take a bottle from Daddy, accepting one from me is a completely different story.

I settled in on the couch and he geared up for his flashing session. But then came Bottle. He took it grinning, as if to say, “You’re messing with me, right?” After a few minutes, he realized holy crap…this is some sick joke and where is mama’s manna?

And then he wailed and wailed–a revolt dedicated unto every kid who’s ever had his mom’s breast unceremoniously taken from him.

I finally gave in and nursed him. The waterworks immediately turned off, his devious smile returned and he gazed at them lovingly as if to say, “Don’t ever leave me again.”

In a word: it is not going well. OK, so that’s five but who’s counting?

I informed Jamie about my failure and he started giving me tips on weaning.

“Jamie, how do you know all this?”
“I’ve been reading up on it lately.”

I don’t know about you but it was somewhat disconcerting to think my husband knows more about this than I. And it doesn’t make sense that he is pressuring me to stop doing something that could potentially save him loads of money every month in the cost of formula.

But then I discovered his memo:

Dear Bode,

I want my boobs back.

Sincerely,
Your Father

Suddenly, it’s all making sense….

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

Saturday was Hunky Hubby’s 36th birthday. You know, the same guy who is ditching me the rest of the week for a last-minute business trip to California. WhoTheCrap plans something this late notice and this close to Christmas? Those yahoos at Yahoo, that’s who. I’m not that bitter. But I will be if he returns with a tan.

I’d like to say I went to the same effort for Jamie’s birthday as I did the Christmas party but I’d be lying. Part of the reason was he already received his gift the day after Thanksgiving. This was the one and only time I will ever entrust a 2 1/2-year-old with a secret. It took her exactly 2.4 seconds from the time he walked in the door for her to lead him to where I hid his new car stereo. Happy birthday, indeed.

The other reason is we were just so utterly thrashed after the Christmas party and a bad sleep night with Bode. Though the little tyke is doing better and is “only” waking up 2-3 times, we’re still in the hole from his two-month stint of waking up every hour. I’ve been promising Jamie for a while that I’d move Bode’s bed out of our room but have been stalling because it’s easier to have him in close proximity. For the record, I’m completely against co-sleeping. Which is why I usually end up doing it around 4 a.m. out of sleepless hysteria.

And so the next morning when I thought Jamie had gone back to sleep, he was actually kicking Bode to the curb a.k.a. moving him out of our bedroom. Happy birthday, indeed.

That afternoon, Haddie had a birthday party for her friend up the street. They hired a company to throw a little train-themed bash and Hadley had the time of her life. I’m kind of an amateur as to the cost it takes to throw a kiddy party so queried my friend Kristen about it.

“We only paid $325 for them!” she elatedly replied.

I almost choked. That is supposed to be some kind of a deal?

That night for Jamie’s birthday party, we invited his family over for cake and presents. At the last minute, we decided to get Chinese and watch the second part of my present: Season 1 of The Office. The cost for Jamie’s big bash:

Costco cheesecake: $14.99
The Office marathon: $21.00
Cheap Chinese food (for seven people): $16.01
Jamie finally kicking Bode out of our bedroom: priceless

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

I survived our Night in Bethlehem Christmas Party. I would like to say it was well worth all the effort but it was one of those cases where the negatives far outweighed any positives. Don’t get me wrong. The booth decorations turned out amazing, the evening went smoothly and most people dressed up in Biblical attire to get into the spirit of it all.

It’s just the drama behind the scenes that still has me up in arms. I can now understand the Holy Wars. Those Crusaders claimed their reasoning was a fight against Islam. But I know the true meaning: they were control freaks who set the chairs up in an unacceptable fashion. I expect the history books to change immediately upon the advent of my discovery.

Let me get something straight: I am in charge of all social functions for our ward (congregation). Way back in October, I gave leaders in the ward specific assignments to help pull this off and extensively followed up with each of them. Some were wonderful and followed through 100%. Others, NotSoMuch.

It started Monday when I found out the person in charge of constructing the manger scene had delegated it to another. Fine. I was annoyed but it was still getting done so I coped. But then everything fell through with it and suddenly the night before, I was faced with having to throw it together at the last minute because no one would step up and take responsibility.

If that wasn’t bad enough, things came to a head with Egg Lady. Though she is a tremendous organizer and planner, she is an obsessive control freak and has to have her hands in E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

She stopped in briefly on Thursday night when we were setting up. When I told her what happened with the manger scene, she made the accusation it was my fault. That I hadn’t given everyone enough time (because it took me two hours to pull off what I gave them two months to plan). That when she was the Activity Person, she did blah blah blah. I am not a contentious person but these comments and others made me snap and the fight began. I finally walked away because she was not backing down.

I didn’t sleep all night because I was so worked up. When I arrived the next morning to drop some decorations off, she was there. I tried to be pleasant but it took her exactly five minutes to start criticizing. This time, she didn’t like how the chairs were setup. I told her a man in the ward had graciously done it for us and they were just fine. End of story.

Until I showed up later that afternoon right before the event and SHE HAD REARRANGED THE DAMN CHAIRS ANYWAY.

Now, because I am married to Jesus Junior I have not done anything wicked. Well, except for the above expletive. And because he is a calming influence he has me convinced I need to talk it out with her. Talk. Where’s the action, the drama?

And so for now (well, just as soon as I’m calm enough to play the diplomat in this battle) there will be peace in the land.

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

My crazy weekend looms before me with Jamie’s birthday on Saturday and the big Christmas party tomorrow. It hasn’t been without its share of bumps in the road. Like when a certain person with whom I have worked for weeks on their assignment decided at the last minute to dump it on someone else and sent me scrambling. This is only one of the many fun things I’ve been dealing with this week and makes me wonder why I am going to all the effort? Oh yeah. For Jesus, about Jesus. Must. Not. Lose. Focus.

Speaking of which, I went for a walk with Haddie in the snow earlier this week. She had a grand time going from house to house and playing with their Christmas decorations.

As some may remember from this time last year, Hadley has some interesting religious inclinations. At one point during our walk, we came upon a little nativity scene. I explained the story of Jesus’ birth to her and for a moment, those figurines seemed to come to life as she gazed upon them, awestruck. I was so touched, so moved by the whole scene and wished I had my camera to capture it.

Until, that is, she bent over, grabbed some snow and started hucking snowballs at the baby Jesus….

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

My busy week is upon me and here are just a few highlights of last weekend:

On Friday night, we had a Christmas party for our dinner group. About a half hour prior to departure, I stuck our offering (chicken wings) into the oven to warm them up. A while later later when I was feeding Bode, I asked Jamie if he could check on the chicken, to which he obliged. Or so I thought.

When I went to take it out of the oven and package it up prior to departure, I noticed he’d turned the oven off and the chicken was stone cold.

“Jamie, I thought I asked you to check the chicken!”

“I sure did. I peeked in the oven and it sure looked good!”

(A note to husbands everywhere: when your wife asks you to check something in the oven, she wants you to actually make contact with it).

**************

As many of you know, I am a great fan of puns; the cornier the better. At our dinner group, we were talking about our Ward Christmas party. This group of friends knows the pains I’ve had dealing with certain personalities at church and The Egg Incident from our Labor Day breakfast was mentioned. You know. The one where I said we wouldn’t be having eggs and people went behind my back and brought them anyway.

Jamie: “Tough to believe there was a coup on her committee.”

Dawn: “Hmmm…wouldn’t it actually be a coop?”

***********

The hosts of our party have a son who, at 7 years old, is already a gifted gymnast and has Olympic aspirations. They will soon be enrolling him in a school that accommodates his training schedule and the family will inevitably need to make several sacrifices along the way.

As we discussed the financial ramifications of pursuing sports at a higher level (his private sessions are $50/hour), we were all blown away and sobered by the cost. During a lull in the conversation as we were pondering our discussion, I made the announcement:

“And this is why I encourage my kids to just be average.”

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

I have gotten many emails from friends absolutely bewildered that they received our infamous Christmas newsletter earlier this week. Yes, that would be before Christmas. Now, lest you think I am the Queen of Holiday Spirit, allow me to take off my musical reindeer ears and explain.

There are a few reasons why I have already finished our cards and 99% of my holiday shopping, the main one being I am in charge of the mother of all Christmas parties at church next Friday. I couldn’t just plan a boring ol’ ham-and-Santa party for 200+ people. Noooo. I had to wax ambitious during the busiest time of the year and plan “A Night in Bethlehem” (which, for me, is turning out to be “A Night in Hades.”)

This is a recreation of first-century Bethlehem, complete with scrolls I individually wrapped as invitations and a marketplace (that we are constructing from scratch) which includes Middle Eastern fare, a toy shop for the kids, and a Gift of the Magi booth with gold, frankincense and myrrh (to name a few). Oh, and individual coin sachets for bartering. If all this wasn’t a logistical nightmare, there is also a Christmas program to follow.

I knew I couldn’t pull this one off by myself so solicited leaders of other faculties to help, some of whom I have butted heads with in the past as they have second-guessed every decision I have made. I’ll spare you all the drama but this time has been different, primarily because I have refused to be bullied around as I have laid down the law. Because I don’t want highly-controversial eggs at this event. Oh, and because I AM The Queen of Christmas Spirit (lest you had forgotten my reindeer ears.)

The other main reason for my extreme anal retentiveness lately is because I am heading up to the Motherland mid-December with the kids. Jamie has to work right up until the holiday so I figured that there is no better way to spread Christmas cheer than to fly solo and let my kids’ screams resonate throughout the plane’s cabin.

Come to think of it, perhaps I should forego the reindeer ears on that trip. For fear of hunting season, of course….

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

For those of you who followed my Martha Freakin’ Stewart post about my sister-in-law’s gift wrapping abilities, she has a defense. And finally, there may be hope for the rest of us:

“Amber: Who is this chick? Oh wait, she’s me. In my defense, I’m not totally insane. We all have our little releases in life. For some it is hiking, for others, apparently gift wrapping. It may not ever save the world, but then again . . . it just might. And to set the record straight, I accomplished the task at midnight, while procrastinating a church lesson I was suppose to be preparing, in a house that was a disaster, with my husband exclaiming, “You’re making what now? Please, can’t we just go to bed?” I’m not sure the moment would have exactly made a Martha Stewart episode.”

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